Strictly Business

Chapter 1

The grocery store is quiet as I walk through it, careful not to kick up any of the mess that littered the ground. I wonder, as I walk through the empty aisles, what it might have been like to live in this small town. The houses outside seem charming and I even saw a little park as I drove in. My mom would have liked this place…

I squat down as the sound of metal echoes through the empty space. I peer around the side of a group of shells and hold in a groan as I see two men saunter in through the back exit door. I can tell by their clothing, or lack thereof, that they aren’t friendly nor are they zombies. I watch them head toward the front of the store and I eye the back door. If there are a couple, more often follow. 

I hold my breath as I zip up the bag I’ve been lugging around. I carefully pull it over my shoulders and start back the way I had come. I squat down and peer over the top of a discarded cart. I shake my head as they start going through the registers and giggling like teenagers when they find money. 

Don’t they know money is useless nowadays? 

I look down at my pistol and look over at the two idiots shoving money into their fanny packs. I watch as their guns bounce on their shoulders as they drop coins onto the dirty floor. One of the men turns toward the other and whispers something I can’t hear. I watch as the second one runs back toward the back door. I take a deep breath and raise my pistol as I stand to face him. If I want to get out of here alive, I have to get out now before their friends come. 

“Hands up,” I demand as I aim my gun at his head. He tilts his head for a moment before reaching for his own. I pull the trigger and groan as it clicks in my hand. I probably should have checked that before I stood up. He laughs crazily as he raises his own gun and points it toward me. 

I dive over a register and wince as bullets pierce through the old poster of a smiling child. I take a deep breath and peer around the side of the old piece of equipment. I can see my shooter's shadow as he struggles to load his weapon. I load my pistol and curse under my breath. I only have a few bullets. I glance toward the open doorway and look back toward the shooter who still hasn’t figured his weapon out.

He must be new. 

I secure my bag of precious goods on my shoulders and charge toward the glassless door. I jump slightly to avoid the broken glass below and stumble into the parking lot. I freeze momentarily as I face a crowd of rotting corpses. The sound of the guns must have alerted them that we were here. I raise my gun and fire at two to my left before leaping over their actually dead bodies. I keep running as I hear bullets litter the parking lot behind me. I glance back to see three men, including the one that had been firing at me, shooting at the horde as it grows larger and larger. 

I stumble past a few buildings until I pull the tarp off my beat up pick up truck. I throw my bag of valuables into the bed of the truck before jumping into the front seat. I take a moment to catch my breath before turning the key in the ignition. I groan as it sputters and complains before I try again. 

It isn’t until the third time that it finally comes to life. I pat the dashboard lovingly before slamming my foot on the gas. I have no intention of letting those idiots follow me to the outpost. I take off down the road that meanders past a graveyard and onto a two-lane highway that hadn’t seen any traffic long before the apocalypse decimated the human population. 

I glance at the rearview mirror and roll my eyes when I notice a newer truck racing toward me. Of course, they have to follow me, I think as I glance back at them. Luckily, this road is filled with obstacles that I know by heart. I keep my eyes forward as the road turns to the right. I slow slightly as I veer off the side and into the grass to avoid the overturned semi-truck that blocked the road. 

“Whoa!” I scream out as I hear a crash behind me. I slam my foot on the break and twist around in my seat. The semi-truck has moved slightly and I can see fire rising over the other side of it. I twist back around, shaking my head as I start forward again. It isn't my fault they aren’t careful. Most roads are blocked by some sort of obstruction, just a lesson to be learned. 

I glance down at my cell phone sitting in the cupholder. I raise my eyebrow as I pull it up as it flashes the smiling face of my boss. I groan and slide the green button-up. I select the speaker option before setting it back down in the cupholder. 

“What’s up, Mr. Lou?” I ask him. 

“I heard some gunshots,” he explains, “I just wanted to make sure my best scavenger survived.”

“Of course I did,” I tell him with a chuckle, “I always do, don’t I?” 

“I have no reason to doubt you as an employee,” he says, “but I have a reason to worry as a friend.”

“I’ve told you not to worry about me. I am incredibly lucky.”

“How long before you make it to the post?” he asks. 

“About two minutes,” I tell him, “Transport ready?”

“Always is.” 

“You are the man,” I say as I pull down a dirt driveway. I pull the truck over and step around the side and grab the back. Mr. Lou stands outside the bright red fire truck. I toss the bag to him and climb inside. He laughs as he climbs into the driver’s side. I lean back as he starts off, turning down the road and continuing down the way I was going. It’s a three-hour drive back to the outpost and I know it’s going to be a long, quiet ride because Mr. Lou likes small talk just as much as I do. 

It’s been five years since the virus showed its angry face and took most of humanity with it. Luckily, I was staying with my aunt in a small town in Utah when it hit. My parents, natives of Chicago, weren’t so lucky. It only took a few months to destroy any semblance of normality. It was a rough year but the apocalypse didn’t destroy all of humanity, only most of it. By the second year, outposts started popping up across the United States. By year four, most outposts had electricity. Year five is the year of the cell phone because they somehow got the towers back online. Everyone’s connected, if only slightly. 

Service isn’t all the great. 

“What did we get this time?” Mr. Lou asks without looking over at me. I shrug and glance up at the setting sun. I hate it when we’re out after dark. It means the night crew is guarding our post and they’re more annoying than zombies. 

“Basics,” I answer after a moment, “there wasn’t much there to take. Got some spark plugs, though.” 

“Nice,” he mutters and glances at the bag sitting at my feet. I turn my attention back to my phone as it buzzes to life. A notification pops up and I groan as I open it. After everything fell, someone made a new social media app called Zomlife when life started becoming a little normal. I only keep it because it reminds me of my sister. 

I roll my eyes as I see my friend Zoey doing a duckface while standing over a pile of corpses. Her caption read, “Another successful day of clearing out the undead.” I roll my eyes as I heart it and slide my phone back into my pocket. I sit forward and smile in relief as I see the lights of our outpost beckoning us. Mr. Lou slows as we wait behind a line of vehicles of people coming up from their jobs just like we are. There’s a tall wall hiding the city within and I glare at the silhouettes standing in the bright lights as they question the drivers. 

“Ever wanted to try something else?” Mr. Lou asks as we pull forward.

“What?”

“Ever want a different job?” he clarifies, “there are plenty of openings. I know one that is-”

“I am not stepping aside so that your daughter can take my place,” I tell him, “she’s not old enough anyway. You should let her be a kid while she still can.”

“You know I want to let her,” he says, “that’s not why-”

“Good evening, Mr. Lou,” one of the night workers speaks up from his open window. Mr. Lou hands him his identification and pulls forward. I climb out of the truck and head toward the small tent that stands just within the walls. I step inside and immediately strip off most of my clothes as I wait to be inspected. It isn’t an unfair rule to check and make sure no one has bites, however, I don’t understand why they have to question my health and my duties outside of the physical examination. 

I sigh discontentedly after it’s over and pull on my clothing just as Mr. Lou steps inside. He opens his mouth as if to speak with me but I simply nod and step past him. I wave to the night workers, even though I hate them, and start walking down the sidewalk that leads along the side of the wall. 

My apartment stands near the walls. It isn’t the safest place but I’m no one important to those who are in charge. The man who made this outpost a thing simply found a small town and placed a wall around it after he had cleared away the zombies. I know I’m simplifying it but there’s isn’t much known about the man who founded this place. There are currently one hundred and fifty people living within these walls. Most outposts are this size, however, I hear there’s one over a thousand. 

I wonder how they survive. 

Most of the homes used to be businesses that we changed into living quarters. Most have to share their living space with other families but I am one of the lucky ones. My home is one of the few that was actually a home before the apocalypse. It’s a small three-story building that used to be an apartment complex. I live there with twelve other people as there are only twelve apartments within it. My job does give me certain advantages over more trivial ones. 

I bound up the steps toward my apartment and pause when I see Zoey sitting outside my door. Her’s is on the first floor. She doesn’t usually come to visit me this late at night. I pull out my keys and step around her as I unlock the door. She stands wordlessly and steps inside my dark apartment before I can. I use a match to light the lantern that hangs beside the hook I had nailed to the wall to hold my keys. I hang my keys up and flick my wrist to kill the flame. 

“So, what happened?” I ask her as she pulls open my fridge and starts chugging one of my gallons of water. 

“I lost my job,” she says and shakes her head angrily as she takes another chug of my water. I raise my eyebrows as I lean against my counter to watch her. My apartment is small with a kitchen that is only separated from the living room by a countertop. There is no dining room. The bathroom and bedroom are down the short hallway that stands beside the kitchen. 

“What happened?” I ask as I take my water away from her. I close it and set it back in the fridge as I wait for her to explain what she had done to lose her job. She was one of the best. She’s-was- an exterminator which simply means that she takes care of any hordes that are nearing our borders or she goes and helps any survivors who request the assistance of the outpost. I’m a scavenger. I go from town to town and find any supplies that remain untapped. Most of our food is taken care of because of the farms a little north from here and the dairy that we secured. Most of our security goes to protecting those areas more so than the outpost itself. 

“I got...distracted,” she shakes her head, “and one of the others got bit. Had to have their arm amputated.” 

“Your selfie?”

“Yes.”

“Well, s**t,” I groan, “what are you going to do?”

“I don’t know. I have to find another profession, I guess. Any scavenger position open?” she jokes because she knows there isn’t. She can go into security but that’s a lot more dangerous than fending off zombies. She’d have to face raiders with guns and anger issues if she chose that way. I don’t see her becoming anything domestic like those who make the meals at the kitchen or those who drop off the care packages every Monday. She’s no farmer or animal lover. Maybe she can start training under the doctor or the nurse. I’d tell her to scavenge with me but I think there’s an overabundance of us as-is. She can’t teach worth a damn so that’s out. 

“I have a week to figure it out,” she says, “otherwise my house is being downgraded to the dorms. I can’t live with those people, Cas. I can’t.”

“Okay,” I say, “take a deep breath. We will figure something out for you, okay?” 

She nods as I point toward my love seat. She plops down on it and I plop down beside her. I reach down and pull out a small square I had wrapped in newspaper. I hand it over to her and she squeals softly as she holds it to my chest.

“What is this?” she asks as she pulls it open. I grin mischievously as her eyes narrow on the book. She swings and slams the book into my shoulder. I giggle as I lean away from her. She laughs as she complains, “really? This is what you get me? A freaking zombie book?” 

“It’s good, I promise!” I call out as she continues to insult me. 

“It isn’t fiction anymore!”

I laugh as I lean against the cushions. She sighs and tosses the book onto my small coffee table. She rolls her eyes at me as she pushes herself to her feet and stretches her thin body.

“Somehow,” she says as she turns to face me, “you always know how to make me feel better. Thank you, Cas.”

“Anytime,” I nod as she leaves. I push myself up and lock the door before heading toward the fridge. No, my fridge doesn’t work. While some of the outpost has electricity, we aren’t as lucky. The fridge is simply a storage space for most of my nonperishables. I pull out a jar of peaches. There is a group of old ladies that can and jar everything. I smile at the thought of them sitting over a pile of fruit and working away. 

I pull out my phone and start flipping through the posts on Zomlife. I pause and reach down to grab the book I had given her. I had kept it hidden under the couch for months, waiting for a time of disaster. She used to have them all the time and I’m glad she’s finally growing out of them. I plop down on the couch and pick it up. I look over the dreary-looking cover before standing up. I set my jar of peaches down before I grab the lantern by my door and start heading back to where my bedroom is. The small twin bed is shoved in the corner so I could fit the large bookshelf. I nearly have it filled and I smile as I shove the book into a slot with other tasteful zombie novels. I have several sections of books ranging from survival to fictional classics to dystopian young adult novels. Lately, I have been on a zombie kick even though they are no longer fiction. I had loved those kinds of stories when I was younger and, apparently, I still do. 

“Cassidy?” I jump as I hear a knock at my door. I grab my pistol and pull the door open slowly. Mr. Lou stands outside and raises his arms up in a universal sign of surrender. I roll my eyes as I pull my door open and let him in. He steps inside with a smile and raises his hand to shake mine but I only raise an eyebrow at the outstretched hand. 

“I’ve never been in this part of the outpost,” he mutters as he looks around my small apartment. 

“You are a supervisor,” I shrug, “you get the good stuff.”

“Yeah,” he says and looks at my couch, “may I?” 

“Sure,” I nod as I scoop a spoonful of peaches into my mouth. 

“I have a favor,” he says, “well, it isn’t a favor.”

“What do you need, Mr. Lou?” 

“You remember that job I mentioned?” he asks.

“Yes,” I shrug, “I don’t want it. I like scavenging.”

“Can you just hear me out?” he asks, desperation clear in his voice. I sigh and fold my arms across my chest. 

“Okay,” I say, “you have five minutes.”

“That’s all I need.”