As the dead started to appear behind them, the soldiers formed up ranks and moved into the bright light of day. Tejada had to squint against the glare from the snow-covered parking lot. The soldiers fired into the ranks of the dead at the door, clearing a path for themselves at the cost of their ammunition. Every one of them had a hatchet, scavenged by Masterson and Gregg, but if it came down to hatchets against this many of the dead, they wouldn't be making it out alive, at least, not all of them. Close quarters combat was a last resort.
Thankfully, they had enough ammo to do the job, and they sprinted through the opening in the ranks of the dead. Tejada came last, ducking to his left to avoid the outstretched arms of an old man in a cardigan sweater who somehow miraculously still had a set of eyeglasses perched on the end of his nose though he looked to have been dead for months. Tejada was safe, but he felt something tear in his hip when he made the movement, and he spilled to the snow-covered ground. His hands sunk into the snow, and he struggled to rise.
"Shit," he hissed to himself. I should have limbered up better, I guess. The nearest person to him was Rudy. He heard Tejada's pained hiss and spun around. With Rudy's hands under his shoulder, he was able to get to his feet, though he felt the pulling of the dead man at his backpack. With his free arm, Tejada pulled his pistol, spun, and put a round through the forehead of the old man. He fell backward, revealing a wall of Annies, their clothing now painted with the brains of the old man. He saw the Annie hit the ground, and damn it all, those glasses still stuck to the bridge of his nose.
Then he was spinning and being dragged down the street with an arm over Rudy's and Amanda's shoulders. His men turned to stare at him in concern, pausing to make sure their leader was ok. "What are you waiting for?" he bellowed. "Move your asses."
The shot from his pistol had been unmuffled, and he could still hear the faint ringing in his ears. How far could the sound of a gunshot carry? No background noise, dry air, a 9mm handgun… shit. He might have just alerted every Annie within a mile that lunch was on.
He cursed with every step, at his own stupidity and at the pain in his hip. It flared with every jostle, every slip of boot as the snow compacted underneath him. When they were a block away from the Fred Meyer, he attempted to walk on his own, and he could, but just barely, and only with the proper amount of swearing.
His soldiers looked back at him periodically, checking to make sure that he was still there.
Epps called back to him, "Where are we going, sir?"
He wished he had an answer. He wished he wasn't in so much pain. Then maybe he would have had an actual good answer instead of the one he gave. "We're going to go up to the next major cross street, and then we're going to head west.
That was good enough for Epps. He turned around, and they kept up a steady pace. They would have to switch people out if they were going to make any real time. There was no way Rudy and Amanda could drag his ass to the Oregon coast, some 70 miles away. It was going to be a long day. Tejada looked up at the sky. The sun hid behind the gray clouds, casting a silvery light upon the world. I'll see your ass tomorrow. I swear it, you big, yellow bastard.
Chapter 5: Apocalypse Anonymous
Joan placed the back of her hand to Katie's forehead. Her skin was burning up. Katie sat in a rickety chair to the side of the bed Joan reclined on. If it wasn't for the pain in her leg, she would have switched positions with the woman in a heartbeat and forced Katie to rest. She looked like she needed it more than Joan did.
"Tell me again what happened."
"I was out there, and then I just had a flash of heat in my shoulder. Then I began to burn up, to get like really fucking hot."
"Was there any pain?" Joan asked.
"No. I was just exhausted, and my head started to feel funny, and I was hot."
Joan sat back on the bed, eyeing the scar tissue in Katie's shoulder. It sounded like an infection of some sort. The darkness around the scar tissue concerned Joan the most. It looked like dead flesh, black and gray, and not something that anyone would want to see on their body.
"Do you think the baby will be ok?" Katie asked.
I'm not sure that either of you is going to be ok. "You'll be fine," Joan said. "You both will. All you need to do is rest." Joan had no way of knowing if this was true or not, but it was better to stay positive than to say, "I have absolutely no idea what is going on."
A fevered sweat clung to Katie's waxy skin, and she looked as if she was going to pass out at any moment. She spoke as one who was half-asleep and not aware of what they were saying.
"I hope it's a boy," Katie said dreamily. "I had a boy once. Did you know that?"
Katie swayed in the rickety wooden chair, and Joan could see what was
