The Virus, Lee, Damien [summer beach reads .txt] 📗

Frank’s eyes widened when he caught sight of a semi-automatic handgun.

“Holy shit, what’s going on here?” he mused as he grabbed a box of bullets. “Looks like our gun shop’s dabbling in illegal arms.”

He filled the magazine and resumed his search, ignoring the angry wails and thunderous strikes against the door.

“Oh, ho. Look at these!” He laughed when his gaze fell on a mounted display of shotguns.

“What are you doing? We need to barricade the door!” Ben urged.

“We don’t need to do shit.”

He pried one of the weapons from the wall and rushed over to a box of bullets. Another thud sounded throughout the room. The zombies struck the door harder, this time almost hurling Ben aside.

“What are you doing?”

“This is a ten gauge, pump-action shotgun, my friend. I’m surprised to see one of these here. Must be an American import.”

“How’s that gonna help us block the door?”

Frank dismissed him and scanned the array of boxes on the shelf, reading them aloud. “Twelve, twelve, twelve, ten!”

He grabbed a box and dug inside, feeding the shells into the chamber. He cocked the shotgun as the door emitted a snapping sound.

“They’re getting in!” Ben watched Frank approach. He propped the shotgun against his shoulder and aimed the weapon at him.

“Move.”

Before Ben could protest, the final assault caused the wood to give way. He jumped aside as the door swung open and the bodies stumbled forward.

Frank fired, striking the first woman in the chest. The impact caused her to crash back into the others, sending many of them staggering aside. Taking a step forward, he fired again. The boom of the shotgun thundered around the room. The blast devastated everything in its path. With each shot, the wave of zombies fell back further and further. Frank followed, directing the gun at the nearest body and reducing it to pulp.

“There’s no way we can take them all!” Ben yelled from the storeroom.

“Maybe. But it’ll be fun finding out.”

The reloading of the shotgun began to sound rhythmic until he fired his last cartridge. All at once, the zombies retaliated. Those crippled from the shotgun crawled towards him. Those with their legs intact raced forward. Throwing the empty weapon aside, Frank wasted no time in retrieving the handgun. He brought the weapon up to meet the nearest face and fired. The gunshots began again, with Frank picking off those nearest to him. The point-blank range guaranteed a headshot, but he knew he didn’t have enough bullets.

He continued to pull the trigger until a clicking sound replaced the gunfire.

“I’m out!”

He hurled the handgun at the nearest zombie. The impact only rocked the mutilated corpse as it lunged forward.

“Get down!”

He obeyed Ben’s command as a shotgun boomed. The blast overhead created a high-pitched ringing in his ears as he hit the ground. He jerked back as searing gunpowder drifted onto the nape of his neck. He tried to complain, but the gunfire drowned his words.

“How many guns did you load?” Frank yelled between the bursts of shotgun fire.

“The same as you.”

Frank looked up from his prone position, straight into the wide eyes of an elderly woman. The corpse grinned as it crawled towards him, paying no heed to its shattered legs. Frank lurched away, crawling back until he found his discarded shotgun. He turned and swung the butt of the weapon down onto the zombie’s forehead. The impact sent it crashing to the ground. Before it could rise, Frank struck again. The boom of the shotgun diminished the dull thud, but he knew he had smashed through its skull. Not wanting to take any chances, he struck again, and again.

Jumping to his feet, Frank darted back into the storeroom, noting that Ben no longer fired the shotgun. Instead, the cracks of a handgun resounded through the blood-spattered store.

“There’s still too many!” Ben yelled over his shoulder.

Frank looked out and estimated at least a dozen more undead creatures standing in the main store. He turned back to the box of bullets and reloaded. The sound of Ben’s gunfire still echoed around the room.

“I’m out!”

Frank rushed back to the storefront as Ben retreated. Seven zombies stood glaring at him. They charged forward, but the carpet of bodies slowed them down. Frank glanced at his feet. Satisfied there were no crawlers, he turned his attention to those still standing. He braced the shotgun against his shoulder and fired. Four out of the seven zombies fell in quick succession. He aimed at the fifth, but found the slide had jammed. He tried to rack it again. It was stuck.

“C’mon,”

He stepped back into the storeroom, looking between Ben and the remaining creatures. Ben snapped the magazine into his handgun and walked to the doorway. Three shots later, he turned back to Frank.

“Thank God,” Ben gasped, throwing the weapon down onto the counter.

“I told you we’d do it.”

“Yeah, well, we still need to hurry. There’ll be more on their way.”

“At least now we have time to barricade the door. C’mon, let’s get to it.”

Frank walked past Ben toward the row of shelves next to the doorway. After testing the sturdiness of the metal structure, he pushed hard on the side until it tipped. A loud clatter accompanied the landing of the shelves as they blocked the entrance.

“There. Now nothing can get in.”

Frank gave the shelves a harsh tug to verify his statement. The barricade remained still, completely blocking the doorway.

“Yeah, and we can’t get out,” Ben said.

“Why would we want to do that?”

“So we can load the van.”

“Have you not been here for the last ten minutes? The van is shot to hell. There’s no way we can get away in that.”

“Then what do you suggest?”

Ben followed Frank’s gaze towards a row of heavy shutters. He looked back