Empire

8 Food Run

They left at midnight, going through the recently-damaged window and crossing the street to the Donner Convention Center. Streetlamps flickered and made clicking noises. There was no other sound.

Duncan was fiddling with his camera. "Why did you bring that?" Jenna whispered harshly. "It's got a night-vision mode," he replied. "Not much, but it'll allow us to stay in the shadows." He pressed his eye to the viewfinder and searched the Convention Center parking lot. "All clear."

Lauren pushed her sleeves up to her shoulders. She was clutching the leg of a barstool; the girl was small but those drummer's arms were strong. She'd fended off enough unruly fans (and some of them wanted to bite her too), so the rotters were no worry.

"Four blocks west to Kagen's." Duncan said. He crept along the wall, holding his camera like a weapon. Jenna wondered what it was like to photograph the undead at close quarters. Maybe looking at them through the camera made them seem somewhere far away, made Duncan feel safe. Maybe he was just crazy.

Duncan ran across an intersection to the burned-out shell of an outlet mall. Peering through the viewfinder, he threw his hand out to stop Jenna and Lauren from following him. Zooming in, he waited for the grainy green shapes in the street to resolve themselves. There was something smoldering…no, two somethings. Despite the poor quality of the image he was able to identify them as bodies.

A hand fell on his shoulder and he slammed back into the wall. "FUCK!!" Jenna slapped her other hand over his mouth. "Jesus, Duncan!"

He pushed her away and pointed to the bodies. "Rotters. They've been torched."

"How do you know they're rotters?"

"One's still moving a little bit."

Jenna leaned over his shoulder, squinting. He handed her the camera. "Who do you think did it?" Lauren asked. "P.O.s," Duncan answered. Did this mean there was still order in Jefferson Harbor, despite the military pullout? "I thought the cops would've left with the troops." Jenna murmured.

"I'll bet most did." Duncan took back the camera. "Few more blocks. Keep quiet." Shooting a you-should-talk glare at him, Jenna stepped back and let him take point.

The last leg of the journey was uneventful but still seemed to take a lifetime. Duncan kept stopping at every corner to scan the area. Jenna's heart pounded against her ribs with every distant and unidentifiable noise. Finally, Duncan found the Kagen's warehouse entrance and peered inside. "Okay." He went in first. Jenna followed and Lauren, just before stepping through the door, thought she heard a soft grunt from the darkness outside. She hurried in without glancing back.

Duncan felt along the wall for switches and flipped them. Only one light came on, in the far corner, past rows and rows of shelving. Lauren tugged the door shut and frowned. "I think the lock's broken."

"Wouldn't surprise me." Duncan shook a nearby box. "Empty. I knew it."

In the far, well-lit corner, a door opened with a metallic squeal.

They all dropped into crouches. The door slammed. Duncan instinctively raised the camera, finger on the capture button. Jenna stole a peek between two boxes, and she saw it.

It was a monster. Its head, a skull, pale and elongated. Eyeless. Fanged. It…wait, the bone was wired to the raw red flesh of a rotter's head, the skull being worn like a mask. God. What had it been, a horse's? The undead turned in her direction and she realized that, no, it was the skull of a large dog.

That wasn't the worst part. The worst part wasn't even the obscenely-long knife in each hand. It was the surgical apron and scrubs. Where had been a simple, animal thing, Jenna now saw intellect — purpose. The rotter set the knives down on some unseen surface and pulled latex gloves over its scabby hands.

"W-w-what is it?" Lauren stammered. She gripped Jenna's arm like a vise.

Duncan's camera hitting the floor sounded like a thunderclap from the heavens.

He stared in horror at the shattered bits lying at his feet, then looked up through the shelves at the rotter. It had its knives back and was moving forward.

Jenna dragged Lauren toward the door through which they'd entered. Duncan was trying to pick up the camera parts. Jesus! He WAS crazy. "Mark!" She shouted, and the rotter grunted loudly. The photographer was snapped back to reality.

The rotter shuffled down the first aisle, then the next, weaving back and forth, grunt-grunt-grunt-grunt. It planted a knife in one of the many boxes and hurled it to the floor, stomping through the cardboard. Grunt-grunt-grunt-grunt. Jenna grabbed the doorknob and pulled. It was stuck fast.

Duncan wrapped his hands around hers and pried at the door. "C'mon, c'mon," he breathed, barely audible, then a hysteric "FUCKING C'MON!!!"

The rotter swept boxes from shelves and searched the room with its empty dog's-eye sockets. It began loping down the aisles at a frenetic pace. Lauren screamed.

Then, something fell from a shelf and collided with the rotter's legs, sending it to the floor. The door tore open and Jenna, Duncan and Lauren fled into the night.

The rotter sat up, jerking its head back to see what had tripped it.

Fred Moorecourt pawed the floor in a madness, crawling in place as his bloody feet failed to gain traction and drew crimson scribbles on the concrete. The rotter slapped at his heels until he got a hold of one.

"NO!!" Moorecourt hollered. He saw the inhuman thing towering over him, then he tasted blood thick in his mouth, and he saw light; an audience of fist-pumping constituents at a speech; Doug's face, his smile, turning away in a silken pillow; he saw his life, and saw that none of it had mattered, then the rotter planted a knife just below his chin and opened his throat.