"Drew and I are volunteers," offered Frank, excited.
"I wonder if there's a truck in there?" I mused, thinking of all the sirens we had heard from the first responders.
"The new one, I believe, is out," said Drew. "But the one we were selling is probably still in its bay. It was decommissioned, so it wasn't being used."
A thud sounded at the front of the store, followed by another. Our whole group drew weapons and made for the next room. We crept in silence through the darkness of the store, passing by odd shapes silhouetted in the black.
Another series of thuds and something hard striking glass made us freeze in our footsteps. I looked to my right and could faintly make out Ben holding his toy gun in one hand while he looked at me.
I could almost make out a silly grin as he softly said, "Hokey religions and ancient weapons are no match for a good blaster at your side, kid."
I raised my Colt. The hammer clicked as I pulled it back with my thumb. Ben's eyes went wide and his grin turned into a gulp.
Arriving at the front, I could see Dean lifting a corner of a poster covering the door. We could see a human, moonlight silhouetting it against the glass.
It stayed there, thumping against the entryway twice more before moving along. We stayed poised for action some time longer, waiting for the creature to return. When we were reasonably sure the event was over, we quietly returned to the back room and secured the door.
"I think they're former customers, mostly," Dean answered the unasked question. "I recognized at least two of them. They come to the door and it is almost like they don't know how to use it. Then, after a while, they just as mysteriously leave. It's almost as if they're going about their normal routine, mechanically, like a robot."
I added this observation to my mental notes, trying to compile information to solve the world's most pressing problem.
We stayed up another hour or so making plans for the next day. "The truck has a turntable ladder, located behind the cab," Frank explained that locating it there gave it more stability. They both assured us that either one of them could drive it, having moved the vehicle a few times each. When we felt comfortable with our operation, we decided on a watch order and took turns sleeping.
My watch was the last, so toward the end of my shift I was able to explore the front of the shop. Light filtering through tiny gaps in the posters plastering the front windows and door indicated that it was safe to turn on the lights. I still wanted to stay hidden but felt confident that the images covering nearly every square inch of glass would hide my presence.
I never knew there were so many comic books. They lined the walls in alphabetical order, back issues filed behind the more recent ones in the specially designed racks. The center areas had tables for gaming and some were covered with boxes of older back issues, all bagged with white cardboard inserts to keep them from bending.
I had never been in a store like this. There were action figures, t-shirts, and games of all kinds, even movies, some in the form of VHF tapes. It was as if someone had peeked into a typical guy’s childhood and placed some of his favorite moments here. I could see why these guys loved this stuff. My moments wandering alone in the shop made it all very clear.
I was browsing through a rack of t-shirts with images ranging from scenes to character logos.
"You might want to change into one of those," Drew said, indicating the rounder by pointing a half-eaten Twinkie. "Your shirt looks like it could stand up by itself." I looked at his outfit and let my rebuttal slide.
"I don't have any money," I said, reaching for a wallet that was conveniently at home.
"You can owe me. Besides, I don't think our currency is good anymore, at least not during a Zombie Apocalypse."
I smiled, pulling out a shirt with a Superman logo. "Why are most of the shirts size small?"
The corners of his mouth rose as he ran a hand through his greasy lock. "You've obviously never seen my patrons. They tend to buy up the larger ones."
Not getting the joke, I stripped off my old, plaid button-down shirt and replaced it with the clean t-shirt. As I dropped the shirt on the floor, I noticed that it did, kind of, stand up. Areas stiff with dry blood and gore retained the shape of my torso. It felt weird to put the crisp new garment over my cruddy body, but it also made me feel a little better. Looking down at my slacks, I wished I could replace those, but at least this was a start.
Drew looked at my pants sympathetically. "I have more costumes upstairs," he offered.
I looked at my new friend and smiled. His own outfit was in need of a change. I could only guess, but I was betting that the outfit he had on was the only Batman suit of that size.
"Do you have anything semi-normal?" I asked in my most diplomatic tone.
"Probably not, but we can go see."
The others were all stirring, so we told Dean where we were going and asked him if he wanted to have a look. One glance down at the front of himself and he was right on our heels.
The upstairs was much like the lower level, posters on the walls and more boxes of comic books. Drew explained that these were the duplicates. In the back were rounders hung with various costumes hanging neatly by size. The windows were all covered with heavy blackout curtains to prevent fading of the fabric.
There were costumes for cartoon characters, science fiction, and superheroes. They were all sorted by size and genre.
"Do any of these getups have regular pants?" Dean asked, going straight to the point.
"Well, the Hulk wears stretchy purple pants, but they're kinda big," Drew said with a shrug. "If a character wears normal pants, then we only supply the other parts; the odd, character-specific parts of their outfit."
We sorted through most of the stuff, but anything we found that came close to what we wanted, the material was far too thin for everyday use, let alone to hold up against your average zombie attack.
As I was finishing up, I noticed Drew and Dean peering out one of the windows. The curtain was pulled back and they were pointing at different things.
"What are you guys doing?" I asked, taking a look out at the bright day.
"The undead don't look up," Drew observed.
"What?" I asked, jockeying for position at the window.
"The zombies, they don't look at anything that isn't on their level. They don't look up."
Of the three undead I could see, none of them seemed to look up. I don't know how this fit into the picture, but it was something to think about.
"If I only had a Batarang," Drew mused. "And the upper body strength to use it."
"You'd what," asked Dean. "Swing across to the next building."
"I'd rather do that then cross on their level," he said an edge to his voice. "I'm scared."
"Would Batman be scared?" I asked, leveling my gaze at him.
Drew dropped his eyes to his feet. "No!"
"Then maybe instead of dressing like him, you should be more like him."
Drew's eyes raised and looked straight into mine. A look of determination steeled his features.
"Let's go down and get ready," I said, finishing my pep talk.
"I'll be down in a minute," Drew said, walking off into a corner of the room.
We descended the stairs and began preparing to cross the street to the fire station. Ben and Frank were whining about having to leave the safety of the comic book shop, making excuses for why we should all stay there.
We made plans the night before and no one had said a word, but now that we were about to set it in motion, these two were getting cold feet. As I was listening to Frank's monolog about the finer points of staying here, Drew slowly appeared. Hand on the rail, he took the last steps to the landing. He had put on a pair of blue jeans but still had the Batman spandex top with attached cape on. The cloth cowl, pushed back off his head, laid back on the cape like a hood. The shirt was neatly tucked into his snug pants.
The utility belt completed his ensemble.
"We're almost out of food!" he said in a final sort of way. "If we don't leave now, with them, we'll soon have no food left at all."
"We could all stay here," Ben argued in a pleading voice.
"They are leaving, and our best chance at living is to follow them."
Frank puffed out his chest and nearly shouted, "We don't need them! We've survived here since the beginning. We can raid the mini mart again."
"Have you looked outside?" Drew demanded, gesturing toward a wall covered with posters. I wasn't about to point this out because it seemed he was on a roll. "There are ten times the amount of zombies since we looted the convenience store and our weapons suck."
Ben looked down at the Han Solo blaster holstered at his side and seemed to deflate. "I'm scared," he stated in a small voice.
"We're all scared," I added, putting my hand warmly on his shoulder. "But sometimes we have to dig deep down and become like these superheroes that you guys have read so much about. A woman, my wife, and her coworkers are in trouble and even now may be dying of exposure. We need to be their heroes."
I looked into their eyes and they all were clear, shining with an inner light, burning with determination. They all stood taller, even Dean. They were ready.
We stashed all the food and bottled water the guys had left over. I had a little beef jerky and some other dry goods drifting around the bottom of my bag. I believe Dean had the same.
My neighbor passed out the remaining guns we had. The one shotgun he had to clear the jam out of, but the remaining one was fine as well as the rifle.
The guys looked comical with their real weapons. Having never even held a gun that wasn't made of plastic before, they held the lethal steel almost at arm's length.
Each of the new recruits got a crash course on how and when to fire the gun. Dean told them to shoot for the head but to wait till the zombies were close enough to assure a lethal hit.
We each shouldered our bags, the guy's from the comic book store all bearing some type of logo belonging to an admired superhero, and readied our weapons. Drew looked about his shop one last time and then put his eye to the peephole. "Clear!" he said, throwing the bolts free and yanking the door open. It stopped after opening a mere four inches. The chain twanged taut. Hastily, he closed the door and released the final barrier before opening the way once again. This time, it ferociously opened wide, nearly taking Dean with it as it swung to the wall. The drywall crunched under the impact with the doorknob.
We made the short dash to the steel fire hall door. I took the lead, alert to any need for cover fire as Drew unlocked the entryway. I looked over my shoulder as I cleared the threshold. A few of the animated dead had taken notice and were stumbling our way. They moaned hungrily as their shuffling steps brought them closer. All at once, the light was gone. The door had closed so rapidly that it seemed like in the blink of an eye we were plunged us into darkness.
We waited for a few moments, allowing our eyes to adjust to the shock of the twilight interior of the hall. All I could hear was the rhythmic breathing of the men after our brief sprint. Slowly, my eyes adjusted to the contrast between sunny outside and dusky interior. The door was at the front of the hall. Tables in neat rows spoke of bingo games and spaghetti dinners. The folding metal chairs were all upside down, sitting on top of the tables as if waiting for someone to mop the floor.
"Search for more food and water," I commanded as the little light from high windows became enough for us to navigate with. A slow series of thumps at the door marked the zombies' arrival.
As the three quietly darted down the center aisle toward the kitchen, Drew leaned close. "The keys are in the office," he said in a whisper.
"Go!" I answered, releasing him to his part of the plan.
I watched his bulk disappear into the gloom and started to where I thought the garage bays would be. Twin double doors made way to a huge cavernous garage. I could see where two other vehicles were formerly parked and beyond was our prize; a big, shiny, red fire truck with a telescopic ladder mounted behind its cab. Frank had explained that it was called a 'mid-ship.' This style was more stable for engines with a shorter wheelbase. It looked huge to me as I stepped up to the passenger side of the cab.
The three I had sent for supplies were hot on the heels of Drew, who came jogging toward me with a set of keys dangling from his upraised hands. "Isn't she a beauty?" he cried, more a statement than a question. I raised my fist in victory as the others came into view. They were pulling three carts stacked with food.
Boxes of pasta and jars of sauce filled the top of one of the carts. Cases of water were nearly toppling off of one another.
"They must have been planning a party," Dean remarked, skidding to a halt beside the vehicle.
"We were," answered Frank, sounding glum. "A family lost their home to a fire. We were collecting food for them. There was a spaghetti dinner fundraiser scheduled. I guess they won't need this stuff now."
"Where can we put it all?" I asked, looking at the big square box with the ladder on top.
Drew reached down and opened a massive cargo area. "This thing's covered with cargo holds and they're all empty. Remember, we were going to sell it."
Frank chimed in, "Best of all, the reservoir is still full. It has about a thousand gallons of water inside."
I just marveled at the vehicle for a moment. With that much water, we could drink till we exploded, bathe, or even have clean clothes. That was truly a wonder in this world without power.
We all pitched in, scouring the building for any scrap of edible food. Nothing was left. We packed the cargo holds with anything that we felt would be useful. Pots, pans, tarps, and axes; we stored it all. When we finished, I hopped into the passenger side while Drew took the driver's seat.
The three remaining guys piled into the crew seating area behind the front cab. Our pilot checked to make sure everyone was secure.
Drew fired up the massive engine. It roared to life, rumbling with a telltale diesel sound. As he revved the motor, I could feel the vehicle tremble at the power under the hood. I watched as he reached for a garage door opener.
"There's no power," I said loudly before he could depress the button.
"It has a battery backup," he called back, grinning as he pressed the mechanism.
The door’s motor engaged and slowly began to rise. Several legs came into view as undead, drawn by our rush to the building, shifted position to the sound of the truck.
As the door reached the zombies’ waists, I could see them banging at the door, unable to figure out how to get to us. They knew something living was inside and redoubled their efforts. As the opening reached shoulder height, the first of the walking corpses entered the garage, heads leaning at awkward angles as the lifeless creatures squirmed to gain access.
At first, it was just a few, the shorter ones, who shuffled toward the idling engine; drawn by the sound, not knowing where their prey hid. As more undead entered the bay, the first wandered away from the rumbling sound and almost immediately saw their quarry in the cab. I guess Drew's earlier observation had a hole in it. The zombies looked up this high.
Cold, grimy hands reached for us, falling way short of even the glass. Soft thuds marked their attempts at breaking through the door. I felt an odd feeling of security in our elevated vantage point, a safe island in a sea of horror.
By the time the door had reached its apex, there was a crowd of the creatures. I was a little concerned that the sheer bulk of their mass would stymie any attempt at us making forward progress. Drew put the automatic transmission in drive and we surged ahead, pushing through the throng with no problem.
The sound of the engine, thankfully, hid the sounds of the undead being crushed under the massive tires of the fire engine. I couldn't even detect any rise or fall as we obviously
drove over the zombies who had so thickly packed in the open bay. As we cleared the doors, bright light replaced the gloom of the garage. Walking corpses filed out into the street, drawn by the roar of the truck. In search of an easy meal, they walked right into the path of the massive rescue vehicle.
Some of the living dead, we took head on, their arms reaching forward and hands clutching in anticipation as they shuffled right into the grill. Others lurched right into the side of the big, red truck, either bouncing off or spinning wildly to the ground.
We were all exuberant, giddy with the feeling of not having to fear the undead. Rather, we were issuing a little payback and exacting a small toll on the number of our enemy. Cheering and high fives were exchanged in the crew compartment as the occupants went from watching out the windows to nearly hopping up and down with joy.
As we left the main part of town, the zombies attacking our moving vehicle dropped to a trickle. The fire engine seemed not to have suffered from the impacts with our nonliving pursuers. Drew didn't change his tactics as he turned slightly to strike a grimy-looking woman whose flower print blouse was plastered to her body, half covered with what looked like dried blood.
"That's twenty points!" he said, pumping his fist in the air.
I gave him a questioning look. "Twenty points?"
"Death Race 2000? You've had to have seen that one, right?"
I tried to remember the movie he was referring to, but my friends in those days were less the drive in and more the library type. "Sorry."
"It's a classic cult film. You gotta see it!" he said enthusiastically.
"The world is a Death Race now. I don't know if we'll ever have time to watch a movie again. Dean and I have been on the run for what seemed like weeks." The reality dawned on me the more I thought about it. It had nearly had been nearly five days since I had seen my wife. Sporadic text messages had filled in the gaps, but we had been so wrapped up in staying alive that I hadn't had much time to think of the person I loved.
Chapter 23
Melissa