If things had gone any better, I would have exploded. Come to think of it, at the time, I should have pinched myself to make doubly sure I wasn't dreaming.
No Infected. There were a thousand cars to duck behind, and not a single one sheltered a zombie with the same idea as me. The trip out to the store has gone absolutely swimmingly, and to top it all off, the front door of the shop was open. Broken, sure, but we were able to get inside with ease. Really, my only complaint was the lack of available supplies left, which I probably should have expected. Among all the random crap on the floor, I only managed to scrounge up three smashed granola bars and a box of Cheerios, which made my heart flip in my chest. I. Love. Cheerios. They're the best, and if you disagree, that's okay, but you're wrong.
There were a few other bits of stuff that might come in handy, at some point. String, a few pieces of cloth, a smashed water bottle - I grabbed them all. Better to have them and not need them than need them and not have them. It's not like they were weighing me down or anything, so why not. Not too far away, my infected companion rummaged behind the checkout counter. Every now and then, he would cram stuff into a pocket on his jacket, and once or twice, I saw him shove something small into his mouth. Good, he found his own stuff. Maybe he would leave my cereal alone. That was assuming he would follow me back to my haven, of course.
He did, but that's getting a bit ahead of myself here.
I kicked around some of the broken shelves. Who- or whatever had beaten us here, REALLY did a number on the place. Fragments of glass and splintered wood crackled under my shoes, along with pieces of food and—I paused, as there lay a wooden baseball bat. A chunk was missing from the thicker end, but that was definitely a bat. Needless to say, I was taking that with me. No sense in continuing on unarmed if I didn't have to, right?
So, for the run back, I held a travel-size box of Cheerios and granola bars in my back pockets, and a bat in my arm. The Smoker obviously had better luck, judging by the way his pockets bulged. It made me wonder—I always thought the Infected preferred living flesh. I created that image in my mind. If I was not mistaken, he had a packet of cheesy peanut butter crackers on him.
….Right. Whatever works, I guess. Better he munch on that than me.
His tongue had bled all over his dirty gray shirt. It hardly seemed to faze him, though, as he limped back to me. One look at my weapon made him pause, eye widening almost comically, darting between it and my face. I shouldered it, hoping that might put him at ease, which it seemed to. I could only assume he'd been smacked with one before, or something similar to it. Poor thing. I couldn't help but feel for him, yet at the same time, let's be real: he probably had it coming. Either that, or someone just freaked out because of his presence. It would suck either way.
Outside, metal slammed against the asphalt. It scared the hell out of both of us, yet somehow I managed to withhold a scream. The little wheeze he made would work in place. Along with the crash came the distinct, conjoined growling of regular, everyday infected, and I swear my heart skipped a few beats. One or two, I might have been able the handle now, with a weapon in my hands, but this didn't sound like a couple. Oh, no, this sounded like five or six and a whole lot of hell no. So, it was time to leave.
Bat tightly in hand, I crept toward the front door, gnawing a bloody hole in my lip. Everything on my body shook fiercely, to the point I thought I would drop my weapon, but I had to see what was going on and make a plan around it..
A pale man sauntered by the window. He held his head, groaning low in his throat, paying no mind to much of anything as he staggered along the sidewalk. Just beyond him, down an alley right across the street, a group of Infected was mobbing around one of their own. I could see it between the jumble of angry, starved bodies, just a thin, battered form scrambling in vain to escape. The injured female shrieked, hobbling out of the mob's reach, thought it was obvious she was done for. She hit a wall, and with an inhuman howl, the pack bore down on her. Luckily, I couldn't see the extent of the carnage. All I caught was the moment her prone feet stopped kicking.
How many normals had fallen that same way, I wondered. Countless, I knew, and if I were to open that door, the number would be one higher. In a flash of desperation, I almost did, right up until a balmy, dry hand grabbed hold of my elbow. Again, I didn't scream - go me! - but I did whip around to face my assailant, which turned out to be my suddenly-emboldened companion. He made a noise under his raspy breath, similar to his trademark call, only not nearly as loud. Tugging roughly at my arm, he all but dragged me to the back of the store. Sense told me to slam the bat upside his head and get the hell away from him. Sure, he had been docile thus far, but he was still Infected. Now he had the audacity to actually touch me on his own accord. I had the perfect opportunity.
So what did I do?
You guessed it - not that. Yeah, in theory, it was a smart idea, but I couldn't bring myself to do it, even if I actually wanted to.
Outside came a startled grunt. The sidewalk zombie had apparently looked up in time to see me. Upon processing that revelation, his gurgled scream echoed through the emptiness of the street, and he quickly took to throwing himself against the flimsy door barricading us from the hell outside. I hate to admit it, but I legitimately almost started crying. That had been our guaranteed way out, and now there was THAT to deal with. Plus, thinking about it, I pissed off a zombie. That thought alone was enough to induce tears.
The Smoker answered the zombie's frenzy with a scream of his own, and for a moment, the dull thud from the front paused. Maybe he thought he had mistakenly seen me? Maybe he was put off by the cry of a stronger infected? Ha, if only. The peace lasted for only a few seconds. More, louder thumps pounded on the frame, and my counterpart pulled harder on my arm, shuffling towards the storage area near the back of the store. He shouldered through the cracked door, with me in tow now following of my own free will, and he frantically turned to glance behind us.
The storage door would not hold anything back. It had no lock, was probably two sheets of cardboard glued together, and again I wanted to cry. However, around us were metal shelves and boxes, many with items still inside. Might have to dig through those later, just to be sure we got everything useful in this place, but for now, I took to dragging those shelves across the floor.
Thankfully, they were sturdy, and very easy to move. I did that all on my own. I struggled with a few of the boxes, though. The Smoker must have recognized my problem, once coming over to help me. Or so I thought. He stood beside me and watched, really. I do not think the concept of 'help me pick heavy stuff up' ever flitted through his mind. Regardless, I was able to stack enough of them to create a barricade. A shitty one, compared to some others I had seen, but it was better than nothing. So long as only a few came in to find us, we…might be okay? Panting, I looked over to the Smoker. I wished now more than ever that he could be quiet! If anything would give us away, it was his nearly constant hacking, which I knew he couldn't help but still I kept praying he'd just STOP. I have to give him credit, though; he was a little quieter, as if he knew we could end up in deep shit if he was not.
Wild growls and hisses reached my ears, and my breath stopped. They were close, too close. I was way too scared to even twitch, let alone move away from the door like a smart person would. He, on the other hand, shambled to the far end of the room.
NOW I thought I understood his fearful, nervous behavior. Hell, I would be the same way if hordes had been constantly chasing me, as I had a feeling they had been doing to him. Watching the infected turn on one another in their hunger and desperation, I wouldn't doubt a few might band together for the sake of taking down and devouring one of these special infected. And Smokers aren't exactly fast, if this one was anything to go by, so they'd be an obvious target. It made sense: his initial reaction, his hiding place, his attempt at complete silence. He knew how to avoid the masses. One on one he handled just fine, but when the numbers add up, he knew hiding was better. There was only one sure-fire way of learning that.
One question remained; why exactly had he taken me along with to hide?
Such inquiries were best left until later, when I had half a mind to think on the matter. Right now, there was a mob of Infected outside that I was fairly certain were searching for me. Maybe they saw my companion, too, but I knew for a fact I had been spotted, so I could only assume I was their main target. And they were on it, right near the door. I could hear the snarls, the groaning, the screeching the…what the fuck was that? Someone laughing? Wait, no, that's not right. Infected do not make noises like that. Come to think of it, it sounded less like a person laughing and more like a horse.
On crack.
The hand on my arm pulled me out of my stricken stupor. There was something different out there among the mass, and my smoker buddy knew it. Gentler than before, he urged me to follow him to the opposite wall, shuffling backwards until he couldn't anymore. Never once did his gaze leave the barricade while that creepy almost-laughter steadily grew louder. Without thinking, I grasped his jacket in one hand, the bat still tight in the other, and whispered shakily, "W-what the fuck is that?"
BAM
I jumped into the wall, biting my lip so not to scream, my heart slamminginto my ribs. They found us. I knew it, I knew they would. Wild laughter and frantic pounding on the wall made my cringe…but so far, my barricade held. Whatever was out there with the horde was not trying very hard, at least not at first. When it did, we knew it, as boxes toppled to the floor, and the shelves trembled with every shove it made.
What happened next, my mind could hardly comprehend. It made me wonder if there was still someone looking out for me.
Gunshots rang through the air. Yells followed suit; not Infected yells…but human. Human! Butterflies rose in my stomach as they slowly drew closer…closer…
"Get this Jockey off me!" a man shrieked. More shots fired over his fearful pleas. The pounding had ceased completely. Apparently, the Infected had something more interesting to play with now. I stood straight. There were people still alive out here! With that horde, who knew how long that would last. I bolted to the barricade, slipping around fallen boxes to jerk the shelves out of the way, just enough to give me some room. Excited hardly describes how I felt. Finally some human interaction!
Shoving the door open, I stumbled over lifeless bodies of the dead Infected. A group of three—two men and a woman—stood in a circle, firing at any straggling zombies as they neared. As the last few fell, one man turned to me and took aim. He eyed the bat in my hand and sneered.
"Who are you?" he asked harshly, like it mattered.
My mouth opened to respond only to snap shut. I could not help it. I never had a gun pointed at me before.
"Talk, or we'll shoot," the other man growled.
"Wh..I…" I cleared my throat. "R-Rachele. My name is Rachele." Despite their…severity, I could not be happier for the contact, especially after they lowered their guns.
"You okay, honey?" the woman asked, and I nodded slowly. Off to my right, a corpse caught my eye. It appeared to be a small man, but the shape was not quite right. Its arms were mangled and bent, its back hunched and spine protruding through pale skin. It lay face down on the floor, and for that I was grateful, as I really didn't want to see the face that went along with the body.. The woman offered me a gentle smile. "Never seen one of them, have ya?"
"Nasty little fucks," the first man said. "They'll run ya off a cliff if ya give 'em a chance."
"What is it?" I asked the question, but my mind answered with the obvious, "something to avoid'.
"They've been callin' them Jockeys," she replied, eyeing the corpse. "You'll get to see them all in time, I'm sure. Hope ya don't, but they've been poppin' up a lot lately." The two men grumbled, but she paid them no mind.. "Do you have a place to stay?"
I nodded as her companions took to searching shelves and drawers of the ransacked store. I knew there was nothing, but I didn't say anything. Let them be disappointed, I did not much care for those two, anyway.. They deserved at least that for even considering the thought of shooting me.
"Mind if we spend a night? We'd be out by morning."
I wanted to respond with a polite 'no', though I did not have time to do so, as the Smoker gimped over to the storage room doorway. He looked at me, cocking his head, and then to the woman there with me. At first, I thought nothing of it. Then, I suddenly remembered they were—
"SMOKER!" the elder man yelled, and bullets ricocheted off the steel frame. The Infected yelped and scampered out of sight, most likely to the back again where he had deemed it safe. The men charged after him with a certain glee that made me wonder if there was some kind of sadistic satisfaction in killing the Infected.
Now, in my mind, I kind of owed that damn Smoker. He did drag my ass away from certain death, after all, not once but twice now. He'd saved me in the parking lot before when he absolutely did not have to, and here I had a chance to repay that debt. What's really crazy is the fact that I didn't think much more on it. Before the guy could reach the doorway, I moved in to block his path, bracing both arms on the frame. Like that would make a damn bit of difference if the asshole decided to try to shoot through me.
"Girl, you best be gettin' the hell out of my way!"
"He's with me." Quick, simple, to the point, and to this day, I'm still shocked by the amount of conviction I managed to hold in my voice. It didn't waver, and damn if I didn't sound authoratative. Go me.
"What? That fucking monster isn't a—"
"He's. With. Me," I repeated, louder this time, stressing each word in hopes it would make the point. All three of them wore the same disgusted, disbelieving expression, and in the tense silence, I waited for another gun to point my way. Alas, I lucked out yet again as a gurgling groan from outside drew everyone's attention. I knew that noise as a Boomer lurking around, and apparently they knew it, too.
"Guys, c'mon. Let's go!" the younger man urged, edging towards the front door. Apparently, to him, I wasn't worth the trouble and neither was the smoker I was protecting. I had to question his decision to head to the front, though, as it sounded like that Boomer was out there somewhere, and fairly close. "Just leave 'er here!
The woman stared at me shortly before she followed, murmuring something a 'risk' and 'insanity' and 'stupid'. Yeah, okay lady, you were willing to stay with a stranger who needs supplies just as much as you do, while you carry more supplies than she does. That's pretty damn stupid, too. The elder man lingered behind a moment longer, seemingly only to snarl at me.
"You better put that fucker down before he does it to you first," he spat.. His eyes drifted from me, to the storeroom, and back. "They don't change back."
And with that, he, too, exited the store, leaving me alone with the uneasy wheezes of the Smoker. I turned back to find him at the back of the storage room, his shoulder now with dark, wet splotches at the shoulder that soaked through to the jacket he wore. He'd been hit, but at least it wasn't vital. He did manage to find the gall to come closer to me, now that the noise had died down, and stood just a few feet away.
I had just let the first people I'd encountered wander off without me in tow. I had just stood up for and protected an Infected. Oh, Rachele, you are really losing it here, aren't you?
He cocked his head, patting his coat as if he was checking his pockets for the loot he'd grabbed earlier. At least he could move the injured arm. Poor thing. I could not imagine a gunshot wound. Hell, I scream when I get a sliver in my finger, and here he's just rolling with a bullet in his shoulder. Maybe when we got back to the trailer, I could patch him up. Provided he'd let me, of course.
Pointing an accusing finger at him, a little smile slipped. It appeared that, as long as he continued to grace me with his noisy company, we were going to be together for a while. Just the two of us. "You owe me. I hope you realize that."
