"I hear a h.e.l.luva a lot of nothin' but static-"

"Ssh. Turn that thing off. Listen." Shaun put the crossword puzzle book on the counter, but sat riveted with the blue pen and chain still dangling from his clenched fist.

A low moan emanated from above.

CHAPTER 17.

Dejah and Shaun looked upward, holding their breath. Something in the ceiling sc.r.a.ped around like cinder blocks over cardboard. Whatever was up there, above the water-stained tiles, was a lot bigger than a rat.

One of the brownish ceiling tiles sagged under weight.

"How'd it get in?" Shaun whispered.

"I don't know." Dejah scanned the room for something to use as a weapon. Frank had all the guns in the back room where he was sleeping. From the sounds of his snoring, a freight train could barrel through the Bocadomart and he'd never hear it.

Shaun inched toward the broom propped in the corner and wrapped his fingers around the stick. Dejah nodded. Nearby a metal display stand was stuck between plastic packages of toilet paper. She grabbed it and turned it over. Two metal p.r.o.ngs stuck out vertically. She smiled. Shaun gave her a weak thumbs-up.

The next moan they heard was followed closely by hoa.r.s.e gagging: a sound like a cat trying to rid itself of one ma.s.sive, phlegm-engorged hairball. The raspy choking-cough rattled the ceiling tile. Dust and bits of insulation peppered the floor beneath.

Shaun's eyes widened as the ceiling tile bent further. The underneath side began to split. Dejah gripped the metal sign with new intensity.

With a burst of dust and a cloud of pink and yellow insulation, a gore-smeared zombie sprawled from the ceiling in a heavy thud. Decades of rat t.u.r.ds and debris rained from the s.p.a.ce, leaving Dejah and Shaun sputtering to maintain a defensive position.

The thing scrambled onto all fours. It shoved itself from the floor, snarling and snapping like some rabid beast. It sc.r.a.ped the air with broken fingernails, gray and jagged. Thick, globular saliva trailed from its mouth, over its chest. Blood, bits of flesh, and thick, congealing brain matter coated the infected zombie's face and arms.

It walked toward Shaun, mumbling incoherently in something akin to Spanish, but slurred, muddled. Dejah paced slowly, not wanting to alarm the fiend, not wanting it to propel itself forward onto Shaun. She s.n.a.t.c.hed a candy bar from the shelf and pegged the b.a.s.t.a.r.d in the back of the head. "Hey, over here!"

It gave a low, pained noise and spun toward Dejah.

Shaun took a swing at the zombie's head, using the broomstick like a baseball bat. The broom handle struck its mark, but bounced from the back of the thing's head like it was made of rubber.

"d.a.m.n!" Shaun shouted.

The zombie jumped Dejah, knocking her backward. She worked the metal p.r.o.ngs of the sign up toward the zombie's face, but the monster was too strong. Wrapping its ashen fingers around the metal, the sign was yanked from Dejah's grasp and slung across the store. The thing hovered over Dejah's face, s...o...b..r drooling over her hair and head. She pushed at its chest, but her hands only slipped and slid in the caked-on remnants of someone's innards. The smell of s.h.i.t and rotting meat clung to the zombie's clothes. Dejah gagged.

"Uhhhhhhhhhh," the thing moaned, teeth only centimeters from Dejah's face.

She vomited. Vomited in an upward exploding fountain of Snickers, Doritos, and brown soda. The force of the vomit splashed against the face of the zombie and the infected man awkwardly pulled himself up using the metal shelving beside him as an anchor. It went berserk as if it were suddenly caged, trying to wipe the puke from its eyes and nose.

"Get out of the way!" It was Frank. He stood in the doorway of the backroom, shotgun ready for action.

Dejah used her legs to push herself backward along the vomit-slicked floor. She grabbed the same shelving the zombie had used, and scrambled to her feet, slipping in her regurgitated meal, finally getting to the other side of the store.

The zombie wailed, smearing vomit and gore around on its face.

Boom! Boom!

The room reverberated with cannon blasts as Frank unloaded the shotgun into the face of the zombie.

"f.u.c.king Sickie!" Frank racked the gun and fired off one more sh.e.l.l.

The thing dropped like a bag of sand, landing on the floor a few feet from Shaun.

Everyone was quiet. All that could be heard was a dull ringing from the gunshots and their heavy breathing as they stood there processing what just happened. Frank stood with the gun smoking in his hand, looking at Dejah with an expression of anger and disgust. Behind his eyes the dream of drinking beer in Bocadomart till the National Guard showed up just died. His face said it all: the place wasn't the virtual fortress he imagined it to be.

"Get yerself cleaned up. Me and the boy will start packing supplies. If one of those f.u.c.kers got in, more of them will follow. There might already be more up there for all we know."

Frank looked into the dark cavity above them.

Dejah grabbed a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt like the ones Shaun wore and hurried to the restroom. She locked herself inside. She leaned against the door, head back, wiping her hair away from her face. Chunks of partially digested food clung to her fingers. She looked sideways into the cracked mirror hanging askance above the sink that stuck out too far from the plastered wall. "Oh, G.o.d," she moaned, peeling off her clothes. She tossed them into a heap in the corner and used a wad of paper towels to sponge herself. Sticking her head as far under the grimy tap as she could, she let the warm water run over her hair and face. It felt good. Refreshing. Using the hand soap as shampoo, she squirted the green stuff into her hands and scrubbed the vomit and zombie spit from her hair.

When she'd done all she could, she turned off the creaky spigot. A beach towel hung from the hook on the back of the door, and she wrapped it around her wet hair. Already she felt better as she tugged on the sweatpants and shirt.

Someone rapped on the outside of the door.

"Yeah?"

"You bout done in there?" It was Frank.

"Yeah," she said, opening the door.

"We've packed up the ammo, moved the guns and gas cans to the front of the store. We've packed up food and water in boxes we found in the backroom. It's all ready to be loaded into the Hummer."

Dejah looked over at Shaun who was chugging a root beer, wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand.

"That was fast," she said.

"We're not packing for Prom night, sister," Frank said with a grin.

"Suppose not," Dejah said, returning the grin. She held out Shaun's socks, now dried. "Here's your socks. You'll need to put your tennis shoes back on. Can't run far in flip flops."

Shaun took the socks. "Hope I don't have to do much running."

Frank frowned. "Me either, son. I'm afraid I don't have much get up and go left in these old legs."

"I'm a.s.suming you have a plan?" Dejah hoped Frank had figured out how to manage their escape while she was washing in the restroom.

Shaun was watching the surveillance monitor with a new interest. "Uhm, guys, we've got more company."

"d.a.m.n," Dejah and Frank said in unison.

Lumbering Sickies gathered around the front of the store.

"Must have heard the shotgun," Shaun offered.

"Yeah, figured they might," Frank replied.

Dejah watched the grainy black and white of the monitor closely. "Maybe we can outwait them."

"No. It's time to go. It was nice while it lasted, but the Bocadomart honeymoon's come to an end. I think our best bet is for me to back the Hummer up to the front door. Get in as tight as I can. We'll load the stuff up through the back of the vehicle. That way none of those b.a.s.t.a.r.ds can get to us while we're loading."

"But what about while you're running out there to get into the Hummer?" Dejah said.

"It's right there. I'll be in and turned around in a few seconds. Y'all stand ready to open this security door when you hear me backing up."

"Okay," Dejah said, a scowl on her face. "You're going under a crack in the metal door to get outside?"

"Well, I ain't doin' the Limbo, but yeah, I'll go under the door and run to the Hummer."

Frank loaded a Glock and stuck it in the front of his pants. He fished his car keys from his pocket and waited for Dejah to get ready to open the security doors.

"Wait," Dejah said, panic in her voice. "Let me try calling Thomas one more time." Shaun and Frank stood there, silent, as she ran to the phone, and dialed the number. They waited for what they knew she knew she'd hear. Dejah put the receiver back onto the phone with a look of despair. She stared at the phone, and then said, quietly, "Okay. Let's go."

Dejah pulled up the security door, revealing a sliver of darkening twilight and concrete, while Frank scurried outside. She quickly closed the door as soon as he slipped out. Shaun monitored the surveillance screen. "Okay! He's in!" They heard the rumble of the Hummer starting up outside, and Dejah listened for the sound of Frank backing the truck up against the door.

Shaun shouted from the monitor. "Open the door!"

With an upward thrust, Dejah let the security door roll. They yanked open the back door of the Hummer and began pushing the supplies inside. Frank had previously removed all but the front seat. Obviously, he'd thought of this before. The two of them handed things to Frank inside the Hummer and he arranged the gas toward the back with the food and ammo in the front. He left a hole for Shaun to sit and a small pa.s.sage to squeeze through to get into the vehicle so no one would have to go outside the Hummer.

As they packed, the moans of the infected could be heard coming closer. Finally, they heard fists pounding on the sides of the vehicle, and talon-like scratching on the Hummer's exterior.

"That's it," Dejah said. She cracked the top of a bottle of water and gulped it. "Last chance for a cold drink."

"Or hot coffee," Frank said with a sorrowful laugh.

Shaun rolled up a few crossword and comic books, tying them with the blue pen and chain, and tucked them under his arm. "Adios, Bocadomart!"

Frank and Dejah crawled into the Hummer. Shaun jumped in after them, pulling the Hummer door closed.

The Hummer rocked with the force of the gathering infected. Faces smashed against the windows, smearing mucous and blood around on the gla.s.s like mud from a rainstorm.

"Oh G.o.d!" Dejah shrieked as a large man leapt toward the front grill of the Hummer.

"Hold on to your hats!" Frank shouted and floored the gas. The Hummer's tires screeched as it shot forward, sucking the snarling man under the front of the vehicle. The thud and b.u.mps of several other zombies falling beneath the wheels were loud inside the cab, like tennis shoes thumping inside a clothes dryer.

They tore out of the parking lot as the street lamps came on, illuminating the night in a white glow that showed the full extent of the neighborhood's decay on every street corner. Dejah looked through the rear window, over the bouncing boxes of supplies, at the crowds of the infected that stirred at their vehicle's pa.s.sing. Shaun clutched the nearest box for stability, his eyes glued to the road in front. Their eyes met for an instant, full of fear, and grim determination.

CHAPTER 18.

Frank drove the Hummer over a curb and around the three cars blocking the street. Carefully, he wedged between two trucks, pushing one slightly to the side to fit through. Vehicles were stalled everywhere. And, where there weren't cars, there were bodies. Bodies of the ones fortunate enough to be immune from the infection, but unfortunate enough to have fallen victim to the infected. Gutted corpses lay face down with black puddles coagulated around sprawled limbs. Dismembered bodies lay belly up, hollowed cavities burrowed through tattered fragments of clothing where flesh and innards once were. Dogs gathered around the body of a hitchhiker, his guitar case still clutched in one rigid hand. Frank slowed the Hummer to a crawl as they observed the scene. The man was long since dead - whole sections of his legs already gnawed, one of his arms missing. The dogs were just cleaning up the sc.r.a.ps.

"Those dogs don't look infected," Dejah said.

"Probably not, but they still need to eat." Frank resumed speed, swerving to miss the grisly congregation.

They drove on for an interminable period of time. It was slow going, stretching into hours. Dejah felt as if her internal clock was slowed by the lurking sense of hopelessness that still tried to overtake her. Time crawled and tortured her with potential horrors. To make things worse, moonlight cast long shadows over the terrain before them, and the awful realization that they'd spent a whole night just getting from Duncanville through Lancaster weighted her heart. A drive that wouldn't have taken any more than 20 minutes on a good day ... now it had taken them all f.u.c.king night.

This stretch of Interstate 20 was a mess, but nowhere near the congested impa.s.se that Arlington had been. The road was navigable, especially with the Hummer, and that was blessing enough to tide her over. Still, there were a lot of the infected out among the wreckage. Presumably, they were busy cleaning the sc.r.a.ps among the gathered shadows of night.

Occasionally a h.o.a.rd of wandering Sickies would snap their heads in the direction of the moving Hummer, cognizant enough to realize that someone alive and uninfected must be driving the vehicle. A few of the Sickies would begin to trail after them, but were usually distracted by some other noise, meandering off other directions. One persistent zombie jogged along behind them at a pretty good clip. Obviously, this one had been an athlete before the infection hit. He ran with a determined pace, eyes fixated on the b.u.mper of the Hummer, running until a big gray cat rummaging through wreckage caught his attention. The man stopped, turned to the cat, s.n.a.t.c.hed it from the bench and bit into it like a pita sandwich. The cat screeched and shrieked, thrashing, making every attempt to escape the clutches of the zombie, but the fiend held fast. Two good bites and the furry pet went limp in the hands of the infected jogger. They drove onward, glancing back as the man buried his face in the s.h.a.ggy blood-dripping feline.

Dejah shivered. They were everywhere. She looked back toward Shaun. He was curled into a ball, a beach towel pulled over him, snoring softly. She returned her gaze to the road, which seemed a little less clogged with abandoned vehicles now. "Looks like the cars are thinning out."

"Yeah, hoping our luck holds out. Maybe they're all at church." He chuckled.

Dejah frowned. "Church is probably over by now."

"Yep. You're right. It's a few minutes after midnight."

"It seems like it's been a million years." Dejah watched through the tinted window as buildings and empty sidewalks flashed beside them.

"Funny how time moves when you don't have the daily grind to remind you of schedules and routines."

"Or you're separated from the ones you love."

Frank gave an ambiguous grunt. "You miss your husband?"

"I miss my baby girl. I'm crazy with worry, Frank. It's driving me nuts not knowing what's going on with her. Only thing keeping me together is heading that direction. Getting a little closer."

"What about Thomas?" Frank asked. "That his name?"

"Yeah. I don't know about Thomas." Dejah wasn't lying. She didn't know how she felt about Thomas. She wasn't angry anymore. Too much had happened to put all that in perspective. All she cared about now was getting to Greenville and finding her child. Everything, everyone else was secondary.

"Having problems?"

"In our marriage?"

"Well, I don't mean to pry, but ... well, h.e.l.l, yeah I do. Figure it doesn't matter much if I use my manners anymore. Not that I was ever good with them to begin with."

Dejah regarded his profile silhouetted against the driver side window. His eyes squinted into the night, deep wrinkles at the corners of his eyes and in the furrow of his brow making him almost handsome. She imagined him as a younger man and wondered how much his wife had loved him, and what their relationship was like to have lasted so long.

"We've had our problems for a long time," she said. "Part of it is me, I guess; part of it is him. I admit I could try to change, but he won't tell me what it is that's eating at him, and refuses to admit that he needs to change at all. It's all me in his eyes. I tried for a while. I really did. But you can only go on so long banging your head against a wall that doesn't budge. I guess I came to the point where I realized nothing was going to change. And our problems, I just chose to ignore them. I guess I figured if I could ignore them long enough, they'd stop being factors working against me. Like I could drain them of their power. Then maybe they'd go away."