"Why are you being so loud?" Sinclaire muttered into the long Georgia twilight.
Her headache was no longer brutally painful but it had reached that annoying level of pain that wasn't quite pain but more of a heavy tenderness.
The noise didn't stop, instead it moved and that was when it occurred to her that it wasn't a snore and it wasn't beside her. It was more of a growl and it was in front of her. Right where the roll door should have been.
There was a moment when she considered not opening her eyes. It was better not to anticipate death. Then there was a moment of hope. Maybe Merle would handle it somehow. Then realization came, paralyzing in the fear and anger that came with it. The roll door was open; her M9 was gone. He'd left her.
She pushed herself back as the zombie lunged forward. It was the wrong move and she knew it even as she backed herself into a corner. Her heart was pounding in her ears and the only weapon near at hand was a long hunting knife that must belong to Merle because it wasn't hers.
She did not want to get blood borne pathogens on every supply she'd worked so hard to accumulate. Sinclaire grabbed the knife, cursed and stood up. The zombie took a clumsy swipe at her. She dodged and backed up, retracing her steps, heading toward the open door, baiting the thing. It took the bait readily, growling and following her.
It felt like it took a long time, but she managed to keep distance between it and her until she felt the edge of the truck bed under her boot. She jumped down and immediately realized her problems were bigger than she'd thought.
Apparently the zombie following her out of the truck was an intrepid fellow because there was an entire freaking swarm of them on the way.
"Fuck!" The word came out too loud and all the rest of the swarm turned eagerly her way, so she went on. The damage was done, so she vented at the top of her lungs. "Fuck you Merle Dixon!"
She switched her grip on the knife, raising it as the zombie moved within range, but she never struck the blow. A muffled noise a split second before the creature's brains spilled out of a hole in the left side of its head, drew her attention to the right.
"Told ya I bet I could shoot left handed," Merle bragged. "Now, get that sweet ass in the truck before the rest of those things get here!"
Sinclaire thought of a lot of things to say, but she recognized that now wasn't the time to say any of them. She leaped into the truck and he followed, yanking the door down.
"See?" he drawled. "Saved your ass didn't I?"
"Saved my ass? You're the reason I nearly died!"
"How ya figure that?"
"I "figure that" because you took my gun, you left the door open, and you left me asleep! If I hadn't woken up when I did that thing could have bitten me or scratched me or fucking killed me!"
"Yeah well, I wasn't ever that far away," Merle informed her. "And I figured you'd have the sense to yell for me if there was trouble. Instead all I get is "Fuck you Merle Dixon." what's that about?"
"I…" she decided not to bother. "Where were you?"
"Praticin' shootin'. Didn't need as much practice as I thought I might turns out."
"Practicing shooting? Do you think that might have had something to do with the hoard that has descended around us?" Sinclaire finished the sentence with as much sarcasm as she could muster.
"Might could," Merle agreed. "But I had to show ya I can still handle a gun didn't I? Hell I'd show ya the target if it wasn't for those fuckers."
Sinclaire jumped when she heard a cacophony of noise as zombie nails met the metal of the truck.
"This doesn't seem to be the time to talk about it," she said.
"Can I keep the gun?"
"No you can't keep the gun! It's my damn gun!"
"Yeah, but I'm kinda stuck with a handgun ain't I? Couldn't do much with that shotgun there and I ain't walkin' into a city full of them things with nothin' but a knife!"
"Fine!" she sighed as another spate of blows rained down on the truck. "You can borrow the gun. We'll see if we can find you one of your own at the base. Reload it while I drive."
He nodded like she owed him and she wanted very much to reintroduce her knee to his balls.
"And I will feel free to take it back if you can't handle your withdrawal," she reminded him.
"I've got all that shit under control," he replied insolently.
He wasn't doing a bad job of handling it actually, he just wished the cravings would fucking stop. The depressions were pretty easy to handle if he kept his mind on other stuff. He wasn't the type to sit around whimperin' like a bitch. Hadn't that been the reason he'd cut off his hand? So he didn't have to worry about waiting for someone to come along and fix shit for him?
He reloaded the gun carefully, surprised by the next thought that crossed his mind. He didn't mind the company of Sinclaire Lewis. She wasn't afraid of a good fight and he found a reluctant sort of respect growing for her. If he was a different sort of man, he might have considered apologizing for nearly getting her killed, because he knew he should have closed that door; he shrugged the thought away. She'd handled herself just fine.
Sinclaire drove toward Atlanta; there wasn't much point in waiting anymore. It was more likely that the city would get worse before it got better…if getting better was an option for this situation. She frankly didn't see that happening.
"You done with that gun yet?" she called impatiently.
"Yeah."
"Well then come up here. I need someone to bounce ideas off of."
He climbed into the front seat and looked at her.
"I thought we was goin' back to your base. Ya can't expect me to know much about that."
"No. But I can tell you that layout of the place and you can help me. You said you were military. Strategize with me."
"All right. Tell me about the place."
"It was an outpost, mostly just for supplies," she began. "My unit was stationed there, ferrying supplies. The building had been a kindergarten at one point, it was closed down. It's shaped like a capital "I", with a courtyard in the open part, where the playground was. There is one entrance in the middle, and four entrances at each end of the corridors. The front was closed off; we only used the three entrances in the back."
"We outta aim for the one in the middle," Merle said. "Then we could back the truck right up to the door."
She nodded and said, "And the fuel barrels…if they're still there…are in the courtyard right by that entrance. I just don't know if the place is overrun or not."
"Only one way to find out," he pointed out. "Where are the other supplies at?"
"Medical and the like are in the right wing rooms," she replied. "Food and water are in the left wing rooms."
"So we want it all? Or what?"
"Well, I don't know. Medical…we're doing okay. Most of the stuff there's just no point in taking. I'm not a nurse and I don't guess you are either," at his snort, she continued. "I guess I'm most worried about water, with the heat and all. And food. There were crates and crates of MRE's. I guess we should concentrate on the left if we can get to it. Ammo and weaponry was in the far left, in one of the back rooms. We need to get to that if it's at all possible."
"All right then. That's the plan. Get there. Load up fuel first, back up to the one door in the middle, fuck the right side, get to the left, water, MRE's, ammo and weaponry then book it the fuck out?"
"Yep," she agreed. "We fuel it up, maybe eat, head for the CDC."
"I wonder why they went there," Merle mused. "Seems kinda dumb to me. If they coulda fixed it don't ya think they woulda?"
"Yeah, I do," Sinclaire agreed. "Last we heard their situation wasn't any better than anybody else's. The pressure was really on them more than anyone for awhile you know. There were units sent just to handle the civilian panic at the place."
"I reckon so," he agreed. "People were goin' ape shit crazy where me and Daryl are from. Everything's worse in the big cities."
"Panic especially. People do crazy things…who knows? Maybe nobody at the CDC is even still alive," she pointed out.
"You ain't an optimist are ya?"
"Fuck no."
"Good," Merle gave her half a grin. "I'd hate to have to smack ya."
"I wouldn't be able to blame you if I came off all chipper. I'd smack myself." She pointed and said, "There it is."
"Think we outta do this at night?"
"I don't really see what difference it makes do you? We'll hear them and they'll smell us either way. And there should be some night vision stuff in there…if we get that far."
The truck rattled as she drove through the grass into the courtyard. There were about twenty zombies milling around and a few corpses more than half eaten with gaping head wounds and blood staining the grass around them. They all wore fatigues and Merle noticed that Sinclaire jerked her gaze away from them as quickly as she could.
"You said you outrank me," he said. "What were you?"
"Captain. This was my first command. You see how well it went."
So that was why she couldn't look. They'd been her men.
"Hell wasn't nothin' you coulda done," he surprised them both by saying. "Whole damn country went to shit. It wasn't just your company."
"Thanks," she tucked her hair behind her ears and said, "All right. The fuel barrels are over there. I wish we had another person to use as bait while we get the truck loaded…"
"You're one cold woman," he informed her.
"Well, not literal bait…more of a distraction. I don't think I can lift them, and…"
"And I've only got one hand," he frowned. "Ya a fast runner?"
"Reasonably. But…"
"Well, ya gotta be faster than them things. Lead 'em off in one direction, I can roll the barrels to the truck, swing back around and we'll load 'em in."
"That sounds insane! And I notice you aren't volunteering for the running."
"Do I look like a motherfuckin' runner?
"Point taken I guess. All right. If I die you're still pretty screwed though."
"That make you feel better?"
"Strangely enough it does," Sinclaire admitted.
She grabbed the shot gun and opened the door, then took a deep breath and ran toward the hoard. Their interest was immediately peaked. She weaved through easily, heading toward the small wooded area at the right of the school. When she was as deep into the woods as she could go, she let off a few shotgun blasts, drawing the rest.
Merle rolled a few barrels the trucks way and took care of the few zombies that didn't chase Sinclaire, figuring that was what the lazy bastards deserved. He tried to lift the fuel, but it was just too heavy and entirely the wrong shape to lift one handed. He was sure as fuck screwed if she didn't get back.
Sinclaire pivoted and bolted, putting on much more speed on her way back to the truck. Merle actually smiled when she skidded up to him.
"Let's do it!" she gasped.
The lifted together, shoving three barrels quickly into the truck. Well, relatively quickly. The barrels were 31.5 gallons of gas, so they weighed nearly 200 pounds apiece and Merle and Sinclaire were an awkward team with the uneven number of hands.
"Get the door," she said. "I'll back up to it. We're running out of time."
The zombies, realizing they'd been had, were shambling back toward them. Merle headed for the door, not surprised to find it locked. Now what? He personally would have been all for breaking the glass, but then what would keep the hoard out?
Sinclaire back up as tight to the door as she could and jumped out.
"Why are you just standing here?"
"It's locked."
"Well hell yes it's locked!" she snorted. "You don't know how to pick a lock?"
"Yeah. With my fuckin' right hand!"
"All right, all right! Make sure nothing gets me."
She set to work and a few minutes later the lock was open. The door however, remained firm.
"What the fuck?"
"You better goddamn figure it out!" Merle snapped. "If I get bit 'cause of your bad lock pickin' skills…"
"The lock is picked! It's just…"
Merle turned, rattled the doors experimentally and then drew his knife, handing her the gun. He shoved the knife through the crack in the door, jerked down quickly and shoved the doors open.
"Poor man's deadbolt," he explained as they went in, shutting and locking the door behind them, as he gestured to the plastic zip tie that had been around the door handles.
"Nicely done," she admitted, catching her breath. "Seems pretty quiet in here to me."
"Me too. And it don't really stink, like those fuckers do."
"Yeah. But I'm wondering if all the doors are locked from the inside like that," Sinclaire hadn't for one second thought of the possibility of survivors.
"Me too," Merle said again. "That'll mean you'll wanna bargain and shit."
"Well, let's check it out. See what we can see."
She led the way down the corridor, shining her flashlight into the corners and listening carefully. Merle was listening too and walking quieter than she would have given him credit for. In terms of being saddled with a one-handed survivor, she was surprised by the thought that she'd really lucked out.
Once they were in the left wing of the school, Sinclaire pushed a door open and shone her flashlight on what looked like a department store after a holiday markdown. The supplies were jumbled, picked over and strewn everywhere, but rather than tinsel and garland, it was crates of bottled water, MRE's, and even strangely enough, some medical supplies.
"Reckon people was makin' room in their packs," Merle whispered.
"Makes sense," Sinclaire agreed. She handed him one of the empty backpacks she'd brought and said, "We should try to get most of it in crates. The bandages and stuff can go in the backpacks. They're here; we might as well take them. If we get it in crates…"
"It'll be easier to stack it in the truck," he cut in. "I ain't stupid."
"I know. I just…talk when I'm freaked out I guess."
"You more freaked out now than you were outside?"
"It's crazy, but yes. I am. I know what those things want from me. I don't know if we're alone here."
She was reorganizing a crate of bottled water but her hands went still when a voice that didn't have even the slightest Southern accent wound through the room.
"You know now. You're not alone, Captain Lewis."