Right on cue, the woman threw off her seatbelt. “Yeah, me too.”
Shit. He hated the idea of having her out in the open, but they needed those supplies. “Okay.”
A cold wind sent ice down his spine. Everything seemed calm, still. There were no signs of life nearby. Another perfect blue-sky day in a typical suburban street, near the edge of yet another country town.
Ros pushed her sunglasses further up her nose and held her gun in a good grip. She seemed to know what she was doing. Fuck, he hoped she did. In the years to come, her knowing how to handle herself would mean everything. She’d been having entirely too much fun when they’d been meant to be training last night. Not taking it seriously enough.
He handed her an empty backpack, care of the country store yesterday, and shouldered one himself. “Collect anything of use.”
“Got it.”
He gave her a hand up over the decimated concrete garden wall, helped her skirt a rose bush. The stupid thing was covered in more than flowers. Thorns cut into his hand when he held back a branch. It stung like shit.
“Damn it.” Blood dripped from a deep scratch on his palm and a slice across two fingers. It had gotten him good.
“Are you alright?” Ros leant over and tugged on his arm, trying to get a look.
“I’m fine. You concentrate on you.”
“Hold still.” She ignored him and pulled a clean tissue out of a pocket, pressed it into his hand. Her forehead furrowed. “We should put some antiseptic cream on that.”
“Later. Come on.”
He’d never admit it, but she’d been right about his being confused. Discombob-whatever. Things had changed too fast. Twice today she’d turned and caught him frowning at her. She’d given him hell when he refused to talk about it.
Women … you didn’t need to discuss everything. Besides, things would sort themselves out soon enough. Blackstone was now only three or four hours’ drive away at most. He hadn’t changed direction. Instead, he’d slowed them down, dragging out the time he had left with her. Tomorrow he’d give her up. One more day wouldn’t hurt anything.
“Come here.” He nudged the remains of a soldier, skin sunken and gray. “You check they’re properly dead, then grab everything off their belts. Any packs strapped to their legs or chests.”
“This is so craven.”
“No, Ros. This is survival.”
Her mouth pursed, but she nodded in understanding. “Yeah. We should bury them.”
“You could spend the rest of your life burying the dead. Just concentrate on keeping yourself alive.”
Her gaze moved between him and the dead soldier, a heavy frown on her face. He almost asked her what she was thinking. And then he spied it, tucked beneath the corpse’s foot. “Here we go. This is a H&K Tactical. It’s got all the bells and whistles.” He dusted off the dirt and ejected the clip. It all looked to be intact and the cylinder didn’t appear to be jammed. “I’ll clean it tonight and then it’ll be yours. Grab any ammunition.”
Obviously curious, she stepped closer. “That’s a silencer, right?”
“Right, and this is a flashlight. But it's the silencer that's crucial. Noise attracts infected. These boys came prepared.”
The Hercules had been torn in half, leaving the internal floor sitting almost at ground level. It was easy enough to walk in. Several chairs were still intact. So were several passengers. The stink of rotting bodies messed with him, even after this long. Every time he thought he’d gotten used to it, a corpse came along that proved him wrong.
Wiring and other assorted shit hung down. The nose of the beast lay in semi-darkness ahead of them, cockpit door open.
“Stay back,” he said.
Carefully he picked his way toward the front, watching his footing. Shit had been tossed everywhere, smashed laptops and other equipment, parts of the plane’s interior. A decapitated body hung over the back of a chair. Interestingly enough, it wore a skirt and a suit jacket. Several of the other corpses still buckled into their seats wore ties.
“They were moving VIPs. Politicians, probably. Getting them west, away from everything.”
“I thought they’d have a bunker or something,” she said.
“This might have been the back-up plan.”
Ros nodded and stopped beside the remains of a soldier sitting upright in a seat. She started stripping the equipment with her face screwed up. So long as she did it she could make as many funny looks as she liked. This was life now, scavenging for supplies amongst the dead. Doing what you had to, to survive. Dirty and horrible as it was, it wouldn’t be changing anytime soon.
A mass of cases and boxes sat piled at the front. It looked like medical gear and rations packs, probably dislodged during the crash. Supplies would have been packed in the rear. He picked his way around the debris, heading for the cockpit. Time to make sure they were totally alone. Inside the wreckage felt even colder than the air outside. He kept his gun in one hand and a flashlight in the other.
It was dark in the cockpit. The pilot was missing, the empty seat patchy with dark stains. Opposite, the co-pilot’s remains were still strapped into the seat. Its mouth stretched wide and teeth embedded in its shriveled forearm. Nothing much remained of its other arm. The white of bone gleamed in the light, almost intact with the exception of several fingers. Unable to escape, the infected had eaten its own flesh rather than starve.
It was a f**ked-up thing, seriously disturbing. He turned away, his stomach pitching. His mouth tasted foul.
An infected lunged at him out of the shadows, catching him by surprise. He bounced off the metal hatch, jarring his shoulder and sending his gun flying.
“Fuck!”
The thing didn’t make a sound. Dirty fingers clawed at him, trying to reach him.
“Nick!”
“Stay back.” He stumbled back through the hatch, falling on his ass as he tried desperately to evade that hand. “Don’t you come up here.”
With a wheezing noise the zombie lunged for him, but got drawn up short. Something held it back. Its left arm stretched out behind it, tethered still to the belt. How the f**k had he not seen it? It had to have been crouched in the shadows. He’d been f**king careless. It growled at him silently, lips stretched wide showing shattered teeth and a gaping hole. The thing had eaten its own tongue.
“Nick, turn away,” shouted Ros.
“Shit. No! Don’t.”
She didn’t listen. Her first bullet punched through the metal a scant half a meter above him, sending sparks flying. His eardrums pounded. The woman was going to f**king kill him. Quickly, he hit the ground, covered his head with his hands. Because the second bullet … holy shit. The zombie dropped like a dead weight behind him. Everything fell quiet, all over. Nothing remained of where its heart had been. Nick’s pants and shoes were splattered with gore.