H1Z1 Chapter 11

Leading the way, I gingerly stepped over the body lying in the automatic doorway and into the entrance. Bill was right behind, the dogs on either side of him, guardians with hackles raised, noses busily determining which direction the next threat may come from.

We angled over to the cart park and each grabbed one. "I should pull both the carts, Dad. That way your hands are free with the shotgun."

"Good thinking, Son, but what about the dogs?"

In reply, Bill unbuckled his heavy canvas belt and passed the loops of both leashes through it.

"OK, but if they sense something, another ... zombie, they'll try to go after it."

"I know, Dad, but I can push the cart in between me and the thing and then you can shoot it."

"All right. Straight to the outdoors section. Move beside or behind me, don't stop, and keep your head on a swivel."

"I never understood what that meant until today, Dad." Smart boy. The saying hearkened back to my Navy days - the skipper of the aircraft carrier I was stationed aboard would say it to the flight deck crew before every cycle. It meant "keep your eyes open, 360-degrees around you." Good advice.

We entered the inner doors to quiet. Nothing seemed to be moving, nothing seemed to be alive. Sarah let out a slight whimper which Steve replied to with a light growl.

"Knock it off, you two," I said, almost a reflex. They were excellent dogs, but they could be a little high strung. Probably a good trait in this circumstance.

Bill and I began moving toward the outdoors section. Not exactly marching, not exactly strolling. Both of us moved warily and scanned our surroundings, searching for sign of another creature. As we rounded the final tall display shelf into outdoors, we both sighed with relief. There was the gun counter, nothing and no one around it, and our goal directly in sight.

"OK. Shells. 12 and 20 Gauge. Load up your cart, Son."

Bill broke left to the shelf with the shotgun shells while I stepped through the gate behind the gun counter.

"Shit!"

"What's wrong, Dad?"

"Keys. They're on Marie's body."

"Oh, shit."

"Bill!"

"Sorry, Dad. What will we do?"

I raised the butt of my shotgun and rammed it into the lock on the drawer which held the trigger lock keys. It burst immediately. Some security.

"I guess that works, huh?" Bill asked, one eyebrow raised in unconscious imitation of my own wry expression. "Keep working, Boy."

It was funny that he retained his budding sense of humor even in our current predicament. I quickly located the cabinet key and unlocked the shotgun rack, pulling out the semi-automatic Smith & Wesson 20-gauge I had been eyeing for my son for months.

"Grab a shooting vest, Bill. And toss me a box of shells." He already had a vest his size on, and was filling the pockets. He looked up and threw me a box with a handful of shells left in it. I removed the trigger lock and began to load, racking one round into the chamber so I could push a fifth round into the gun. "Here, Son," I said, clicking on the safety and tossing the loaded gun across the aisle to the boy. He snagged it deftly from the air and turned to the rack of rifle straps. Smart, smart boy.

Just then, I realized that I was hearing something. A kind of dragging sound, and the moaning we'd heard earlier was back.

"Hurry. I want you to find shoulder holsters - you'll need a woman's small, I need an extra large. Automatic pistols - we'll need the extra bullets."

Bill nodded and turned to the next aisle, clicking the safety off of his gun.

I unlocked the counter-top pistol case and began pulling out handguns. .45 calibers for me - a pair of matched stainless steel Smith and Wessons. I grabbed them. "Left and right shoulder for both of us, Bill," I shouted as I pulled the trigger locks off of the pistols.

Pistol shells were behind the counter. Ejecting the magazines onto it, I turned and grabbed a box of .45 rounds, dumping it out on the glass top. The moaning was getting louder. And the dragging sound nearer. Hurriedly, I began jacking rounds into a magazine, looking under the counter for the guns' cases as I did so. Too much time. This was all taking too much time.

Both dogs began to growl.

Time was almost up.