Bloody Knuckles and Shotgun Shells

Allison's POV:

Joey and I make our way through Target’s bright and cheery aisles, travelling to the back of the store; to the employee exit. I have an empty camping bag on my back to carry supplies back; as does Joey. My hand grips the semi-auto in a tight fist. Joey holds Ashton’s Benelli in one hand and a bat in the other. I sure hope he’s shot a gun before, because the kick on that gun is a real bitch.

We reach the door. “You open it. I’ll cover you.” He reaches for the door. “Slowly,” I tell him. The handle creaks and my blood is an electric current filling my veins. He gradually pushes the door outward, with barely a sound. The air is thick and cold. I breathe deep, steadying my senses. The darkness is suffocating, disturbing.

A deep groan pierces the silence and Joey is thrown to the ground. My hand snaps toward the sound and the ring of the gun’s discharge as my finger slams against the trigger echoes in my head. The bullet slices through the zombie’s head and it falls over in a terrible heap.

I help Joey up. “Are you alright?” He nods, too taken aback to speak yet. I pray silently that the gun shot doesn’t attract any more of the freaks. My eyes swiftly search the darkness. We can’t let a surprise attack like that happen again. “You ready to get going again?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. All good,” he assures me. “Thank you.” I nod once.

I’d be lying if I told you that I wasn’t terrified walking through the dark with the flesh-eating walking-dead wandering about. My fear has to be swallowed and forgotten if I want to survive this. The hand holding the Glock tightly is shaking. I can see my breath fog the air up as we walk. My eyes are darting here and there, looking for any sign of movement. My ears are waiting for the slightest sound. Nothing. I can only hope that the rest of the lengthy walk to Gander Mountain will be unperturbed for the most part.

Surprisingly enough, only one other post-death-flesh-eater attacks us on our expedition; in the Gander Mountain parking lot, ironically. Joey takes care of him with the bat. He likes it too; I can see it in his eyes. A smirk touches the corner of my mouth.

We reach the front sliding doors and, as expected, they no longer work. The both of us have to manually slide them open to get inside. I immediately scan as much of the place as I can. Looks deserted. Here’s hoping there aren’t any zombies mulling around.

To be honest, I’m a bit disappointed that no one else is around. I was expecting the S.W.A.T. team to repel from the ceiling and shove guns in our faces. You know, take us in for “questioning”? But no such party awaited our arrival. The only person around is a dead guy lying on the linoleum tile to my left. God, I hope he’s dead anyway.

“Joey,” I say. “Will you go find me an ax, please?” I am staring at the dead guy.

“Should I ask why?”

“Probably not.” He walks away to go and heed my request, but my eyes never leave the dead man on the floor. Something isn’t right about him. The bright orange hunting shirt he is donning happens to be stained thoroughly with dark blood. The wound at his neck looks very disheartening. I know he will turn, just not when.

Joey returns with the ax. He hands it to me and I walk over to Dead Man and lean over him. I see his eyes flutter a bit. Oh fuck. Before I know it, I am swinging the ax. The blade meets his neck, slicing to the floor. I kick the head across the floor. No, bad zombie. Don’t come back to life.

“Holy shit,” Joey mumbles. I set the bloodied ax on a table covered in outdoor hoodies and raingear. “That was hot.”

“Oh so you’re definition of what is sexually arousing involves the decapitation of reanimated human remains?”

“Well when you put it like that, no.”

“That’s what I thought.” He looks at me through narrow eyes. “Come on, Popeye. Let’s go get some heavier firepower for our growing arsenal.”

The hunting section is fully equipped. It’s got everything you could ever want. There’s even an Uzi .22 mil machine gun.

“Who is going to use that, seriously?” I ask Joey, pointing to the joke of a gun. “Is Scarface going to come and shoot up a squirrel nest? Twenty-twos are practically bb’s.”

He laughs. “You are too much.” I wink and he steps closer.

“Are you going to stand there, Cassanova, or are you going to kiss me?”

“I’m just going to stand here.” He grins maliciously. Fine. I lean forward and brush my lips lightly across his. I sigh into his mouth and then suddenly pull back and walk away. Take that, fucker.