Sam Williams: Tales from the Swollen Corpse

Barb put a hand on my shoulder “I want you guys to walk the store. Hector and Dan will too when Hector gets back.”

I noticed there was something reassuring, sort of parental, the way Barb spoke.

“Make sure all the doors are secure, look down every aisle and in every bathroom stall. If you find anyone, send ’em up front. If you run into any of those things, try not to get noticed and come back here. Don’t do anything stupid, I only want you armed for your own safety.”

“Where should we start?” I asked.

“Do a circle starting towards Lumber, I’ll send Dan and Hector towards Garden.”

I don’t think anyone felt they were still on the clock. But someone needed to take charge and Barb was doing fine as far as I was concerned.

Barb stood with arms crossed at the registers as Dan pushed big rolling tool chests in front of the doors. Ryan and I walked towards Lumber. We didn’t see anyone down the aisles. Then we got to the front of Tools.

The tool dept was twice as big as the normal aisles. The display walls were lined with every device one needed to build or tear something down. The center was lined with table saws, air compressors, and portable generators. I stood there and it finally sunk in; Barb and this situation had given me free reign to grab whatever I see fit. Ryan and I looked at each other and I could see he was way ahead of me. “Let’s do some shopping.” I said.

When I was a kid I used to watch a children’s game show, the winner got to run through a toy store and grab whatever they could put in their kart before a buzzer went off, damn I was always jealous of that lucky little bastard. Now it was my turn. First I went to the hammers. There’s something about a new hammer, all pristine; that feelings gone the first time you use it. I grabbed a carpenter’s hammer with the biggest claw I could find. I looked to my side and saw the tool belts. Ryan suggested that we each grab goggles and paper masks/respirators. When I asked why, he said, “For the splatter.”

I grabbed a few more things like a nice dry wall saw. Then I saw my Excalibur on the rack with the wrecking and pry bars. Each looked like a gladiator’s weapon but one stuck out and I knew it was right when I saw “the obliterator” stamped on the shank. Ryan came around the corner with a sledgehammer handle and said he was ready. With “the obliterator” in hand and my belt filled, I told Ryan I was ready to party as well.

We checked the contractor booth and made our way through lumber towards the back. While we walked, I asked Ryan why he thought they weren’t putting much effort into getting in. He said they would soon enough; there was a lot of banging on the back rollup doors. He thought it was the sound of moving pallets with the forklift that must have got their attention. We kept walking, after a few minutes the weight of my tool belt started getting to me. I told Ryan to hold up a minute so I could catch my breath.

Looking me up and down he asked, “Hey commando, do you really need all that shit?”

I was about to discuss the importance of being prepared when we heard a noise. Creeping slowly around the corner, we saw the back of a man. He was standing by the lumber dept’s industrial saw. He had his back to us and was staring at nothing. We could see he was missing an ear and a good chunk of neck on the same side. The man was tall and very husky; he was wearing spandex bicycle shorts, a jean jacket, and had the most impressive mullet I had seen in awhile.

“Look at the way he’s just standing there, he’s got to be old dead. I got him.” I whispered, re-gripping the steel bar in my hands.

“Wait.” Ryan said, putting his arm against my chest to halt me.

“I know what Barb said, I’ll be careful.”

“No it’s not that. I want to record commando versus the Wallymart zombie.” Ryan said, pulling his phone out of his pocket.

Ryan’s look of enthusiasm was not encouraging for some reason. Ryan crouched down behind me, phone-camera outreached. I put the goggles on and the paper respirator over my nose and mouth. With the store’s Muzak playing “Rock the Casbah” and the “Obliterator” in hand, I was ready.

I approached the man and said “Excuse me sir, do you need some help?.” I didn’t know what else to say. The man didn’t move the slightest. I got closer and said “Excuse me sir.” Then I tapped his shoulder and tried to step back quickly. In a flash I found out I was wrong about two things: 1) it wasn’t a he, but a she (oh she was ugly), and 2) she wasn’t “old dead.”

She moved fast when she hit me. Slamming me with a single forearm, I flew, hitting my back against the saw table. The “obliterator” was on the ground out of reach. I grabbed the drywall saw out of my belt and she lunged at me. Plunging it into her sternum didn’t slow her down a bit. It was lodged in good, so good I couldn’t retrieve it. I was screaming at Ryan for help while I held her back with an arm under her chin. With my free hand, one by one, I plunged the contents of my tool belt into her, except the hammer which I couldn’t get to. Ryan must have had the key code because I heard the saw and vacuum start up.

Ryan’s sledge handle smacked against the woman’s skull with a crack. It had to have broken her neck; it stunned her enough for me to get away. I ducked by another lunge and stood by Ryan who was ready with his club. Grabbing the hammer off my belt I spun it to point the claw out. The lady stopped and started to howl at us. Before she could charge again, I ran towards her bringing the hammer’s claw down into her skull. It did the trick and she fell backward onto the saw table. For good measure Ryan and I ran over and pushed her torso through the saw. The dust collector motor bogged down and I heard liquid hit the collection bag.

Ryan and I took a breather. I wiped the goggles off with my sleeve and pulled my respirator down.

“Should have grabbed some coveralls too.” I said, looking at all the goo on my sleeve.

“Let’s go check the back.” Ryan replied. I grab the “obliterator” and we started to walk. As we walked away, Ryan said, “You scream like a girl.”

We went through the double doors. Customers always seem to think there’s a warehouse back here. They can’t get it through their heads that the store is the warehouse. The back was just a receiving area and where we kept the forklift. A big concrete room with super high ceilings, on one side sat an old beat up desk with a computer and phone. The top of the desk had been inscribed with years of artwork. You weren’t so likely to use the table tops up front to write a number or draw a stickman when the mood arose, but something about it being back here made it ok. On the exterior wall was a large steel rollup door with two windows above it and an emergency exit to its side. The rest was filled with pallets of merchandise stacked, waiting to be received.

As soon as we walked in, I could hear something banging on the roll up door. It didn’t sound like a horde, but it was loud. After a quick inspection, Ryan agreed no one was getting in. He pointed to a pallet of grass seed and said to take a load off, said he had something for us. I sat down and watched as Ryan unlocked the desk drawer and retrieved a bottle of brown label vodka.

“That’s the ticket.” I said with a smile.

A stiff drink seemed like a good idea right about now. Ryan came and took a seat by me; we drank from the bottle and talked. I asked Ryan if he was worried about anyone. He said a friend, but he didn’t have any family. He didn’t elaborate and I didn’t ask. He asked about my girlfriend and I told him I had tried to call. I told Ryan Heather and I were on the outs. I tried my best to verbalize (or better justify) a strange guilt I was carrying for not being as worried about her as I should have been. About then I started feeling a bit of a buzz, just a hint of that nice not giving a shit about anything numbness.