Mark Rogers - The Dead

Linda had all the time she needed. When she was done, she told her patients to rest, then set about stocking up on pain killers, first aid supplies, flashlights, batteries, and whatever food was available.

“How are you fixed for ammo?” Gary asked Steve, wincing at a throb of pain in his chest.

“Still have three boxes,” Steve said, “And two full clips. Want some?”

“Yeah. Running low.”

“Hell, you can have it all. I won’t be shooting that rifle for a while.”

Linda came up, shoving candy bars and bags of Planter’s peanuts into their packs. “Wish there was a real food store around here.”

“There is,” Steve said. “About a half mile south of here. It’s probably been picked over, though.”

“Except for candy and peanuts,” Linda said.

“You want to take my rifle? Until my shoulder’s back in shape?”

“Sure.”

“Will you give me your pistol, then, Linda?” Sally asked, holding her maimed hand, voice quavering with pain. The drug Linda had given her hadn’t taken full effect.

“You have to hold it two-handed,” Linda answered. “With your thumb gone…”

“It would make me feel a lot safer,” Sally persisted.

“It would make me feel a lot safer if the person carrying it could use it,” Steve said. “I’ll take it. I can manage one-handed.”

“Okay,” Linda said, and laid it beside him together with her two remaining clips. He nodded toward the H &K, which was propped against the counter he had his back to.

“Ammo’s in my pack,” he said.

She began to fish it out.

Gary watched her, remembering her courage during the attack. The fight had been fierce and quick, and she’d kept her head even though the rest of them had been taken completely aback; her Beretta had been decisive. Gary felt proud to be her husband, his anger dormant now-her conversion to MacAleer’s worldview had opened a real rift between them, but he wasn’t going to brood on that. He reminded himself how deeply he loved her, and that she was only trying to help after all.

He also didn’t want to think about the questions she was so insistently raising. No doubt she’d raise them again herself, soon enough.

She went on watch by the front windows.

“You know,” Sally said suddenly. “I’m just as much in danger as any of you.”

“I know, honey,” Steve said.

“‘I know, honey,’” Sally mocked. She spat. “The three of you treat me like I’m a child. And I’m sick and tired of it.”

“You want the gun?” Steve asked. “Do you have the slightest idea how to use it?”

“You could show me,” Sally said.

“But I won’t.,” Steve said. “It’d be a waste of time. If you can’t hold it, there’s no point trying to shoot it.”

“Steve, that son of a bitch got close enough to bite me. If I’d had that pistol, I wouldn’t have lost my thumb.”

“Oh, hell no,” Steve said sarcastically. “You just would’ve blown your foot off.”

“Look, Sally,” Gary said. “Maybe you could shoot one- handed. Well enough to defend yourself close up, anyway. But Steve’s stronger. He’ll do better with it.”

“You keep out of this, asshole,” Sally snarled.

Gary laughed, startled. “Okay.”

“You just want to keep me under control,” Sally said. “That’s the reason you don’t want me to have it.”

“Bullshit,” Steve answered.

“What’s the matter?” she asked. “Afraid I’ll shoot you?”

“Accidentally? Maybe.”

“If I did, it wouldn’t be an accident,” she answered, with a vehemence Gary didn’t understand.

“Sally, don’t talk like that,” Steve said.

“You’re always making my choices for me,” Sally went on. “Keeping me from doing what I want-”

“I’m only trying to keep you from hurting yourself.”

“-Or making me do things I feel really bad about.”

“Oh, like what?”

“Give me the pistol, Steve.”

“Forget it.”

“I want it, Steve.”

“What are you going to do? Walk out on me?”

“I could tell a little secret. I wonder what Gary would think of you then?”

Steve’s eyes widened, just for a moment. Then he smiled good- naturedly.

“ Our little secret, honey?” he asked. “You’re going to tell that ?”

“Give me the gun, Steve,” Sally said.

“No,” Steve answered.

Gary watched Sally. She opened her mouth to speak-then snapped it shut again, evidently losing her nerve. Steve turned to Gary.

“Sounds pretty sinister, huh?” he asked.

“Depends,” Gary answered, embarrassed.

“Got any dirty linen in your marriage?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“We’ve just had some problems, that’s all. Nothing spectacular. Sally can make anything sound dramatic-”

“Hey,” Gary broke in, “did I ask about it? Whatever it is, I don’t care.”

Steve laughed. “Okay, then.”

Sally was sitting across from him; he nudged her with his foot.

“Love you, Sally,” he said.

“That’s just great,” she answered.

Once the painkillers kicked in, they felt sufficiently recovered to go get the dry suits. Standing at the front of the old store, floorboards creaking under their feet, they eyed the diving shop across the street.

“I’ll take a look,” Gary said. Poking his head out the door, he glanced north and south. “Coast’s clear,” he announced.

Leaving the pharmacy, they crossed to the diving store. Its front door was wide open, stopped by a wedge.

“Bet the owner left in a real hurry,” Steve said as they entered.

They quickly found dry suits, donned them, and put their clothes back on over them. With his injured shoulder, Steve had a good deal of trouble, but Sally helped. Linda and Gary took turns on watch.

“Anything else we want in here?” Steve asked, condensation pluming his breath. “Think we could use the spear-guns?”

“Nope,” Gary said. “Good for nothing. What we could really use is a couple of Remington 1100s, full auto.”

“That would really make chopped meat out of the bastards, wouldn’t it?” Steve said, with relish. “Think anything worthwhile might be left in that sporting goods place down the way?”

“Some ammo. Maybe. But there must’ve been a big rush for firearms through here.”

“These suits are really hot,” Sally carped. “I’m going to be sweating like a pig in a couple of minutes.”

“Better then freezing, honey,” Steve said.

From the sound of it, Gary guessed he tacked the honey on deliberately to annoy her.

“Linda,” Gary said, “anything moving out there?”

“Nothing so-” she broke off.

“What?” Gary whispered.

“Get down!” she answered, dropping on one knee beside the window. Gary and the others took cover.

“Should’ve closed the front door,” Steve said. “Shit. This is the first place they’ll look.”

“Not if they noticed it was propped open before,” Gary answered. “If we’d closed it…”

Linda came army-crawling up the aisle toward them.

“How many?” Gary asked.

“Just one,” she answered. “It was looking out from an alley across the street. I think it saw me.”

“Back door time,” Steve said.

“Right,” Gary answered.

Rising to a crouch, he led the way toward the rear of the store. Opening the door, he let the others through first, then heard footsteps and looked back.

Four figures were racing for the front door, but not with the stiff-legged stride of the dead. And even though the foremost’s face was in shadow, Gary recognized the build and gait, and laughed out loud.

“Max!” he cried, rushing back up the aisle. “Max!”