“Zaun?” he called out. “You here, buddy?”
No reply.
Jack entered the kitchen. The place seemed clean, save a few empty open cans of food resting on the counter. His eyes lit up upon the flashlight’s beam hitting two cases of water resting on the floor. He was suddenly very thirsty. He went over and bent down, tearing open the plastic, he pulled out a bottle, twisted off the cap and gulped the contents. Next to the water were a couple of twelve packs of Coke, and two six packs of orange Gatorade. Putting the bottle down on the counter, he scanned more of the darkened room.
The cabinet doors were closed.
“Zaun, it’s Jack. I don’t want you jumping out and slicing me up. You in here?” With no answer, Jack opened one of the cabinets. Cans of food, including string beans, corn, carrots, chickpeas, hearts of palm, and baked beans lined the shelves. It looked like Zaun was doing okay; and was maybe the person who had raided his apartment, although the building had hundreds of people in it.
Jack couldn’t help feeling a little giddy inside. Quite possibly, his friend was alive.
Leaving the kitchen, he entered the living room. The odor of unwashed dog worsened. It was too dark to see well, so he kept the flashlight on. Empty cans of food sat on the coffee table in front of the couch.
“Zaun,” Jack called again, but received no answer. Maybe the guy was out somewhere in the building looking for more supplies?
Not wanting to startle Zaun if he came back to his apartment, Jack went over to the windows and raised the blinds, flooding the room with glorious sunlight.
Dust particles like tiny alien sea creatures floated in the air. Jack coughed, then saw that the living room flat screen was cracked, as if something had been thrown at it.
Next, he checked the bathroom. Boxes of soap and containers of shampoo lay on the floor under the sink. Tubes of toothpaste sat on the shelves above the toilet where normally towels were kept.
Jack felt conflicting emotions as he went through the apartment. He was happy, but nervous, hopeful, yet discouraged that he hadn’t come upon his friend dead or undead. But with each room being empty of Zaun’s presence, Jack’s heart sank a little further. It was looking like his friend had survived for a while, but might have eventually died or left the apartment at some point. But then, why leave all the food?
The only place left to look was the bedroom. Upon reaching it, Jack saw that it was closed. He knocked on the door, calling out Zaun’s name. “You in there, buddy?” He waited for an answer, listening for any sounds of movement or worse, scratching at the door.
After a few minutes, Jack’s pulse racing with anticipation, he took hold of the doorknob, turned it, and threw the door open.
He readied the bat, cocking his arm back, ready to swing, as he scanned the room. The place was gloomy like the rest of the apartment had been. Jack clicked on the flashlight. The blinds on the window were down. Jack was beginning to wonder if his friend had become a different member of the undead, a vampire.
Facing away, a figure lay on the floor next to the bed, as if it had fallen there and didn’t bother getting up. On the person’s left arm was the tattoo of a yin and yang symbol with a dragon around it. Jack knew immediately it was Zaun, his friend looking deader than dead.
Shining the flashlight over his body, he saw gashes and cuts, but one in particular caught his attention. It was on Zaun’s forearm and it resembled a bite mark. The wound was open and bleeding. Jack’s heart jumped. If it was bleeding, Zaun was still alive.
He approached his friend’s body, standing about three feet away, and nudged it with the bat.
Zaun moaned, causing Jack to flinch.
“Zaun? Zaun?” No answer, just another moan.
Jack drew close to the body, and knelt down, rolling his friend over onto his back, cringing at what he saw.
Zaun’s face was almost colorless, his eyes sunken in, cheek bones revealed. For a moment, Jack was looking at his wife.
“Shit,” he said, softly.
Zaun opened his eyes, lids fluttering for a moment. “Jack?”
“Yeah, it’s me.”
“Was wondering when you’d be… back.”
“What happened to you? Were you bit?”
Zaun’s head fell to the side. He had passed out.
Jack shook him. “Zaun? Zaun?” No response. Looking at the wound up close, he really couldn’t tell if it was a bite wound or not, as Zaun’s body was riddled with cuts and bruises. But by the look of his friend, the guy had been infected.
“Screw it,” Jack said, standing. He pulled out his Taser, pointed it at Zaun’s still-moving stomach, and pulled the trigger.
Zaun let out a gasp. H is body went rigid, and trembled, as 50,000 volts coursed through his system. After a few seconds, the charge died and Zaun’s body went slack. Jack squatted and checked for a pulse. Nothing. He grabbed Zaun’s wrist, checked there: nothing. Damn, the shock must have been too much for his depleted body.
Jack began CPR, performing chest compressions and mouth to mouth. He checked Zaun’s pulse again, but felt nothing except cool skin. “I’m not giving up on you,” he said, then pulled the darts out of Zaun’s stomach. He tossed them aside and reloaded the Taser with a new charge. Standing up, Jack aimed the gun at Zaun’s sternum and fired the weapon. Zaun’s body stiffened, then went slack again.
Bending down, he checked his friend for a pulse again. This time Zaun had one. His friend was alive. Pulling the darts out, Jack breathed a sigh of relief.
Chapter 11
After placing Zaun in bed, Jack went over to the bedroom windows and raised the blinds, allowing sunlight to illuminate the dreary room, and to his delight, revealed a lost treasure. On the floor, opposite side of the bed where Zaun had been lying, were his guns and ammo boxes.
Like a kid on Christmas morning, Jack sat on the floor, took the keys from his pocket, and opened the first lockbox. Lifting the lid, he saw the Sig Sauer P226 inside. Not wanting to be unarmed a moment longer, he removed the trigger guard, then opened the ammo box, an army green, 30 caliber, M19A1 container he picked up at an army-navy store, grabbed a box of 9 mm bullets, and loaded the fifteen round clip. After popping the clip in, he gently racked the slide and was ready for business. Flipping the safety on, he placed the weapon down, eager to see the next gift.
He opened the box containing his. 45, a Smith and Wesson 1911 handgun. After removing the trigger guard, he loaded the eight round clip and drew the slide back before setting the safety switch to the on position. Jack couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so powerful, so invincible, so good. Then he did remember, and it had nothing to do with firearms. The last time he had felt this good was when he and Jess were sitting on the couch, watching television, his arms wrapped around her. Suddenly, the ecstatic feeling he had was gone.
He picked up both handguns like the hero in some action flick, and admired them. A spark of anger ignited within him, warming his soul with hate. He wished he could shoot each individual bot, slowly making each one suffer as he destroyed them all. But the best he could do was help the living, and send the animated dead back to the grave.
He grabbed the bag holding his Remington. 30–06, unlocked the trigger guard and had the weapon loaded and ready to go within moments. Most likely, he’d be running around, climbing, and banging into things, so he didn’t bother with the scope.
Finally, the big momma was left, his Mossberg 500, a 12-gauge shotgun. After removing the trigger guard, he loaded five shells of buckshot, then cocked the weapon, making room for another shell.
Now, Jack was ready for anything short of a nuke. The undead would fall easily at his feet; people too if they so chose to try and hurt him or anyone he was trying to save. As much as he would like to believe people wouldn’t be a problem, he knew it was a possibility. And with that thought in mind, Jack couldn’t remember if he’d locked the apartment’s front door.