Z Walkers: The Complete Collection Part 7

"n.o.body knows anything about anyone," Sara said, "but we're not eating each other, so I think that's a pretty good start."

Collin let out something between a laugh and a scoff, then shifted, his body sore from sitting on the coffee table's solid top. He could have easily joined them on the couch, but he liked the little bit of distance between himself and the other two.

"My wife and my neighbors are on their way," Hank added, his elbows resting on his knees, body hunched forward. "We're going up north to my neighbors cabin to wait this thing out. I'm sure they wouldn't mind a couple of extra people."

Collin expected Sara to jump at the chance: it was a pretty good plan, actually. However, when he looked at her, he saw her nibbling her plump lower lip, face wracked with uncertainty.

"That's very generous of you," she got out finally, "but I actually wanted to get to the marina. A friend of mine has a boat, and since I know he won't be using it-"

"Why not?" Collin interrupted, and he raised his eyebrows when her eyes darted his way. She pursed her lips, glaring, and then cleared her throat.

"Because he's infected," she said flatly, "and I left him in a locker at the gym. Hopefully the... disease control people find him."

He wasn't sure what to say to that. Collin licked his lips, uncomfortable with her now that she wasn't a simpering mess.

"I'm sorry to hear that." Hank, on the other hand, seemed to be better at these kinds of things. Collin crossed his arms, annoyed. Everyone was probably dead. Sara didn't get any sort of special consideration because she already had a gruesome story to tell. Maybe he should tell them about the dead kid in the woods he'd seen, or the lady who'd had her face chewed off on the driveway a few days ago.

Or maybe he should just keep his mouth shut. There was no point in running it and making enemies of these two strangers. What good would it do him to act tough? Aloof was the way to go. Yeah. Aloof and dangerous. That'd be his post-apocalyptic reputation. Those kinds of guys were never f.u.c.ked with in the movies and comics.

"Why don't we make a compromise?" Hank continued. "The houses across the street are probably abandoned. There are less of those... people on that side of the school. Why don't we stock up on supplies, and then I can see if Craig will drive you out to the marina before we head up north?"

Sara's eyebrows rose slightly. "Craig?"

"Neighbor," Hank said, rolling his eyes. "There will be enough room in his d.a.m.n vehicle for everyone. We can get you to your friend's boat... or, if you change your mind, you can just come with us instead. Its up to you."

She nibbled her lower lip again, and Collin looked away.

"Why don't we just start with finding some food," she suggested, and he wondered if she too questioned the whole we thing like he did. "We'll go from there. I just... I need some time to think, and I need food to think clearly."

"Makes total sense to me." He felt Hank's gaze shift to him, piercing and unflinching and totally not caring that Collin was scowling. "Collin... Is there somewhere you're trying to get to? Would you like to come up north with us?"

He shrugged his answer. Aloof people don't just spill all their plans to perfect strangers. They give hints, here and there, if absolutely necessary, but he didn't feel that at the moment, it was absolutely necessary to do anything of the sort.

"Food sounds good," he muttered as the silence dragged on, all eyes on him. Hank nodded, then stood.

"Well, let's not just sit around here," the janitor ordered. "Who knows how many other people out there are thinking the same thing. I'm sure the city is full of scavengers by now."

Collin bit the insides of his cheeks, not wanting to let them see his fears, his worries. The city. The city had to be f.u.c.ked. So many people in such a tight s.p.a.ce-it wouldn't surprise him in the slightest if everyone he knew was either living in the sewers or wandering the streets as freaks.

And he wished that made him feel something... more. Was it f.u.c.ked up that he could think something like that, then move on without even considering the reality of the situation?

No. Aloof and dangerous. Those guys don't give a s.h.i.t about what's happening to everyone else. They care about themselves. They care about self-preservation, about survival.

"Does everyone have a weapon?"

Collin kept quiet as Hank tried to arm them, only half-listening to the man list the kinds of houses that they'd raid. Of course he knew the houses in this neighborhood: rich b.a.s.t.a.r.ds with their sprawling estates and plush backyards. They had it even better than the suburbanites did. What he would have given to be in a freak-less world: he'd loot the s.h.i.t out every house around, and he'd have a d.a.m.n good time doing it. But now he figured it'd be kind of tough to admire the sw.a.n.ky jewels and priceless paintings when, at any moment, a freak could come out of nowhere and take a chunk out of your face.

"I got a hammer," Collin said, unzipping his page and fishing it out. He kept the gun hidden, his own little secret, because there was no way in h.e.l.l he was letting a janitor or a personal trainer rob him. Guns were probably hot commodities in this new society, and he planned to keep his close to the chest.

Because when s.h.i.t hit the fan, and he knew it would, Collin planned to bolt. These two weren't worth sticking around for, and Collin wasn't going to get himself killed-or worse-for either of them.

f.u.c.k. That. Noise.

"How many of them are out there?"

Hank blinked when Sara's voice brought him out of his search. His head poked out the main door of the school, the metallic barrier opened just enough for him to scan for the infected. It was his task before they darted across the road to the seemingly abandoned houses, their doors left open in the spring breeze, their driveways empty without the pricey cars taking up s.p.a.ce.

But he hadn't been looking at the other. Sure, he could see them-all five of them roaming the street, seeming pretty out of it. The ones he and Sara had tricked and pushed out of the school earlier that morning must have dispersed in the sunshine, because there were a lot more before.

"Not as many as this morning," he told her. He hadn't been looking at them. He'd been looking for Susie. Hank had been scanning the street for Craig's ma.s.sive four-by-four, hoping to see it parked in front of a fire hydrant or something-because that was the kind of c.r.a.p Craig pulled.

She wasn't there. Neither Susie nor Craig nor that big ugly vehicle were anywhere to be seen. Nothing but a quiet street with a few of the sick wandering around. Normally, at this time of day during the week, there'd be teenagers everywhere. Lunch hour would have started fifteen minutes ago, and they'd be scattered across the campus. The weather was nice enough that most of them probably would have eaten outside. That spring scent was in the air, the kind that only late March brought. It was like a relieving breath after winter's clutches, and on any other day, Hank would have stopped somewhere-a bench, a cafe, a park-to just sit and enjoy the warmth and the sunshine.

But not today. There was no time to rest today, no time to smell the roses or whatever people did. They had an objective: go through the first four houses across the street, stock up, then retreat back into the school. At that point, Hank could only hope that Susie would finally make an appearance.

Shaking his head, he ducked back inside and gently closed the door. Both he and Sara stunk of chemicals, the smell burning his nose even now after wearing the camouflage for hours. Collin, the teenager who just wouldn't get with the program, refused to be doused when Hank offered.

"They respond better to sounds anyway," the kid had argued, readying a hammer for their venture outside. At the time, Hank had tried to talk him into it, but in the end, he gave up. There was no point in trying to save someone who didn't want to be saved, and he hoped that no harm would come to Sara or himself for the teen's ignorance-and arrogance.

"Only a few in the street," he informed the waiting pair, a crowbar in hand. His grip tightened and loosened around the cool metal, getting a feel for a tool he usually used sparingly. Crowbars were too harsh for a lot of the necessary fixes around the school, and the admins thought janitors looked "menacing" carrying them around.

That was probably a good thing today. Hank wasn't a menacing guy by nature, but if someone could look at him from afar and think better of going after him, he'd be happy with that. With his scent cloaked, he didn't need to worry about the infected people outside: it was the normal people, people like Collin, he'd have to keep an eye on. If the whole city was under attack, those clinging to survival would quickly turn opportunistic, and he wasn't going to have any of it.

Speaking of opportunistic... He spared a glance at Sara, wondering just what kind of woman she was. She spoke eloquently enough, came from a stable career, but even she seemed to be playing her cards pretty close to her chest. Hank couldn't blame her: he'd only given a few details too, sharing only as much as the others did. But they needed to work together if they wanted to survive this thing.

If he tried, Hank probably could have done the run on his own. He was fast enough, hidden from the infected's sense of smell... but being a loner wasn't in the grand plan for him. He'd always preferred the company of a few to the many, but he still needed the few, especially now.

"Move quietly, stay low to the ground, and don't scream," he ordered, his voice dropping to a whisper. Sara nodded, and behind her Hank swore he saw Collin roll his eyes. Typical teenager. Like he hadn't dealt with enough of them in his lifetime.

He counted them down in silence. Three. Two. One. Go.

As silently as he shut it, Hank gingerly opened the door, taking one last look around before darting out the main entrance. Crouching low, he jogged across the street, the soft footfalls of Sara and Collin echoing behind him.

They were less soft, less quiet, however, when Collin tripped over something, landing heavily with a grunt. Both Hank and Sara froze in place, and Hank's eyes darted to the nearest of the infected. They seemed to struggle in the sun, their eyes squinted and their pace a little slower. Good. Maybe the sun was their ally.

Collin hopped to his feet quickly, brushing off Sara's hushed offer of a.s.sistance. Now it was Hank's turn to roll his eyes. He did so without a word, carrying on as though the distraction hadn't derailed them just a little.

The first house they hit must have cost just shy of a million, and that was probably one of the cheaper properties they'd go through today. It was a surprise to no one to find the front door locked, and the trio cringed as Hank busted up the gla.s.s doors at the rear of the property, granting them entrance to an immaculate kitchen.

"We should check the entire house first," Collin said, his voice sounding a little strained. "Before we do anything else... The freaks like to hide."

"They don't exactly strike me as the hiding type," Sara fired back, but Hank nodded all the same.

"No, no, it makes sense," he said as he scanned the area for any signs of movement. "They might have gotten trapped in the houses somehow... We'll check each room together."

Collin's objection was almost predictable. "It'll be faster if we split up."

"And it'll be safer if we stay together," was Hank's response, and from that there were no further arguments. As a united front, they checked every inch of the house: bedrooms, bathrooms, TV rooms, linen closets, laundry cubbies, and, last but not least, the half-finished bas.e.m.e.nt. Much to their collective relief, the place was totally free from... whatever those people were. Hank even felt safe enough to set his crowbar on the table as he and Collin raided the kitchen. Meanwhile, Sara wandered back upstairs, claiming she wanted to stock up on any medical supplies.

"Yeah, medical supplies," Collin snorted, talking mostly to himself as the woman disappeared. "Probably wants to snort half a bottle and forget everything."

"Or she wants to be prepared," Hank added, and the teen turned away with an irritated expression. Shrugging, he set to work on the cupboards while Collin tackled the fridge. There was a plethora of goodies to pick from, and he used the family's reusable grocery bags-found under the sink-to pack everything away.

When he pulled out a box of sugary sweet granola bars, he noticed Collin eyeing them hungrily.

"Here," he said, handing them over to the kid, who merely stared at him. "You can have them."

"You found them," Collin said after a moment's hesitation, though Hank could see the way his fingers twitched toward the box. "They're yours."

"But I want you to have them," he insisted, holding them out closer to Collin. When the teen wouldn't take the box from him, he set it on the counter and pushed it in Collin's direction, then continued to root through the cupboards. It couldn't have been more than thirty seconds later when he heard Collin ripping open the cardboard and digging in, seated on the countertop with a childish grin on his face.

"Haven't had these since I was twelve," he muttered as he stuffed them into his mouth. "So good."

"Bit too sweet for me, I guess," Hank said, trying to hide his smile. The teen didn't seem to notice, though as they moved through the rest of the kitchen, he was suddenly more receptive to taking treats from Hank. The fight had left his eyes, and by the time they were finished, Collin's backpack was br.i.m.m.i.n.g with unnecessary sugary c.r.a.p. Expensive sugary c.r.a.p at that.

Sara shot them both a questioning look when she studied the contents of Hanks reusable grocery bags and Collin's backpack, and when the teen was out of earshot-admiring the flat-screen TV in the next room-Hank shook his head and sighed.

"Just let him have it," he said before the woman could protest. "We'll make sure the rest of the stuff we get has actual substance, but he's only a kid."

She pursed her lips. In her hand was a plastic pharmacy bag full of pill bottles. Some were to induce sleep, others were to help with headaches.

"We shouldn't take things that will slow us down," she argued, though he could tell from her tone and her expression that she wasn't really fighting him. Instead, it seemed like she was simply trying to state the obvious.

"Craig's trunk is ma.s.sive," he told her, shouldering the bags and grabbing his crowbar off the table. "A backpack full of chocolate and pudding cups won't take up much room."

"If he even comes with us, that is," she countered, crossing her arms. The plastic bag crackled with the movement. "Has he said anything about that?"

"I haven't pushed him."

"It would be irresponsible of us to let him leave on his own with a bag full of unhealthy foods that'll last him less than two days."

Hank touched her arm gently, a physical plea for trust. "We'll deal with that when the time comes. I think he'll realize it's better to be in a group than to be totally alone."

She fell silent for a long moment, and it was only when Hank turned away that she spoke up.

"What if the group doesn't want him?"

He swallowed thickly, hoping the kid hadn't heard her, and said nothing. Instead, he called for Collin and told the pair that it was time to go on to the next house.

As he suspected, the remaining three houses were grander than the first, becoming more and more extravagant the farther from the school they went. With his backpack full of food supplies, Collin had lamented about not being able to pocket a few of the I-pads and other tech that was just left out in the open, but Hank was quick to remind him that food was more important-for now. The teen, at the time, begrudgingly agreed with him, but Hank decided it was worth keeping an eye on the kid. Apparently he had sticky fingers.

They were in the process of exiting the last house, their arms filled with bags of goods, when Hank heard Sara scream. It came from the direction of the porch, and Hank dropped the bags he'd been carrying to rush to her aide, crowbar swinging and ready.

"So much for your scent disguise," Collin growled as they raced through the front door, only to find Sara sitting on top of an abandoned car as the infected clawed at her. He paused for the briefest of moments, wondering how on Earth they'd managed to smell her-he'd been so meticulous in his explanation of the chemical disguise.

Maybe she hadn't covered herself properly. There had to be an explanation. Blinking out of his introspection, Hank jumped down the cement stairs and swung at the nearest infected man, knocking him down permanently. Collin proved to be quite good with his hammer, and despite her tears, Sara put in a valiant effort to kick those groping hands away from the car. Her bags of medical supplies lay scattered on the driveway, pill bottles rolling every which way. If they had time, they'd collect the fallen supplies, but he wasn't going to risk anyone's safety for a few bottles of sleeping pills.

They'd managed to get just about all of the infected in a matter of minutes. Hank grabbed one by the shoulder and dragged her back, lifting the crowbar up to knock her out.

And seconds later, the crowbar was clattering on the pavement. Mouth hanging open, Hank found himself staring at a familiar face.

Susie.

Susie, but not Susie.

There was a great deal of familiarity there: the same overall figure, the same nose, and the same thin red lips.

But that was where the similarities stopped. As she snapped at him, her teeth chattering together noisily, Hank noted that she was missing a clump of hair from her head-also her left ear. Her eyes were bloodshot like the rest, possessing both a dullness and a sparkle of intelligence that had told him before that the infected were not to be underestimated.

"S-Susie?"

She lunged for him, her sights on him now more than her scent had been, and before he could catch her, before he could sweep her up into his arms and hold her one last time, a hammer collided with the back of her head.

Over and over again, he watched in horror as the hammer hit its mark, and soon enough, Susie was beyond recognizable. Collin stood over her, his chest heaving, and he patted Hank on the arm.

"We've got to move," the kid said, though his voice sounded m.u.f.fle and distant, his words difficult to distinguish. Sara slid off the back of the car and grabbed Hank's forearm, dragging her with him as he stumbled behind her.

Watching Susie. Waiting for her to get back up-and knowing now that she never would.

"Down! Down! Down!"

Sara dropped to the ground instinctively, using her hands to cushion her fall. The trio hid behind a parked car in the heart of the downtown core, halfway to the marina, halfway from the school. Infected people everywhere. Not a police officer or an EMT in sight.

Not a single normal person in sight. Just the infected... everywhere.

It had taken them the better part of the afternoon to get themselves together, to figure out a plan. It turned out that Collin had bludgeoned Hank's infected wife at the end of their house-hopping earlier in the day, and while Sara could understand Hank's reluctance to go on, she didn't have the patience for it either. These two men, this boy and this mess, were expecting her to be nurturing, to be the feminine energy of the group that would hold everyone together. No one had said it, but she could see it in their eyes whenever they looked at her, and she wasn't about to play the role of den mother.

She felt for Hank-she really did. Realizing your partner was sick and then losing them in less than a minute was devastating. If she'd been married and she'd watched her husband go through something similar, she would have still been locked in a tiny room with no intentions of every coming out.

But the world they currently found themselves in wasn't one for moping and mourning. If she'd learned anything from her experience with Gary, you needed to hold your chin up and move on if you wanted to survive. To his credit, Hank had managed to do just that, though there was a distance about him now that there hadn't been before. Before, he was competent, focused. He'd fallen into the natural leader position of the trio, the self-dubbed we who had to alter their plans when they realized a ma.s.sive Hummer wasn't coming to pick them up. Now, Hank seemed more like a follower, and Sara didn't like it.

She was independent by nature, and could lead a single person-but two people, one of whom was bent on remaining some stubborn teenager, was a little out of her forte.

But then again, Hank had been the one who told them to get down. They all lay behind a parked car, one of the few not in a smoldering mess of burnt and warped metal. He'd been the one to create a route through the city, though Collin had been quick to argue that he knew better shortcuts.

Keeping her breath slow and even, Sara gripped the hammer she'd been given, a heavy bag of food and medical supplies slung across her back, and watched feet shuffle by the car on the other side. It was strange being downtown without all the noise: all they'd heard so far were the occasional screams-always cut short-and the ever-familiar sound of the infected groaning. Normally there'd be car horns and panhandlers and conversations and heels on pavement. Downtown was vibrant-it always had been, and she liked to visit for fancy dinners with friends and the occasional bar night.

Never would she have ever voluntarily crawled along the sidewalk, nor would she have put her face this close to the concrete. Even now she would see the faded spit marks and hardened discarded pieces of gum caked to the ground. Ugh.

When the infected herd moved on, drifting by the car as if they could float, Collin was the first to rise. He shifted to his feet faster than she would have liked. For all his talk about how well the infected reacted to sound, he wasn't exactly doing much to m.u.f.fle any of the noise he had been making while they were on the move.

Sara used the car door to get to her feet, steadying herself on the handle, and then hastily released it when she feared she might set off the alarm. She then leaned over to help Hank up, and he offered her the same numb smile he'd been giving her for the past few hours.

Exhaling deeply, she straightened up and readjusted her backpack, pill bottles tumbling around like one of those musical instruments with the beads-a pharmaceutical rainstorm, just for her. Although Hank and Collin claimed to know the city best, the pair already slipping back into a heated discussion-the heat coming from Collin more than Hank-Sara knew the downtown pretty well too. If they could continue on foot without running into any problems, they'd be able to reach the marina in a half-hour.