“Haul the batteries out and set them on the sidewalk,” Runkle ordered. “The flares, walkie-talkies, and oil, too. We’ll wait and see what’s in the other buildings before we grab any of this other stuff.”
We carried the boxes outside and stacked them against the wall. There was a stack of magazines near the front desk-months’ old issues of Time, Newsweek, and Outdoor Life. I flipped through one of them and sighed wistfully.
“What’s up?” Tony asked.
“I used to read these all the time. I was a news junkie.”
“Not me, man. I never bought into stupography.”
“Stup—what?”
“Stupography. Media that makes you stupider the longer you watch it. Everybody talks about how biased the media is. Either for the left or the right. What they don’t realize is that it all comes from the same source. They wanted us to stay asleep, and look what happened.”
He went back to work. I dropped the magazine back on the pile. Then I noticed four comic books amidst the stack—New Avengers, Spider-man, The Simpsons, and The Walking Dead. I stuffed the first three in my back pocket, thinking Tasha and Malik might like them. I left the last one lay where it was. Didn’t think the kids would want to read about more zombies. But then I changed my mind. Judging by how much Malik liked blowing them up, a comic about destroying zombies might be exactly what he’d enjoy. Wasn’t like it would give him nightmares. Real life could do that just as easily.
Then we moved on to the next building, where we hit the fucking jackpot. It was a bunkhouse and living quarters, and in the rear were a small kitchenette and a walk—in pantry. The metal shelves were lined with cans and dry goods, bags of flour and noodles, snack food, and cases of soda and bottled water.
“Holy shit!” Tony gaped at the rows of canned goods. “Green beans, peas, corn, peanut butter, kidney beans, succotash, fruit fucking cocktail—we are good to go.”
“I can’t believe they left all this stuff behind,” Runkle said. “Doesn’t make sense.”
Mitch nodded. “I was thinking the same thing. If you knew this stuff was here, and the zombies were on the march, wouldn’t you hide out here? Makes sense, right? But it looks deserted. No people and definitely no dead. Can’t even smell them nearby. There’s no blood, no signs of a struggle anywhere.”
Runkle picked up a jar of jelly. “Maybe the personnel assigned to this station went out to perform a rescue at sea and didn’t get the chance to come back?”
“Could be,” Mitch agreed. “Sucks for them. Good for us.”
“Let’s check the rest of the compound,” Runkle said. “Make sure it really is free and clear. Then we’ll start hauling this stuff back to the boat.”
The next building was a small infirmary, and we found a large stockpile of medicine. Since none of us were doctors, we didn’t understand what a lot of it was, but we grabbed the stuff we recognized and set it by the door. The warehouse was full of vehicles and equipment—lawnmowers, a forklift, tractor, several old pickup trucks, and a speedboat sitting atop a trailer. Another boat was suspended on jacks. It looked like someone had been working on the hull at one point. Now it would probably sit here for all time. Outside, behind the warehouse, we found skids with fifty-five gallon drums of motor oil, gasoline, diesel fuel, and kerosene, along with propane bottles, a pump, and several empty plastic gas cans.
“The chief will flip when we bring all this back,” Runkle said. “Unbelievable.”
I tapped a drum. “How are we going to get these down to the boat?”
“The forklift.” Tony laughed. “We should have had Chuck come with us. He drove a forklift for a living. But I can run it, okay long as there’s keys and fuel in it.”
For a moment, I thought that I heard Turn’s voice, calling out for us. When I glanced around, I didn’t see him, and nobody else mentioned it. I figured it was my imagination.
“I got to take a piss,” Hooper said. “Be right back.”
“Wait a second.” Mitch grabbed his shoulder. “We still need to clear the chapel.”
Hooper brushed his hand aside. “Man, ain’t nothing in the chapel. Look around. This place is deserted. Anybody that was here ain’t here now.”
“Well,” Runkle said, “you still shouldn’t go walking off by yourself.”
“I got to piss, and I ain’t pulling my dick out in front of Lamar. Fucker might try to molest me and shit.”
“Trust me, Cleveland—I’m not interested.”
He scowled at me, and then stalked off into the trees, muttering under his breath. We watched him go, shaking our heads.
“Asshole,” Mitch said.
“He may be a dick,” Tony said, “but he’s right. We’re all on edge. But this place is zombie free, man.”
A crow flew overhead. Something pink dangled from its beak. I thought I knew what it was. Before I could say anything, the wind shifted, blowing from inland out to the sea.
Mitch cringed. “Oh yeah? Well if that’s so, then what’s that smell?”
Deep inside the forest, Hooper screamed.
Chapter Seven
We ran into the forest and pushed our way through the thick undergrowth. Vines and thorns tugged at our clothing. A few yards beyond the tree line, the foliage abruptly cleared. Sand gave way to a thick carpet of pine needles, and the trees were spaced far enough apart for us to move freely. Hooper screamed again, his voice closer.
“Cleveland,” Runkle shouted, “where are you?”
He answered with another shriek.
“Hooper!” Mitch cupped his hand around his mouth. “Sound off, man. Let us know where you are.”
“I’m over here! Oh, fuck me. Fuck me running! Ya’ll get over here, right now.”
We followed his cries and emerged in a circular clearing. Hooper was in the middle of the clearing, staring upward. We brushed past the branches and stood beside him. Each of us froze, gaping in horror. I felt my gorge rise. I ran to the edge of the clearing and puked.
Except for the section where we’d entered, the outer edges of the clearing were lined with crosses. Somebody had made them out of fence posts and logs. A zombie hung from each cross, nailed through the wrists and ankles, their legs, arms, and waists tied down with thick coils of bare copper electrical wire. The stench was terrible, but even worse were the flies. Their buzzing filled the clearing. Maggots writhed inside the corpses and fell out of various orifices. They squirmed on the ground. Birds sat on the creatures’ shoulders and heads or perched on the crossbeams. They’d stripped the crucified zombies of most of their skin. What remained were pink, wet, human-shaped things—internal organs, lips, tongues, and eyeballs missing. Their nerves and veins hung like limp strands of spaghetti and bones poked through the glistening tissue. One of the zombies raised its blind head, as if sensing our presence, and moaned. Worms burrowed in the empty eye sockets. Bird shit covered an exposed section of skull. The creatures’ stench made my eyes water.
“Jesus fucking Christ…” Mitch bent over and threw up all over his boots.
I wiped the bile from my lips and rejoined the others. My stomach lurched again. The comic books in my back pocket brushed against my spine. I’d forgotten all about them. I was surprised they were still there.