Z Children (Book 1): Awakening (27 page)

The adults
always seemed so lost and mindless, but seeing their monster children die
seemed to awaken something, some shred of parental emotion that gave me hope,
but also sickened me. The thought that the mind might transcend death was
disturbing. It meant that the adults might have some awareness as their bodies
began to desiccate and rot. That was just fucking disturbing.

The female with
the wounded leg was groaning now, a deep and throaty sound, and I knew, had she
been alive still, that that sound would have been accompanied by tears and
human grief. I was a yard from the dead boys and I held my ground, letting the
male and female zombies make their way toward me. I didn’t want to waste any
more ammo. Displayed next to me were sunglasses. They were hung carefully on a
five-foot pole that was slender, but solid, with metal branches for the
eyewear. I holstered my pistol and lifted the pole quickly; its rounded base
fell onto the floor with a muffled clunk. 

The infected
adults were in range now, the male closer than the female- who had stopped
crawling once she’d reached the boys’ bodies. It only took a few well-placed
swings to drop the male to the ground, his head bashed in like so much
off-color cherry gelatin. The female, still moaning, her arms wrapped around
the children, was easy prey. Ranger huffed at me when I was finished, annoyed
that I’d excluded him from the fight. “They’ll be plenty more action, Ranger.
Chill your boots.”

Without the
mother zombie’s moans, the store was back to being too quiet. I laid the
glasses display down on the floor quietly and placed my palms on the back of my
neck, then pulled forward until I felt and heard a series of cracks. It was a
mental as well as physical release. Ranger was next to me again, his gaze
darting about the store. The hair on the back of his neck wasn’t standing up
now though, which probably meant the store was safe. Un-holstering the .45
again, I finished sweeping the building anyways, making sure to check the
office and bathroom. The only things left were half-eaten corpses in varying
states of decay. Ranger’s fur, what was left of it, was always the ultimate
early warning system. 

Feeling safe, or
as safe as one could feel at the end of the world, I began to shop. In case we ran
into more trouble than we could handle or the other stores were a bust, I
couldn’t turn away from the here and now. And here and now, there was water and
canned food. I’d never been a picky eater and being in the military had made me
even less concerned with taste over nutrition, so I didn’t mind that the only
canned foods left in the store were sardines and potted meat. Ranger and I even
took time to eat breakfast- him a can of dog food and me a bag of moderately
stale, powdered doughnuts. If my hands hadn’t been so filthy and coated in gun
powder residue, I might have licked my damn fighters.

Attached to the
discount store was an empty structure with a “for lease” sign in the window.
That building’s door was locked, so I moved on toward the Rent-A-Film. I didn’t
even know DVD rental places were still in business. With all the modern tech
that allowed instant streaming, even of movies still in theaters, I’d thought
actual brick-and-mortar places had long been put out of business.

The carnage
inside was easy to see- the display shelves were mostly knocked down, blood
spattered, and busted. Four corpses were visible- two damaged enough to keep
them floor-bound, one pacing at the back of the store, and the fourth leaning
against the front door. Sitting on top of the checkout counter with its back to
me was the little minion of death that had wreaked havoc inside.  It was
still hard to wrap my head around… that a child so young could cause so much
chaos and take so many lives.

I didn’t take
any chances with this one. Pushing the door ajar, the adult infected leaning
against it making guttural, gurgling sounds of surprise, I aimed and let loose
a well-aimed shot. It rocketed into the child’s head, creating a small entrance
wound and a comparatively large exit wound as the bullet continued its path,
leaving brain matter, black blood, and pungent puss behind to decorate the
space in front of the child. She fell forward limply, her body leaving the
countertop to splay across the stained linoleum floor. I didn’t bother entering
the store after the miniature monster was dead. The adults would not follow me.
The two that could not stand were noticeably enraged now, trying to make their
way to the child. The other two could care less. More and more proof that the
parents of the zombie children were still somewhat aware.

It was a
twisted, sick, rotting apocalypse and I was very thankful that I’d never had
children; that my wife had left me before we’d conceived. I couldn’t imagine
going for the kill if it were my own son or daughter. Sending a bullet as a
goodbye.

I wasn’t a
strong enough soldier for something like that. 

Keeping low, I
moved away from the entrance. A large movie poster took up most of the second
store window. It depicted a fierce-looking Green Beret, explosions and body
count in the background. God, I hated Hollywood. That’s what people would
strive to achieve in this apocalypse- a bad ass able to take on a zombie horde
with nothing but a bow and arrow. It took years to learn how to fight
effectively… it took even longer to learn how to cope with taking a life.
Hunters would think they had the advantage, that they had great aim and had
killed dozens of deer. But it wasn’t the same.

I’d seen even
the toughest man crumble under the emotional force of his first human kill. The
few that could learn to step away from the guilt and grief and keep killing…
something was broken in them, something innate that helped them be killers. The
world needed men like that, like me, but they also needed those with soft hearts
to keep humanity alive.

Humanity was the
first casualty of war.

***

I’d made my way
through the next several stores. There were only two remaining now- the largest
stores unfortunately, but also the ones that would likely have the most useful items.
As much as I wanted more gear from the hardware store, the food market had to
come first. I needed it to have a pharmacy; I needed a decent night’s sleep,
one not plagued by nightmares. I could only go so long before my performance
would begin to suffer and being that fraction too slow because I was tired…
well, that could be final curtains, a gruesome end to my life, so riddled with
bad memories and blood-soaked ambition.

I had no sooner
slipped into the multicultural grocer’s entrance, when I heard a commotion. It
sounded like feeding time at the zoo- snarling, running, teeth gnashing, and
things being knocked over. Shattering glass made my heart skip a beat and
jump-started my body into combat mode.

I had the pistol
out in front of me now, both hands firmly on the grips and my right index
finger lightly on the trigger. My eyes scanned about for danger while my ears
tried to determine the direction of the threat. I knew my nostrils were
flaring, because I was picking up on every scent; sour milk, meat just
beginning to rot, human feces, vomit, zombie pus, even newspaper… all of it. I
was so deep into the red, that I could even smell the floor wax. Ranger was
three feet off to my right, his teeth bared, and his eyes glued to something I
couldn’t see.

Out of my left
peripheral, came the expected movement at the same time my ears identified the
direction. I swung my torso around and snapped off three controlled shots. I
remembered my instructor’s words from training:

“Practice does
NOT make perfect.”
He
would say in a controlled but forceful tone.
“Perfect practice makes
perfect!”

We must have put
a thousand rounds down range per week in training. Deliberate shots, the
pursuit of focused control. For once, my training failed me. The target was a
foot below where I’d aimed. My body kept reacting as if I was fighting against
adult-sized enemies, but I wasn’t. I had to remember what I was up against.
Miniature monsters, fast and unruly. I recovered quickly, repositioning and
pulling the trigger twice more. The zombie kid, once a girl with dark brown
braids, took one round to the chest and one to the head. The snap of the
suppressor was barely discernible over the chorus of moans, the veritable
gaggle of dead rounding the bread aisle and coming towards me.

Ranger growled
and bolted, putting his body between mine and the incoming. Head shots. Waste
not, want not.

In succession, I
put a bullet expertly into one brain after another, until the slide locked
back. Shoving the pistol into its holster, I yanked the rifle’s makeshift
leather strap, pulling it over my head and into my waiting grip.  There
were three of the tiny bastards left and a handful of adults. Ranger had
injured a fair share… if you can really injure something that’s already dead…
but the only thing that seemed to take the monsters down was to destroy the
brain. Several mercy shots and the adults fell.

Fuck. I should
have taken out the kids first.

A dead boy was
moving at full speed, a cheetah past a cereal display. He was too fast to aim
and get a shot off. Holding the stock of the rifle tightly I jammed the barrel
towards the child. It made brutal contact below his jaw, snapping the neck
joint and crushing the trachea. The sounds of the boy’s rage was stifled by the
injuries. His head lolled forward, his chin coming to rest against his upper
chest.

Yet he still
moved, still flayed his arms about, and somehow gnashed his teeth. I slammed my
boot into his body and pushed him backwards, far enough to aim and send a
bullet into his temple. Looking up, I saw Ranger had a zombie girl pinned. That
left one for me. And he was already on me. I had to react quickly.

I shifted the
rifle so that I held it in front of me, parallel to the floor. Just in time.
The boy’s mouth closed on the barrel. He chomped down angrily, trying to get at
me. A bit in a rabid horse’s mouth. I grunted, my mind racing for options. The
knife sheathed on my left hip. No. I couldn’t get to that. Not unless I could
get the monster off me. I only needed a moment.

I’d just made up
my mind to push, hoping a jarring action would surprise my attacker, when
Ranger made an appearance. He launched himself onto the boy’s back and bit down
on his left shoulder. The child screeched angrily, reeling back from me, his
hands clawing at Ranger’s face. The dog did not release the boy. He shook his
head viciously, yanking the boy to and fro until a large chunk of flesh
released. The wound leeched crimson blood that quickly changed to glistening
black.

And the smell. I
thought I was getting used to it, but killing one in close quarters… the stench
was a sewage system, a city’s worth of refuse and waste.

The knife was
accessible now, a six inch blade, sharp and deadly. I yanked it from the sheath
with my weak hand and rammed its length into the boy’s left eye. It slid in
easily and came away coated in brain matter and shimmering eye fluid. As the
body fell, Ranger sidestepped, a satisfied growl leaving his mouth.

With the chaos
dying down, my eyes roved over the mass of bodies littering the grocery store.
Thirteen truly dead. One was still moving on the floor, the one Ranger had
pinned before. She was in bad shape, busted and bitten. I didn’t waste ammo,
using the knife once more to pierce her eye and shove the blade upwards into
her brain.

In the distance,
I heard more movement. There were too many places to hide here- stock room,
bakery, butcher counter, bathrooms. Quickly I read and processed all of the
store signs. I had some food now from the discount store; I needed to focus on
the most important items.

There it was. A
pharmacy near the front of the store hidden by large floral displays that were
wilting from neglect. I whistled low and started heading toward it, Ranger at
my heels.

The pharmacy
door was locked, but I made short work of it. They had to have Ativan. Stepping
inside, I nearly tripped over a body on the floor. I back-stepped quickly,
worried I’d just walked into a zombie nest and shoved my leg in an
ankle-biter’s face. Ranger made a surprised sound, scooting out of my way and
huffing.

“Sorry, Boy.” I
calmed him, patting his head, before turning my attention back to the pharmacy.
I’d realized almost immediately that the dead on the ground were not infected.
They were just normal corpses, lifeless and soulless.

They were
perfect, unmarred, pale in death with purple bruising coloring the skin that
lay against the floor. They must have been trapped here since everything
started this morning. No food, a bottle of water between them, and cannibal
kids blocking their exit. No way to escape and a choice between waiting for
rescue (or a slow death more like) and a quiet, endless sleep. The open bottles
of pills, colorful and creating a mosaic on the floor, told me what choice
they’d made.

Overdosing at
the end of the world.

I could see
that. If I were a civilian, untrained and scared, I might make the same choice.
Just take one too many and close my eyes…

Whoever said
suicide was cowardice has never been faced with impossible decisions and ultimate
consequences. Sometimes it feels like suicide is the only way to escape the
guilt.