And there was no one to rescue him. The survivalists didn’t give a shit.
Hanging onto his scissors, he took a deep breath and inched his way into the heavier smoke.
<Hello, Clarence.>
Alexander, Marty, and the other five soldiers had all piled into the one SUV, the other one stuck on that muddy slope. Evacuation of that vehicle had used up precious time. With three rows, they fit, but Marty and one soldier in the back seat could not fire weapons if they didn’t break the glass on the rear windows. All the other windows were open in the cool September early afternoon air.
Jocelyn’s apparition explained the entire situation to everyone en route, including how she was a partial zombie with healing powers, and how important it was for her to survive. She needed to retrieve her sword, her best defense against the zombie scourge.
As Beaver Park Market came into view, Jocelyn had devastating news. <Alexander, I’m sorry. But I believe I’m dying now. You’re just a little too late.>
“The hell we are!”
Marty and the soldier continued to bash their rear windows with the butt of their shotguns, trying to shatter them, their M4 assault rifles lying in their laps.
Jocelyn’s apparition hovered above the SUV’s console.
<Listen, the store itself is burning, and there’s a man named Clarence trapped on aisle five. He has a fire extinguisher. He’s—>
Silence. Jocelyn vanished.
“God dammit!” Alexander screamed while hitting his fist on the car door. Tears began to well up in his eyes. She can’t be dead! There must be hope yet! But prospects were bleak.
Chapter Forty-Nine
Day Eleven
Alexander’s heart raced as the burning pyre came into view. Flames shot up higher than the market, the smoke hundreds of feet up in the air. The building was indeed burning.
Jocelyn was somewhere in that blazing inferno!
Alexander refused to believe they could not rescue her.
The SUV turned left at the end of the strip mall, and Francis gunned it. Alexander and his open window faced the Beaver Park Market side, his military-issued assault rifle out, ready to shoot. There were two deafening shotgun blasts from within the SUV, and the rear windows shattered. Marty and the other soldier, Corporal Terry Dorman, must have blown their windows open.
Francis slammed the brakes and Alexander lurched forward. Resolved to take no prisoners, he shot wildly at a large man with a large beard. The large man, stunned for a moment, regained his senses and pulled out his assault rifle, dropping to the ground.
Brooke Reynolds spotted the guns hanging out the open windows of the SUV that sped toward her and Oliver. She understood the common joke: I don’t need to outrun the bear, I just need to outrun you. Leaving Oliver to whoever they were in the SUV, Brooke surreptitiously ran back into the burning supermarket. Oliver would slow them down while she executed a tactical retreat.
While ducking behind a display case in view of the action, she saw Oliver lying on the ground, jerking as if shot. She realized her best hope would be to brave the heat and smoke and escape out the back before the entire building was engulfed. She got up and started to walk back through the store, down an aisle toward the employee break room where they had Clarence restrained.
Then she remembered the sword—the sword that Oliver believed had magic powers.
Brooke picked up her pace, only to have her right leg slip on something slick, and though she fought to maintain her balance, she slid forwards, falling to the floor and hitting the back of her head, disorienting her.
Fred and Cameron had been on the north side of the pyre, at the end of the mall, when the SUV came screeching to a halt on the south side. They ran together to the west into the parking lot, away from the burning market, through a barrage of bullets that rained down upon them. They ducked behind the hood of a sedan, their backs to the side of the vehicle, their hands clutching their assault rifles, the engine giving them good protection.
The bullets stopped and Fred turned around and peeked his head up. As though on cue, the hail of bullets resumed. He saw just enough that he knew the driver and the rear seat passenger, as well as the passenger behind that person, on the west side of the SUV were the ones firing at them. Ducking down, the bullets ceased again.
Defending the store was not an option. To escape deeper into the parking lot seemed like a good course of action, assuming the shooters would miss them. They could then flee back to their ranch.
Cameron must have come to the same conclusion and scurried up the aisle—packed with cars—crouching low away from the store toward the nearest car. Another barrage of bullets. He made it behind the next car’s engine block. Fred scampered toward Cameron, bullets flying around him.
Alexander couldn’t tell for sure, but he thought he’d hit the large man in the ass, and the man threw his weapon aside and put his hands behind his head. He had jerked as if he had been shot in the side as well. One soldier in the second row, Private Leon Probert, opened the door and leaped out, aiming his assault rifle at the large man. A shotgun hung diagonal across the soldier’s back. Every soldier on the team carried an assault rifle and shotgun, but Alexander insisted on a handgun instead of an assault rifle. He just felt more familiar with a handgun.
Alexander exited the SUV on the right side and looked around, handgun at the ready, but there were no more enemies in sight. He let the sheriff and the other soldier out of the vehicle, and told the sheriff, “I’m going after Clarence. He’s on aisle five, in case you didn’t hear Jocelyn.” He took a deep breath and ran headlong
