Pt 2
Alcohol of The Dead
Z didn't sleep. It was unnerving at first, but I eventually got used to it. Now and then he'd nuzzle his face into my back or neck while I slept and take a long, deep inhale. He hadn't pushed it too far again. Usually, he just sat there, staring at his surroundings. He reminded me of a dog on high alert.
One day, while we were exploring the decaying streets, it looked like it might rain soon. We didn't want to get caught in a thunderstorm. I also wasn't feeling up to fighting off a horde to get a roof over my head and some shut-eye. Even with Z by my side, it was an exhausting endeavor.
A light in the distance caught my attention. It was a faint yellow light, surrounded by nothing but darkness and the occasional roaming zombie. Running electricity of any kind was an unusual sight nowadays.
I ducked down, motioning for Z to follow. "Approach with caution. We don't want to add any unnecessary danger."
The gravel crunched softly beneath our footsteps. We approached a dusty old liquor store nestled in a strip mall between a clothing shop and a dollar store. Bars covered the windows, some of which were shattered. The outside was illuminated by the faint pink glow of a sun-bleached 'Open' sign. The large gate in front of the door was still padlocked shut.
"Z, the door," I instructed quietly, pointing at the padlock. "Open it.
His eyes scanned the surroundings, landing on a large cinder block. He effortlessly raised it above his head and brought it down on the rusty lock. The cinder block crumbled slightly on impact. The chains and lock fell away, landing in a pile with a loud clank
Z looked up at me with a cocky smile. "Need me."
I shrugged dismissively, "Let's scope it out."
The inside of the store smelled like dry rot, but most of the shelves were intact. Liquors of all kinds, soda, and some snack foods all sat neatly on the shelves. My eyes widened and my mouth fell slack, dumbfounded by the sheer luck of it.
The soft clatter of a zombie standing up behind the register with a groan resonated through the store. His bones made soft pops and cracks as he twisted unnaturally, struggling to hold himself up. The zombie stared at me and Z as if trying to assess what was happening.
Z let out a low, warning growl while stepping in front of me. The sound was different--deeper, more meaningful--than the usual grunts and growls he made with me. I stepped closer to him, pushing my body into his in an attempt to mask my smell and heartbeat.
The other zombie moved from behind the counter with loud shuffling steps. His clothes clung to his rotting flesh. He was much more decayed than Z or any other zombies I'd seen so far. The liquor store zombie's smell hit me first. It was like a funeral home doused in tequila. Each shuffled step was accompanied by soft sloshing from his stomach.
Z let out a series of clicks, grunts, and whines. The other zombie responded with a few incoherent sounds before moving closer. He raised his arm, his rotted finger pointed directly at me.
Z sneered, his expression changing to one of angry determination as he grabbed the other zombie by the throat. The decaying flesh squelched sickeningly under his grip. The putrid smell of decay intensified, assaulting my senses. He dragged the zombie towards the exit with heavy, deliberate steps.
The other zombie let out a gurgling attempt at a horde call, but Z silenced him with a swift snap of his neck. The loud crack of bones reverberated off the store walls. My stomach churned in response. The zombie's limbs twitched violently as he desperately tried to claw at Z, but his deteriorated motor skills wouldn't let him.
Z snarled, "I am no traitor."
Z realized that the other zombie couldn't understand English, so he returned to the guttural clicks and growls. The other zombie tried pitifully to make any sort of noise to call for help, but all he could muster were a few raspy gurgles as Z disappeared with the thrashing monster.
I stood there, frozen for a moment, my heart pounded in my chest. The sight of Z's raw power and the brutal efficiency of his actions left me in terrified awe. The store fell silent once again, the only sound was my breathing mixed with faraway sounds of potential dangers.
I shook my head, forcing myself into doing something useful. I quickly shut the store's front door and began to search through the small building for anything useful. The air carried the heavy scent of decay, smelling like a drunken wet k-9. The dim fluorescent lights cast an eerie, flicking glow across the room. I moved quietly, mindful of any lurking dangers.
In the back of the building, I found a small manager's office. Inside the office was a small bathroom with a trickling toilet, cracked tile, and peeling wallpaper. The sink gave a small but consistent drip, a small promise of survival. Considering the scarcity of drinkable water, this was a gold mine. I felt a small sense of relief wash over me, but I didn't want to get my hopes too high. For every lucky break, there'd be an equally unlucky one.
I searched the rest of the office, hoping to find something useful. It was the average management hideaway, with a standard desk, computer, and carpet combo. The computer was beyond damaged, covered in what looked like a spilled bottle of gin. The carpet was plush enough to sleep on uncomfortably, which was better than nothing.
In the corner decent-sized, square, white, and red first aid kit is on top of a tall filing cabinet. I pushed myself up on my toes to reach for the kit, my fingers brushing against the cool plastic a few times before I managed to pull it close enough to curl my fingers around the handle.
I pop open the hinges with a small *click*. Inside the box were bandages, some gauze, anti-septic cream, and alcohol swabs, alongside a small sample-sized bottle of ibuprofen. The entire kit smelled a bit like a hospital, but it would undoubtedly come in handy. I closed it up and slid it inside a large camo pack I kept with me.
I wandered around the store, my eyes landing on the inviting row of soda. I grabbed a can of cola, feeling the nostalgic coolness and weight in my hand. My heart ached and my chest throbbed with longing for a past I couldn't get back. I glanced outside for any signs of approaching zombies before heading back to the manager's office.
I pulled the rolling office chair out, enjoying the normality in the faint sounds of the wheels against the tile. Despite its cheap material, it felt like a throne beneath me. The fake plastic fibers brushed against my skin, and the worn cushions cradled my body. As I sipped on my cola, enjoying the still somewhat capitated sweetness, my mind wandered. I thought about how Z and I first met, questioning whether I felt safe with him. It was as if I couldn't help but like Z, even if I didn't want to. The loneliness of the apocalypse had taken its toll.
Z returned after a while. His brow furrowed and jaw clenched with grinding teeth. His entire demeanor was stiff, even for a zombie, his shoulders hunched. My hands shook, and my heart was beating fast. I shut the metal gate with a loud clang, then locked the store's door with a soft click.
