Dead Country (Book #1)

Chapter 6: In Action

The next morning my dad and I woke up around the same time. We finished eating breakfast within five minutes of each other, then after a quick look at the thermometer, got dressed for the cool air outside.

I stood by the kitchen door, peering out into the front yard as I waited for him. Today was going to be our second supply run, but there was no guarantee we would be safe. My trip to the grocery store the day prior was uneventful, however, with the virus spreading on a daily basis, we ran the risk of bumping into zombies any time we left home. From the minute the attacks started happening, the risk was there, it just wasn't as great.

"Ready?" my dad asked, walking into the kitchen.

"Me? I'm waiting on you."

A weak smile crept across his face as we headed out of the kitchen to the front porch to put on our boots. I would have worn shoes so it was more comfortable to drive the car, but the feeling in my gut told me steel-toe work boots.

After lacing my brown boots, I looked over at my dad. "So we go to the gas station first with both cars, then... we drive both cars to get the propane?"

"Why both?" he asked.

"Well, I need gas too. Makes sense to fill them up at the same time. Besides, two sets of eyes are better than one."

"Yeah, that's fine, but we don't need both cars going to the propane station." As much as I wanted to twist his arm about safety, it didn't make much sense for me to drive my car as well.

"Okay," I finally agreed. "Fill both cars, come home, then take the truck to get propane? That's the plan?"

"Yeah." With that, we headed out the front door, locking it behind us.

The gas station was a little over five minute drive away in a small plaza with some family run businesses. There was a pizza place, a sandwich shop, and even a truck stop on the opposite side.

As I pulled in behind my dad's truck, I scanned the area for other vehicles and any sign of people, or zombies. He swung his truck around and parked at a pump, and I parked at one adjacent to his so there was nothing between our vehicles.

Once I popped the gas cap, I got out and called over to him. "How much gas does your truck need?"

He walked around the front of his truck and made eye contact with me. "Almost a full tank, why?"

"Okay, I'll be done before you then. Keep yours eyes peeled."

"I will," he assured me, returning to the other side of his truck where I couldn't see him.

A minute later my nozzle shut off, signaling the tank was full, or pretty darn close to. I flicked the handle a couple of times to squeeze in a few last drops in case they were the last I could get my hands on.

After sliding the nozzle back into the holder, I twisted the cap back on and closed the flap. As I walked away from the rear of my silver Saab, I glanced back to see where my dad was. He was still holding the nozzle and took a quick glance to his left and right as I turned focus back to the gas station building's door.

"Hello," greeted the east indian man, who I hadn't seen in a while.

"Hey, how are ya?" I replied.

"I have not seen you in weeks." He accepted my points card – not that it mattered anymore –swiped it, then gave it back.

"Yeah, I haven't been working lately. They let me go."

"Oh, sorry to hear. That is too bad."

I shrugged as I inserted my credit card and pushed the numbers in for my pin. The transaction went through, then he handed me my receipt.

"Thanks."

"No problem."

Before walking back outside, I got the urge to ask him why he was still working.

"By the way, why are you still working? You know there's zombies, right?" I put my wallet back into my pocket as he turned up his hands and shrugged.

"I have not seen any zombies. Not here."

"Really? You've seen the news though, right?" I was worried the man had missed it and was unknowingly putting himself in danger.

"Oh yes. I saw it on television the other night. But... people still need gas. Lots of people filled up yesterday, but the truck will not be coming to refill the tanks. When it is all gone, I will stop working."

I chuckled. "You're brave."

"No no," he argued, trying to be humble.

At that moment I glanced outside at my dad as he checked the numbers on the pump. I was still smiling from the indian man's bravery to help people escape. Then I noticed something coming up behind my dad – a zombie. It sure as hell looked like one, stumbling across the road from the truck stop.

Without saying another word to the man behind the counter, I pushed the door open and ran toward my dad. "Behind you!"

He turned around in time to see the monster a couple feet away from him. Stumbling backward and tripping over the gas hose, he nearly rolled under his truck as the zombie snarled at him.

Why did I wear these boots again? I asked myself as I rushed as fast as I could to my dad's aid. The zombie was caught against the hose just a second too long, allowing me to get there in time to shove it away from my dad, who seemed to be frozen with fear on the ground.

It stumbled backward and fell onto its back. As I stood over it, the rage from my mother's death consumed me, forcing my steel-toe boot to smash its skull to a complete pulp. I didn't stop. I couldn't stop. Die you piece of shit!

"Kevin!" my dad called out, having clearly lost only his ability to get up and not his voice. "It's dead."

"I know," I exhaled, a bit winded. "I just stomped its fucking skull in with my boot." Trying to catch my breath, I hunched over the slowly rotting corpse, staring down at the flesh and blood covering my right boot. That definitely needs to be washed off when I get home.

"You done?" asked my dad. I didn't answer him as I rubbed the bridge of my nose with the back of my hand. "I'm guessing that was for your mother?"

"Oh, it was," I finally responded, turning toward him. "But there's plenty more where that came from."

My breathing slowed a bit as I straightened my stance and walked over to my dad. I held out my arm and pulled him up. He still seemed shaken, but I didn't see any blood on the back of his head as I inspected it.

"If you hit your head, it wasn't hard enough," I told him.

"Thanks," he chuckled, as the gas station attendant opened the door and poked his head outside.

"Are you okay?"

Raising my hand, "Yeah, we're fine."

"Okay." He returned inside as I glanced over my shoulder at what my rage had left to rot on the gas station pavement.

"And to think, you still have to pay for your gas after that," I wheezed.