Looting Isn't the Most Fun You can Have During a Zombie Apocalypse: A Zombie Short Story by

Looting Isn't the Most Fun You can Have During a Zombie Apocalypse: A Zombie Short Story

By Annie Walls

Author or the upcoming new zombie series, The Famished Trilogy! The first book, Taking on The Dead, is set to come out in 2012 and it is sure to grab you by the grey matter *winks*

The sun was shining, which meant there were no signs of famished as the van

pulled in the Walmart Supercenter parking lot. There were no cars. Not a single one. Old

scorch marks adorned the lot from body disposal. Litter blew all over like leaves in the

fall. Reece, Mac, and I glanced at each other. This was weird. Usually, places like this

would show more signs of outbreak panic. Reece was driving and rode by the entrances.

Both doors were open, but there wasn’t any movement inside the Walmart. He backed

into an entrance as far as he could go.

I found being parked inside of a Walmart comical.

I was going to crack a joke until Reece said, “Mac, you take medical supplies. Kan,

you go look for any camping gear you can find. I’ll take the household items and

hardware.” He was all business now that we were here. It wasn't his age that made me

trust him, but I trusted him with my life and knew he had my back. He could boss me

around this once.

Sunlight bounced off Reece's tattooed bald head and caused a double glare in his

sunglasses. His leather vest squeaked as he opened his door. His "Ass, Gas, or Grass;

Nobody Rides for Free" patch needed a date with needle and thread before it fell off.

“Keep alert.” He warned as the small beads in his goatee jangled together.

Mac and I nodded getting out. It was warmer in here than outside. Mac pulled his

red hoodie off, throwing it in the back. I almost left my jacket in the van, but slid on my

battered army pack taking stock of myself. My machete was hanging from its normal

spot on the right side of the pack. I had two Bersa Thunder semiautomatic pistols and a

hunting knife in my belt.

I took a deep breath through my nostrils making out a faint trace of decay from

the living dead. There was also a strange bitter stench. We stood in a row listening for

any sounds of lurking zombies.

“Smell it?” I whispered glancing to Mac. His brows were drawn together. His

bottom lip was poked out as his tongue ran across the inside of it rapidly. I could see

him perfectly in the light of the open glass doors. His sandy blonde curls puffed up on

one side as if he had run a hand through it. His white T-shirt seemed extra bright.

He was looking around intently before stopping at me. His blue eyes burned

bright as he flashed me a smile, and tugged on one of my long dreads. “Nothing to worry

about. It’s not strong and it’s warm in here. Not an ideal place for the undead.” He

reassured me. Even though, I already knew these things. Some people thought Mac was

a cocky, military trained, asshole of a twenty-eight year old man. He is. I’ve seen it with

my own eyes, but he’s never been an asshole to me. I feel like I see another side of him,

especially when he looks at me like he is now.

I returned the smile before letting my gaze seek movement. It was silent and

dark. There was light coming in through the doors illuminating enough to make out

aisles. The darkened shadows seemed to drift outward while I watched.

Reece walked a few feet away searching down the closer aisles. A croaked moan

cut through my awareness seeming to bounce from the walls to rafters. I froze at the

sound as the hair on my arms stood on end. There was a thick slithering coming from

between the cash registers. It clearly wasn’t immediate danger. I walked toward the

sound without another thought. I couldn’t see what it was from the darkened area.

“Sunshine.” Mac said quietly close to my ear. He had taken to calling me by the

endearment before he knew it was my middle name. He moved to stand in front of me,

protectively, before clicking on a small flashlight. I held back from reminding him about

the last time he moved in front of me, he had been shot in the ass. Instead, I pulled my

gun as I caught sight of what lay in the flashlight beam. I slid back the rail with ease,

silently chambering a bullet.

“Don’t waste your ammo.” He said as the light flashed the length of the zombie on

the smooth tiled floor.

It looked up at us with eyes that were filming a milky color, but darkened black

with settled blood. He was well on his way to becoming a putrid; old and rotten. All of

his hair was still intact, but his skin sagged around his eyes and jaw. His one arm

reaching out toward us clawing the air. A few of his cracked fingernails had already

fallen off. His bottom half was nothing but gnawed bones with hanging nerves. His

thickened blood smeared the floor beneath him leaving a trail from where he had been

dragging himself. The other arm was missing. The flailing arm had a huge bag strapped

around the shoulder with a few ripped strips of a faded black shirt sleeve.

“Holy shit!” Reece breathed approaching from behind. “Might be the source of

the smell.”

I doubted it. He wasn’t old enough for the decayed smell in the air. Judging from

how rapidly he could move his arm, if he had legs he would still be able to run.

Mac handed me the flashlight. “He was hanging onto that bag for dear life.” He

observed bending over with a knife. The famished’s hand grabbed at him. Mac

automatically stepped on it as if it were a pesky cockroach. He held the arm down with

his combat boot, and slit the bag open. I shined the light on its contents. Liters of

rubbing alcohol and dozens of boxes of cold medicine spilled out.

Mac scoffed in unison with Reece. I said, “Someone must have been sick.” Reece

held back a snort of amusement. I glanced at him sharply. “What the hell is so funny?”

He only raised his eyebrows. I must be missing the obvious.

“No one was sick, Sunshine. This dude was going to cook meth. Explains the

weird smell. Might be why he is so hyped for an older zombie.” Mac explained as he

straightened stomping his boot to the famished’s head. “Fucking redneck.” Disgust

oozed from his tone as the zombie wiggled. He stomped again, this time a crunch

sounded splattering fresh gore. Specks of it hit my jeans.

I ignored the blood. I’ve been dealing with zombie goo for four years. I’m quite

adapted to it. I cocked an eyebrow at Mac crossing my arms. “And you aren’t?” I joked.

Mac was anything but a redneck. I couldn’t help it because like me, he had grown up

here, in the south, as well.

He smirked. “Okay, backwoods redneck.” He emphasized. I nodded as though I

approved.

Reece sighed warily, not trusting this location. “Let’s finish in here.”

Sticking the gun in the front of my jeans, I made my way to the back where the

sporting goods had been located. The place had been looted. People looting for anything

they could carry. I doubted I’d find ammunition here. The closer I got to the back, the

worse the rank smell thickened. It had also gotten darker, but I still had Mac’s small

flashlight in my back pocket.

My eyes widened as I realized there were aisle racks moved around. I could see

they were arranged to make up separate rooms. Judging by all the garbage and sleeping

bags, someone lived here. By the way it was stinking, for some time. I noticed empty

bottle and cold medicine packaging. Mac had been right. That zombie had been cooking

Everything that I came for had been used at some point. I decided against taking

anything. I believed we had enough of this stuff. The only question that remained was,

where were the other occupants? I assume they had escaped an attack.

I heard a shuffle in the next aisle. I froze as a groan floated down my own aisle

sending goosebumps up the back of my neck. I turned to see a putrid turning down my

aisle at the very end. I felt a surge of excitement and started walking closer to it when I

saw several more turn into the aisle.

I stopped to watch them. They were walking jerkily slow. The first one’s head was

cocked to one side as if it were curious about me. It reminded of a dog waiting on a treat.

This one had been a woman. Her hair was gangly and missing chunks of scalp. Her skin

was still a bluish color. It would soon turn green and textured. These putrids weren’t

that old, but older than the meth-addled zombie. This might be a good time to try a

Molotov. I pulled a jar out of my pack. I stabbed a slit in the top with the hunting knife

before re-sheathing it in my belt. I dipped the cloth threading it through the slit, and

twisting the cap back on. I lit the rag with a lighter.

I tossed it to the floor in front of the putrid. The glass busted making the

moonshine splatter and catch fire instantly. It spread on the floor and up the putrid’s

body in a sparking wave as it followed fumes, spills, and splatters.

I quickly figured out why this is not a good idea. It only makes the zombies come

at you while on fire. I blinked not believing my own stupidity. I did note that it slowed

them considerably. I sighed. Time to get out of here before the burning smell hit me.

That’s when I heard a snarl from behind me. I was slammed in the back falling

forward to the floor. I let out a frustrated grunt as I caught myself on my knee as pain

splintered through it. My huge pack moved hitting me in my head, but keeping the

famished from getting a lock on me.

Holding myself up with my arm, I kicked out, scrambling away from the zombie.

When I got myself turned around, the famished was on top of me, again. We fell, with

me on my back awkwardly because of my pack as I held the famished away from me by

its neck. I vaguely heard my machete clang on the floor. The frenzied zombie’s hand was

entangled in my dread locks. My scalp felt like it would be ripped from my skull. I yelped

feeling it’s clammy skin almost to the point of slimy. I tried not to cringe away from it.

Thick drool dripped down my neck from it’s mouth. My face pinched trying to keep it’s

mouth away from me.

I heard another snarl, and knew there was at least one more coming for me. I

couldn’t see very well, but the fire from the flaming putrid was giving me enough light.

The second zombie tumbled into me from the side. I threw my elbow at it, getting it

away from me.

The first zombie’s mouth was snapping way too close to my face. I grappled with

my Bersa in my left hand. I pulled the trigger getting a clean shot to the head. I turned

my head and felt gore shower me in a cold spray. The shot still resonating in my ear. The

stench of burning putrid thick in my throat tasting of foul death.

The other famished was right behind him. Gunshots echoed from the other

direction. Reece and Mac. The zombie wasted no time jumping on top of me, but not

before I put my feet in the air bending at my knees. Aches went through my joints with

the weight of it. I felt it’s breath smelling rotten meat and soured blood. My stomach

churned as I swallowed the extra saliva that was threatening to help release the contents

of my stomach. I could see the stained black of its teeth. I pushed up with both legs with

all the strength I could muster. It had the desired effect. The zombie flew up and

sideways as I kicked it. I was able to aim my gun at it immediately squeezing the trigger.

All of this had only taken seconds to happen. The putrid torch had reached me. A

keening sound coming from it’s throat. I kicked myself away from the dead famished

surfing backwards easily from the slick zombie blood. I shot the putrid in the head. It

slumped on top of the dead zombie. Still on fire. Smoke filled my lungs as I stood up. I

put my hands on my knees trying not to hack up one of my lungs.

When I was able to gulp air, relief washed through me in a strong tide bringing

exhaustion with it, but I had an aisle of slow zombies coming at me. Their scuffling

sounding ten times louder now that my famished brawl was over.

There was an explosion drowning out the putrid parade, then another right after.

The double sounds boomed inside my ears causing an instant pain. The building shook

violently. They were going to bring the Walmart tumbling down on top of us, all the

while making us deaf. I covered my head and ears feeling debris fly all over me. Some of

the putrids had fallen over from the explosions making it smell like burnt cheese mixed

in a used restroom toilet. I didn’t have time to worry about Mac and Reece, I just had to

get to them.

I turned to run in the other direction slipping on blood. My boot slipping on the

slick floor. I caught myself on a rack, my right arm windmilling. The rack tilted slightly

causing items on it to tumble down onto me crashing to the floor. Luckily, nothing hurt.

Either that or my adrenaline kept me from feeling it. I kept my balance by letting go of

the rack in order to keep running. I felt and heard the rack smash down behind me.

Coming around a corner, I smacked into a body.

I felt hands grab my arms. “Kan!” It was Mac. I could see his stark white shirt

glowing from the fire. It reflected in his wide eyes.

“Shit! Famished and putrids all over. We need to leave!” I shouted the obvious. I

think because my hearing was still filled with static.

He pushed me out of the way. “Yeah, I know!” He pulled his gun firing rounds

into the aisle I just emerged from. His shots making my ears ring all the more. I think he

just wanted to shoot something.

“Will you give my ears a rest? They are going to start bleeding!” I shouted some

“What?” He yelled, mocking me, cupping a hand around his ear. Smiling at his

joke, he grabbed my arm. “Let’s go.” He said urgently. He looked around every aisle

while hurrying to the van.

He shot more putrids on the way out. I ignored them as long as they weren’t in

our way. Reece had already started the van and was waiting on us. We jumped in, and

before we could even get the door closed, he peeled out of the Walmart.

“Kan, are you all right?” Mac exclaimed looking me over. Neither one of them

looked as appalling as I did covered in zombie crud and guts. It was already starting to

dry on my skin. “There were probably a hundred putrids. They came out of nowhere.

Must have been hiding out of the sun. Reece lit the bombs, so we could get to you.” He

was breathing heavy. Hell, all three of us were strung out on zombie battle adrenaline.

Reece chimed in merrily. “Those bombs work perfect!”

I was trying to calm myself. My ears were muted, but I could still hear faintly.

“Yeah, I heard them. I thought the building was going to collapse.” I said as Mac

flinched back from my loud talk. I could tell he was wanting to make another joke, but I

went on with a lower voice, “People had been living there. I found used sleeping bags

and empty cold medicine packaging." I said. Mac looked at me sharply. "I’m guessing

they were the famished I ran into. We should have pulled a Tallahassee, and played a

banjo.” I joked as my hearing was returning, thankfully. They both laughed at my

Zombieland reference.

“Maybe we could go to Bill Murray’s house.” Mac sniggered.

“Yeah, and smoke out of his hookah.” Reece said as we all laughed, trying to

shake away the close call. I didn’t want to think about how close. We were all too

familiar with the consequences of such trips like these. There were always risks.

I looked at my jacket. There was zombie muck congealing on it. I sighed. That’s

karma for you. I stripped it off with my T-shirt. Reece handed me a towel. I wiped my

face and scrubbed at the gore. Mac took off his white T-shirt. He gave me the shirt and

pulled on the red hoodie from the back of the van.

“Thanks.” I smiled my appreciation at him as I put on his shirt.

He shrugged looking a little disappointed, “I’d rather you be without it.” I

laughed at his “dick for brains” comment, putting my jacket over the T-shirt. I wasn’t

letting it go. I’ll scrub it when we get back to the community. Stained or not. It will have

character now.

“Those people were living out in the open. Without any protection, they drew in

putrids. I wonder why they didn’t get eaten alive.” I reasoned out loud.

“One of them could have been bit, didn’t say anything to the others, and things

escalated.” Reece said thoughtfully.

Mac was looking out the window. We were pulling onto the road headed for

another destination. “Maybe. My guess would be, they were living in a Walmart. Using

and cooking methamphetamine. Got taken by surprise trying to escape with any

supplies they could grab, hence the zombie with the bag. It could also explain why the

doors were open, and no vehicle's in the parking lot. Maybe someone managed to

escape."

I shook my head, “Lovely.” I said dryly. They nodded their agreement. We were

all breathing normal again. My adrenaline high dissipating. I really shouldn’t voice this,

but I did anyway. “That was fun.”

Mac shot me a smirk because for once, I wasn’t being sarcastic.

~~End~~

Wasn't that AWESOME?!?! And that is just a taste of what is to come in her new trilogy.

Taking on the Dead

Synopsis:

Kansas has been hiding out for four years in solitude. It's the only way to
survive. The only way not to draw the living dead. She encounters a small
group of people who sanctions her for help. She soon learns the new world
might not be what she thinks. Venturing out of her refuge and comfort zone
she realizes that the world has moved on without her. Only it's not what she
expects. Her knowledge of the living dead grows and only makes her more
curious as humanity continues to hang on by a thread. While on her search
for answers she finds comfort in new friendships and love, all the while her
past continues to haunt her. New life wouldn't be so bad if the zombies
were the only foes.

In a trilogy plot thick with twists and turns, it is emotional as much as it is
horrifyingly gripping.

To learn more about what makes Annie tick, and more about her new series you can catch her on her blog here!