He scanned the parking lot, spotting movement all around. There, a black-haired Annie with an ear hanging by a flap of skin rounded the back of a delivery truck. To his right, an Annie with broken legs crawled across the concrete, its teeth gnashing as it pulled itself through the snow like a snow-plow constructed of flesh and bone.
"Move, move, move," Tejada said, modulating his voice perfectly so it would only reach their ears. For his part, Walt didn't think he would be able to utter two syllables without screaming them out loud in fear.
They rushed through the parking lot, popping skulls as they went. Rudy lagged behind, and Walt, concerned for the big man, kept pace with him. "You got this," he said. Rudy, too exhausted, sweat pouring from his face, gave him a thankful glance, but he said nothing. His breath was too short to spare for words.
Walt's rifle clicked empty, and his hands, normally so sure and so steady, seemed to have a mind of their own as he fumbled in his jacket for another magazine. In front of him, an Annie lurched from behind a black SUV. Its cold hands touched his face, and in that split second, he forgot about the bowling ball hanging from his back, and he continued to try and grab a magazine out of the pocket of his tactical vest.
His mouth opened wide to scream in anticipated pain, and then the Annie's head exploded, brains splattering the side of the SUV and his face. He stood shocked, trying to understand what had just happened. He jumped as Rudy slapped him on the shoulder, smoke coiling up from the barrel of his rifle, and then they moved forward, the realization that he had almost died slowly dawning on him.
That could have been it. I could have died right there. Rudy had saved him. He didn't have time to dwell on it as they struggled up a hill, leaving the big store behind them. He finally managed to slam home another magazine. He felt exhaustion overtaking him now. His body had burned through its supply of adrenaline, and he felt weak and shaky. Climbing the hill in front of them left him gassed.
Now they just had to get back to the Nike compound. That was the easy part.
****
Tejada marched steadily down the road, moving swiftly, but not quickly. The men at the back end were exhausted. Their steps were heavy, their feet falling hard. But they had to keep moving. To stop in the open was death. They had lost a good amount of the dead inside the Fred Meyer. Unfortunately, that also meant that getting back in was going to be quite a bitch. There was a lot of stuff in there. Shoes, blankets, camping gear–– all stuff they would need once they left the Nike compound.
This had been a reconnaissance run. Now that he had a better idea of the layout, he would know how to divide the labor when they left. He would know where to send who. But first, they had to get back in the compound, get rested, get ready. He walked quickly across a four-lane road. He didn't like being out in the open like this. You could see for a half-mile in either direction, and walking down the middle of the road meant alerting a hundred Annies to your location.
They made it across the street, Tejada keeping his eyes on everything, the ground, his men, the Annies slowly tightening like a noose. They passed through a McDonald's parking lot, keeping wide of the abandoned cars. He had seen several Annies pop up from behind cars, almost as if they were hiding. But that was nonsense. Annies didn't think. It just seemed that way to him sometimes.
Maybe he was getting paranoid in his old age. He had been feeling his years recently. His hip ached with pain. He had never injured it, so there shouldn't be any problem, but he felt it. It was tight and sore after any sort of physical activity. Maybe it was just the cold weather, or maybe it was just the end of youth. They zigged and zagged their way through the backside of office parks, keeping out of sight of the road as much as they could. They moved northwest, heading towards the wall of the Nike compound.
It had all been a ruse, getting supplies, buying themselves some more time. Winter was a bitch. Cold weather, a lack of supplies, these were death sentences for his men. Damn the snows. If they had held off for another two weeks, he and his men would have been on their way. They could have shaken hands with the Nike folks, smiled, and waved goodbye. But the snows had come, locking them in place. For a while, he had been hopeful that they could coexist with the Nike folk, but he had heard the rumblings.
While none of his men had been fully accepted by the Nike residents, Amanda had made some progress. She was likeable, cheery, and everyone seemed to gravitate towards her. Her smile could loosen lips that Tejada's violence never could.
He remembered when she had come to him last week, her eyes downcast and worry on her face. "What is it?" he asked, immediately sensing that something was wrong. He had seen that look on the faces of hundreds of raw, green soldiers over the years. It was a face that said, "I got some bad news, but I'm scared shitless about how you're going to react."
She wrung her hands, and he thought he was going to have to pry it from her. But then she found her words. "They're going to kill us."
He had wondered and hypothesized, but to hear the words actually spoken out loud by someone other than himself had taken him aback. "Are you sure?" he asked.
