If you haven't caught up, the most compete version of the BROTHERS IN SOLITUDE PROLOGUE is here.
Instead of participating in NaNoWriMo, I'm letting readers follow along as I #closecirlces and finish projects that I've started before getting sidetracked with something new. Please let me know any mistakes, typos, or concerns in the comment sections. Thanks for reading as well as your help.
CHAPTER 1
Thirty or forty creatures
shuffled about the Megacenter's main parking lot, ambling without any obvious
direction or purpose.
Chad pushed through the scrubby
bushes he and Drake hid behind and surveyed the scene with olive green binoculars. Few vehicles remained. Several random carts scattered the parking
spaces, the white lines once representing order now sprawled out faded,
cracked, and forgotten. Before the world
went to shit, the Megacenter was Port Wallace's downtown, the small community's
shining gem. Now a tomb, the supermarket
served as a beacon for the walking dead.
"Looks like we found
where they've been disappearing to."
A chill haunted the Florida air, and Chad wished he'd worn his
jacket. Why did Drake have to be right
again? "Twice as many as the last
time we were out this far. How many do
you think are inside?"
"I don’t
know." Drake adjusted the hunting
knife on his belt. "A
million?"
Halfway across the lot, one of the things
lurched over the door of a car long abandoned, pulling the handle again and
again without success.
"What's that rot going
to do with a car?" Drake asked.
"I've never seen one drive."
"Maybe it used to
own it." Chad imagined the decaying
corpse parked at the city pier and listening to music. "Maybe it wants to go home."
"I don't think
so. They're just stupid, reanimated
meat."
Chad suppressed a
giggle. "Well, looks like the
dummies still know how to shop."
"What could they
possibly need in there?"
Chad didn't answer. Drake, too serious for his seventeen years,
rarely picked up on subtle jokes. So
much had changed in two years. Chad
missed his brother's pre-apocalypse silliness.
He tucked his binoculars
in his backpack and awaited instructions, like normal. Drake always took command.
"It's a shame we
can't get on that roof. I bet we could
drop right on top of whatever is worth salvaging in there, skip all the hassles."
"I think we can
handle them. They're spread out pretty
thin. We can pick them off one by
one. Start with the stragglers closest
to Front Beach Drive and work our way in."
"No, we need to save
our energy. Go hand-to-hand out here,
and we'll have nothing left by the time we make it inside."
"Still think we can get
in through the far side? Through the
tire center?"
Drake nodded and pointed
to the building's left-hand corner. Once
a lush greenhouse sectioned off with a chain-link fence, a new kind of weed
consumed the gardening department, their groans a dreadful concerto coming from
behind the tattered white plastic.
"Seems they're
bottled up there." Drake's eyes
narrowed. "We can keep low behind
all these bushes and follow them past that mess in gardening. If they're spread out enough, we'll slip into
the automotive entrance."
Chad gave a thumbs up and
readied his crossbow. Scavenging the
Megacenter would take a great deal of pressure off their resources. Their supplies were running low, and they had
picked clean the neighborhood surrounding their home.
The brothers left their
bikes and followed the overgrown tree line surrounding the parking lot. Chad minded his footsteps. The dead reacted to sound more than sight or
smell. The older ones, the unfortunate
souls ripped from their humanity at the plague's onset, were nearly blind. Their red and yellow eyes decayed faster than
their saggy, gray flesh, but even blind, the creatures pinpointed prey with
frightening accuracy.
The brothers, separated
from clawing hands and gnashing jaws by thick, tall bushes, passed the crowd
outside the greenhouse with ease.
Finding an opening in the plants several feet from the automotive center's
entrance, they paused.
The side entrance door
hung askew, its hinges broken from swarms of the undead or roaming gangs that
looted the area as civilization collapsed.
An oversized lady wearing
a light blue bathrobe splotched with old bloodstains wandered from the repair
bay. Her gnarled, mud-covered feet waddled
over the greasy concrete as she stared off into the clear, azure sky. Two further along in their decomposition
staggered closer to the entrance. On the
tallest, the sun glinted off an exposed clavicle, bleached white from exposure
to the elements.
Chad hoped Drake would
call the whole thing off. How many
waited inside? The automotive entrance
was situated on the opposite side of the building from the food section, past
electronics, cleaning supplies, and pet care.
The center of the food department housed can goods, but the plan called
for staying along the edge of the building and skipping the wide aisles where
larger numbers of the things could gather.
Their approach would take longer but sounded safer in theory.
As the reality sank in,
the less appealing the invasion became.
"What are you
thinking, Drake?"
"We can make
it. Get the fatty. I'll take out the other two."
"Then what?"
"Then we get inside
as quick and quiet as possible."
Chad swallowed hard, pushing
back the nausea twisting his guts. Instincts
begged his legs to run away, but once Drake made up his mind, there was no
turning back.
Drake readied the machete
that their father used to trim hibiscus plants, his icy, unyielding stare fixed
on the two obstructing their path.
Chad aimed the crossbow.
An arrow struck
bathrobe's temple. She crumpled with an
agonized gasp. The other two shifted
their milky gazes towards the brothers.
Drake sprung, swinging at
the tall one's neck, severing its head clean off its body. The second grasped at him, its gaping mouth
poised for a poisonous bite. After planting
the blade deep into its skull, the rancid fiend collapsed and twitched at Drake's
feet.
Back at the gardening
section, several shuffling corpses remained unaffected by the ambush. The last thing they needed was a swarm
trapping inside the store.
Drake waved the machete
at the side entrance, sprinting.
Chad retrieved the arrow
from bathrobe's head, reloading his weapon without missing a step as Drake disappeared
into the building.
Six crows circled
overhead, as if waiting for something to die.
Inside, the auto care
department still smelled of new tires and burnt motor oil. Drake paused by a drinking fountain nestled
between two tire racks. Turning the
knob, the fountain yielded no precious liquid.
"What the
hell?" Chad kept his voice low.
"I thought since the
water still ran at our house, it would work.
Probably would have been stale anyways."
"You think?"
"Come on,
dude."
Drake turned left at the first
row of antifreeze and windshield wiper blades, hugging the back wall as they
journeyed deeper into the store. The
natural light from the outside waned.
Chad, eyes still adjusting, slowed as his vision focused. Broken glass crunched under his sneakers and
reverberated through the aisles.
A gurgling groan replied
from the darkness.
"Did you hear
that?" Drake whispered.
"Damn."
"Forget it, let's
hurry. I'm not liking the vibe in
here."
Chad silently agreed.
Shadows swallowed
them. Drake flicked on a flashlight and
kept it pointed low as they passed paint cans and ladders. Chad fumbled around his pocket for a glow
stick. An emergency precaution, holding
the plastic tube offed a drop of relief.
He hated the dark.
Though embarrassing to
admit, if their home still had power, he'd sleep with a nightlight. And should he live another hundred years, he
prayed to God that his brother never discovered his fear.
Creeping past a wall of TVs
long-starved for electricity, he wished he could watch cartoons again. Nothing beat lounging on the couch and
gobbling potato chips—why did those perfect afternoons end?
It wasn't fair.
When they reached the CDs
and video games, the stale air soured.
Death.
Electronics used to be
his favorite department. While Mom
shopped for groceries, Chad would play the video games on display. Those random kids he met over the latest
arcade delight were probably all dead now.
He couldn't even remember any of their names.
Drake stopped and swept
the beam.
Still clinging to a
shotgun, a man missing half of his face sat with his back against a CD
rack. Rusty brown chunks of tissue
splattered across the rock and pop CDs—the stiff appeared relatively
fresh. Drake traced the body with the
flashlight. His exposed legs revealed chunks
of missing flesh. Suicide—a pitiful mercy
from reanimation.
"If I get bit,"
Drake said under his breath, "I won't hesitate."
"I'll do it for
you."
"I got your back,
too."
They pounded fists before
pushing on.
Loud groans by the paper
towels and toilet bowl cleaner.
Hisses.
Feet shuffling.
Numerous creatures, but
on which aisle?
The stench burned Chad's
lungs; he stifled a cough.
Drake halted, the machete
ready to strike.
Chad, holding his breath,
raised the crossbow.
At the corner of dog food
and cat litter, a little girl around twelve-years-old grabbed Drake's arm,
knocking the machete from his hands. He
screamed when the flashlight revealed long-dead skin dangling from her face,
exposing a vacant eye socket and unhinged jaw.
Chad didn't shoot.
He couldn't risk hitting
Drake.
Hooking the crossbow's
prod over his shoulder, he grabbed the little girl by her nappy blonde locks
and jerked. Clumps of scalp broke free,
leaving Chad with a handful of dry, knotted hair. Drake unsheathed the hunting knife in his
belt and rammed the blade's tip into her forehead. Black pus oozed from the wound. Drake tossed aside her carcass—it hit a stack
of metal dog bowls, sending them crashing.
"Shit," he
said.
"They're coming." The raid failed, Chad's adrenaline surged. "We have to get out of here."
Drake scooped up his machete
as a throng surrounded them.
Chad drew his revolver. "Drake, let's go."
He dropped what was once
an elderly man with a single headshot.
The blast bounced off the walls and the store came alive with un-life.
"Save your bullets."
They ran along the back
wall. Almost clear.
At the engine fluids,
they rounded the corner with the drinking fountain. Fifteen or twenty staring pairs of red and
yellow eyes blocked the tire and lube entrance.
Behind them, the groans and growls of the approaching mob grew louder.
Drake dove in, swinging
the machete and taking down a rotting woman still in her Megacenter uniform.
"Get down,"
Chad shouted.
Drake ducked.
Chad unloaded, opening a
wide gap within the infected.
The brothers dashed at
the broken door.
Chad shoved a gaunt man
in bloodied scrubs into the checkout counter before stepping outside into the
warm sunlight. After the building's dark
corridors, the blue sky and fresh air a religious experience.
They vanished into the bushes and reclaimed
their rides, mounting their bikes and peddling as fast as they could to Lister
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