Good. The asshole should be afraid. I will match my two years of training against your weekend warrior bullshit.
She kicked him in the chin. His head fell back on the asphalt unconscious.
She stepped onto Joe’s body, turned, and chopped most of Daryl’s head off at the neck. Shots rang out from somewhere else, and she felt the familiar pain of a gunshot, this time in the thigh. She buckled and fell down on one knee on top of Joe’s body. While trying to regain her balance, someone shot her in the shoulder. She made herself flat on top of Joe and Daryl, protecting her head.
Rapid-fire gunshots rang out all around her. She lay on two assault rifles, Joe’s and Daryl’s. A narrow space in between the two bodies would give her more cover, but she needed one of those rifles. She wriggled her way down into the crevasse and reached with her left arm to grab Joe’s rifle, but it caught on something. She pulled again, but it wouldn’t budge.
Meanwhile, she noticed the shooting had stopped. She looked up in the market’s direction—a survivalist approached fast. It was a race to see if she could get that rifle in time. She realized it was strapped around Joe’s shoulder. Frantic, she felt for the strap and started the slow process of pulling it off his shoulder and around his arm.
But she took too long. A gun fired and shot her in the back of the head. Jocelyn was dead. Again.
Chapter Forty-One
Day Ten
After Marty, Alexander, and Nick spent the day cataloguing the medications they had—they made it from A to E—the guards brought them dinner once it got dark and told them to work one more hour before they would bring them back to their motel.
They all sat down to eat their dinner—canned soup—in the employee break room. After a few minutes, Marty felt it was time to strike. He wanted to take Nick’s handgun, and he knew Nick had his guard down. Marty guessed that the skinheads were so confident in their firepower and superior numbers that one handgun would not get these two self-proclaimed pharmacists very far. And to steal one would be a death sentence from the Führer himself.
Marty didn’t like his chances either, but they had to keep Janice from being raped.
“I’ll use the restroom,” Marty announced as an excuse to get up from the table and walk over behind Nick. Instead of continuing on to the bathroom, Marty grabbed him from behind, his left arm wrapping around his neck, seeking to initiate a sleeper choke hold, his right hand going for Nick’s gun. While Marty got his hand on the gun, Nick got his hand on Marty’s and dug his fingernails in. Marty grunted in pain but held onto the handgun handle while waiting for the choke hold to take effect. Nick’s left elbow caught Marty in the jaw, and while it thrust Marty’s head back, Marty held onto the neck, despite Nick squirming his strong body. Nick was doing everything he could to throw Marty off; Marty was struggling to cut off the blood flow to the brain, and any deviation from that precise location would not work. Also, although Marty had the height advantage, Nick had the superior strength.
After several seconds, Nick stopped struggling and went limp. Marty took the handgun and shoved Nick forward, on guard in case he was bluffing.
But he wasn’t. He laid there on the floor in a heap. But he was already stirring.
Marty struggled to catch his breath, stepped back, and steadied his hand.
“Don’t shoot him!” Alexander exclaimed. “The guards out front will hear!”
“Step back, Alexander,” Marty said with a sense of urgency. “Keep a good distance away from him. I don’t want to shoot, but I will if he gets any crazy ideas.”
Alexander scampered back as ordered. Nick groaned.
“Alexander, go out to the floor and see if you can find us some zip ties.”
Alexander took a deep breath. “Sure thing,” he said and left the pharmacy.
“Nick, you seem like a smart fellow. You’re not willing to risk getting shot over two slaves, are you?”
“No.” Nick still had his head on the linoleum floor.
“Lay face down and put your hands behind your back. Don’t worry, they’ll find you in the morning.”
Alexander opened the back door swiftly, and Marty jumped through ready for an adversary, but found none. Nick had told them to expect no guards at the rear exit, so that was not surprising.
The darkness of night had taken hold, but the moon provided some light.
Rapid, distant gunfire sounded from the east.
“Do you hear that?” Marty asked as he closed the door.
“Yes. I wonder what’s going on?” The gunfire continued to sound.
“Sounds like a sustained attack or defense. Maybe some zombies have come back.”
“God help us if they have,” Alexander said.
“Either way, let’s not stick around here.”
“Agreed. To Janice and Emily’s motel, then.”
They traveled west, then turned left to reach the main road, passing by the field on the east side of the school, where they hid behind a bank building, scouting, looking for any skinheads to avoid, but seeing none.
They proceeded south toward Main Street, hugging the wall of the bank until the supermarket across the street came into view. Although hard to see in the shadows, Marty observed no skinheads in front of the supermarket and school. In fact, the entire area was deserted.
Gunfire continued to sound in the distance to the east on Marty’s left as he faced the supermarket entrance. Close to the intersection, a fast-food restaurant loomed kitty-corner to them.
Where had the guards all gone? Had someone called them off to fight? Marty remembered some of them had walkie-talkies.
“On three, we run,” Marty said. “Head for the entrance of that restaurant, diagonally across the intersection. Ready?”
Alexander nodded.
“1 . . . 2 . .
