“That’s not cool.” He sat down on the bed and watched her holding items up and discarding them one at a time.
“Some of these aren’t too terrible.” She pulled out a red, plaid flannel shirt and slipped it on, tying it under her breasts. “I could be the farmer’s daughter.”
Simon grinned as he leaned back on the stack of pillows. “I like role play.”
She rolled her eyes at him and continued digging. “Check it.” She pulled out a black motorcycle jacket made of fake leather. “Too much bling for my tastes.”
Simon shook his head. “Let’s stick with the farmer’s daughter look.”
“Let’s don’t and say we did.” She tossed the jacket next to him and continued rummaging through the clothes. “There’s nothing else in here that I’d wear. I guess I’ll be Biker Barbie.” She slipped the jacket on and spun a slow circle. “What do you think?”
He cocked his head to the side and leered at her. “You could rock that look with some eyeliner and purple lipstick.”
She huffed and kicked at his foot. “I’m too old for goth.”
Simon shook his head. “I disagree.” He glanced up at the ceiling. “Who was right about shaving the melon?”
She huffed as she reached past him. “Fine.”
Simon pushed off the bed and stepped toward the door. “You put on your war paint and I’ll see if they left anything edible.”
“Don’t open the freezer,” she muttered as she sat down at the dust covered makeup table. “And don’t drink the milk straight from the carton.”
13
Buck slid along the wall in front of the store and strained to listen as he approached the entrance. He turned to Hatcher and shook his head.
Hatcher leaned close and whispered, “It may be too early for them. They might be sleeping.”
“I guess we’ll find out.” Buck stepped away from the wall and stood at the front doors, shotgun at the ready.
Hatcher slid along the wall and swung his rifle around, sweeping the open doorway. Broken glass crunched under his boots as he stepped into the store.
The stench hit him like a physical wall and he fought the urge to retch. He tried breathing through his mouth, but his tongue snapped back instantly. He nearly jumped when Buck tapped his shoulder and pointed to the left. Hatcher nodded and watched the young man peel away and angle across the front of the store, his shotgun leveled.
Hatcher slowly worked right, checking each aisle as he went. He reached the end and noted the black stains scattered about on the floor. The flies made it look like the black puddles were moving. This is fucking disgusting.
“Clear,” Buck called from the other side of the store. Hatcher relaxed somewhat and stood more erect, the rifle drooping from his shoulder. “Where the hell could they have gone?”
Buck approached from the other side of the store, the shotgun slung over his shoulder. “No idea,” he sighed and kicked at a stray can on the floor. “Could be they figured out we knew where they were hiding out when Tweedle Dee and Tweedle—”
“Don’t,” Hatcher cut him off. “Hank and Charlie are good guys. They had no idea this is where the Zulus were hanging out.” Hatcher cursed at himself. “Hank was right. I should have told people.”
Buck groaned as he leaned against a checkout counter. “So either they figured we’d be back and bailed, or….” He trailed off.
Hatcher shrugged. “Or what?”
“Maybe they went out hunting last night and got stranded?”
“I doubt it.” Hatcher pointed to the hundreds, if not thousands of empty cans scattered across the floor. “I don’t think they needed to go out.”
“What the hell?” Hank barked. Both men turned and watched as he and Charlie came storming through the store from the rear. “I thought you were going to signal us? If we didn’t hear gunshots you were dead, remember?”
Hatcher pushed off the counter and slung his rifle. “Empty.”
“No shit,” Hank muttered. “I knew we should have gone back yesterday and leveled the damned place.” Hatcher bit back his scathing reply and turned for the door. “Hey, where you going?”
“Home.” Hatcher turned and waved his arms. “Although the smell is really starting to grow on me, I’d rather not be standing in the middle of it.”
Hank looked at the pharmacy section. “I’ll be right behind you.” He spun on his heels and smiled at Charlie. “Topostuff, remember?”
Charlie nodded and fell into step behind him. “For Wally.”
Hatcher motioned to Buck. “We’ll be at the truck.”
Hank trotted to the pharmacy area and flipped on his flashlight. “I can’t see shit back here.” He pushed open the half-door and stared at the short aisles of drugs. “I don’t reckon they put these things alphabetically, do they?”
Charlie shrugged. “Beats me.”
Hank turned the corner and froze, his LED beam lighting up a bald and pale old man squatting on the floor, his hand blocking the light from his eyes. “Please! Don’t shoot!”
“Incredible.” Broussard breathed the word as he stared at Kelly. “And you’re sure that it wasn’t our cure that did this?”
“The DNA profile doesn’t match.” Carol sat back and stared at the armed men training their weapons on Kelly. “She may have already had a case of strep when the cure came through, or…I don’t know.”
Broussard stiffened and turned to her. “There’s something you need to know.” Carol felt her stomach drop at his tone. “Dr. McAlester…changed. He became very much like a Zed. He killed some men on the ship and was caught eating one.” He averted his eyes and shook his head. “The cure mutated either before he was exposed or it mutated inside him.”
Carol felt her mouth go dry. She reached for the printouts of Kelly’s tests and handed them to Broussard. “Does this profile look familiar?”
While he scanned the printout she eyed Kelly cautiously, fearful that she could suddenly become violent like Kevin had.
Broussard dragged his satchel closer to him and rifled through the contents. He pulled out the profile taken from Dr.
