Zombie Exodus Novel, Chapter 11 - Devlin (Patreon)

Devlin splashed water from the sink on his face and rubbed a hand over scratch marks on his neck. “Damn, girl, you need to watch those fingernails.”

The woman stepped out of the bathroom stall, buttoning her blouse. “Some guys like to be choked,” she said with a sly smile. “Plus, you pulled my hair too hard.”

He liked her smile, the contours of her thick body, the smooth slope of her long nose, and her auburn hair. He was a sucker for redheads.

He fixed his own hair in the mirror, pushing the medium-length, messy locks into other, equally messy places and shaped out his goatee with his hand. His eyes were bloodshot but sleep would help. He had not slept in hours, ever since the phone call from his ex’s roommate.

“So what do you do for a living? Well, what did you do before the outbreak?” The woman—he never did get her name—asked as she leaned against the stall wall and put on a purple heel.

“Don’t matter now.”

“Well, no but I’m just curious. No need to be so cavalier. We just had a moment, so I figured I should know something about the last man I may ever have sex other than the location of a very private tattoo.”

He smirked and gazed into the still sink water. An image of himself popped into the water, of him sitting in a tattoo parlor in DC, pants down, a needle poking ink into his skin, the scales of justice. He had lost a bet, but at least Danny chose a reasonable tattoo. At first, he was threatened with a permanent image of Abe Cedarian, a lawyer on the Adult Swim cartoon, Uncivil Law. No one wants a new-school cartoon character high up on their inner thigh for eternity.

“I’m not being cavalier, but what does it really matter? If I said I was an accountant, a trash collector, a congressman, or a priest, what would it matter now? Not like they have any skills that matter anymore.”

“You’re certainly no priest,” she said out of the corner of her mouth. She stood behind him and tucked her shirt into the front of her pants. “But seriously if you were a cop or a doctor or a Navy SEAL, I want to know.”

Devlin nodded and flicked the surface of the sink water with his index finger. “I’m none of those—that’s for damn sure. My survival skills are nowhere near the level of Bear Grylls. Look, I’m not trying to be evasive. Truth is that nothing about my former life really matters anymore. Only one thing matters now, and that one thing is trust. If I was an expert at shooting guns, had experience working in an ER, or knew military tactics, it would all be secondary to one vital thing. Am I trustworthy? Meeting me and scoping me out for a few minutes, do you have a reasonable amount of faith that I am a person who won’t screw you over?”

The woman stepped beside him and stared at his reflection in the mirror. “You sound really shady now.” She paused, sighed, and looked at the door of the bathroom. “I got to go. It was fun. You were sweet and nice, and we helped each other release some tension. We both know this was not a long-term thing but—“

“Just get the hell out of here,” Devlin snapped.

The woman’s heels tapped on the tile floor on the way out of the bathroom, and Devlin heard them for a few seconds through the walls until they faded to silence.

He pulled the plug on the sink, and the water drained in a slow circle, emptying with a harsh gurgle. The air dryer did not work, so he dried his hands on his pants. When he looked back up at the mirror, an image swirled in the surface, of his ex standing beside him, reaching hands under his arms to touch his chest. Devlin could feel the embrace, so much he felt his pulse quickening, his heart thumping. This was the memory of the last morning they spent together: making love as they awoke in bed, drinking coffee on the balcony, the shower together. The topic of marriage came up, a topic which always ended in a blowout argument, and this time, it was the last fight.

Devlin raised his hand and squeezed it into a fist. It flew to the mirror, stopping short. “Stupid,” he said aloud and turned. He needed something to distract him from thinking about the past. Sex helped for a while. He had to find another distraction.

He walked into the handicapped stall. His open duffel bag sat on the toilet lid, and he plucked a pack of Marlboros off of the top. As he lifted a lighter to his last cigarette, he stopped. The gun was gone.

“Damn her,” he said and slammed his hand on the wall.

He slid the bag to the floor and sat on the lid of the toilet, smoke slithering to the ceiling from his cigarette. That girl was long-gone by now, and as soon as that thought crossed his mind, images of his ex crept from the edges. They had bought the pistol together, passing by a small convention center with a banner on a marquee for the Hawk Valley Gun Show. It was a complete joke as they went inside and walked along the rows of tables with guns and ammo. The irony that his ex fought for gun control legislation was not lost on Devlin. When they passed a display of a Colt dealer, the .357 Python jumped out to him. Devlin had never owned a gun before, but this one whispered, “I’m yours.”

A noise in the main dining room of the restaurant drew his attention. He tiptoed to the bathroom door and inched it a sliver. Through the crack, he saw a short, wiry man in a gray hoodie climbing over the counter of the open kitchen. Behind him lumbered a heavyset man in a Viking helmet, who carried a pump-action shotgun leaned on his shoulder. The tip of the helmet’s horn bumped a low-hanging chandelier, and the man threw the hat off.

“Glad you got rid of that stupid hat already,” the shorter man said. Dishes broke, pots clanged, and other all-too-loud noises came from the back of the kitchen.

The taller man sat the shotgun on the counter, facing his companion. “Stop with the racket. You’re gonna wake the dead.”

“Shut up.”

Devlin kept one eye through the crack of the door, content on watching and gathering more information. Were they two buddies scavenging a business, trying to survive just like Devlin? Maybe they were co-workers here at this restaurant and stopped into two find some misplaced item they needed to get through the outbreak?

“See if they got a cash box,” the tall one said. He strummed his plump fingers on the metal counter to show his impatience.

“What do we need money for? It’s useless now.” The wiry man shoved a microwave off a shelf with a crash.

“After the outbreak when things go back to norm—“

“You can get that thought out of your thick head. This world’s over. Finito. We don’t need money no more. If you see somethin’, you just take it. If anyone argues or steps up, you kill ‘em. That’s the way it works now. I just want a gun.”

Devlin had seen and heard enough. Several visions floated in his mind. One showed him stepping out of the bathroom, introducing himself to the two strangers, and getting shot and robbed. The next image involved him tackling the big guy from behind and being stabbed in the eye with a boning knife by the runt. He settled on the third vision.

He walked to the handicapped stall, slung the duffel bag over his shoulder, and stepped back to the bathroom door. When he heard a barrage of kitchen mayhem, he swung the door enough to slip through, and stalked through the dining room with quick, quiet, deliberate steps. His eyes focused on the main exit.

“Joe, where are ya? What are you even looking for back there?” the ex-Viking said, his tone full of annoyance.

Joe stepped out from the kitchen and rifled through a serving station. He tossed out several items in a heap. “I told you I’m looking for things we’ll need, like medicine or packaged food or guns.”

“Yeah, maybe food from a restaurant but not those other things. Let’s find a pharmacy.”

Joe scoffed. “Pharmacies are already looted. We gotta look in other places. A manager may have antibiotics in a locker or the owner keeps a Glock for defense. We need some firepower if we’re gonna survive.”

“I got a shotgun.”

“I want my own gun, something with lots of bullets.”

Devlin crept down an aisle, crouched to keep out of sight. He walked heel to toe with precise steps like when we was a teenager and wanted to sneak out at night. Waking up Felix meant an end to the evening at best and a belt if his father woke up drunk. The front door to the restaurant was stuck open with a wedge. He only had to make it three more table lengths.

“Why we need a gun anyway?” the ex-Viking said with a chuckle. “I thought you wanted to cut her up.”

Devlin cringed and paused just to look over at the table as if he had to see the men who would say such things to believe they were truly said. The big guy was tossing pans and other cooking items, making a tremendous amount of noise, while Joe was out of sight but adding to the clamor with clangs of metal and scrapes along the flooring. 

Devlin turned back to the door with only a few feet to go. He could likely run now and make it away before either man could react. Movement across the street drew his attention—a pack of infected. Now, he heard their low moans like the background noise from highway traffic. It was always there, but he chose to ignore it. 

Too focused on the two idiot-thieves inside, Devlin thought. I’ll sneak past these zoms with no problem.

“Yeah, I’m gonna carve her up like a pumpkin, but I gotta get past her new husband,” Joe said over the noise of his scavenging. “He told me he would shoot me if I showed up again. He said the restraining order gives him the right. I’m gonna find a gun, go there, and shoot him in his gut, so he can watch me work on my dear ex-wife with a buck knife while he bleeds to death.”

Hearing this, Devlin stopped. He squeezed his eyes shut like they burned in the sun.

Just walk away. This ain’t your fight. Devlin sighed, shaking his head. He heard the two looters laughing. You know dam well you can’t leave yet.

Devlin turned to scan the front of the restaurant. He needed a weapon. Even then, he wasn’t much of a fighter. The Viking looked like he could handle himself. They had that shotgun too.

There’s a stool I could hit one with, maybe wrestle away the shotty. There’s a broom. What am I gonna do, brush them out. Maybe, I can…

Devlin saw the gray-metal box near the front of the restaurant. He recognized it—a SecureTech 550X Pro. Danny’s house had one. He crossed the open door and rose to the control box. Popping it open, he saw it was unarmed. He peeked across the street at the dozen or so mindless zombies, milling about the sidewalk across the street. Devlin armed the box, stepped behind the solid brown door, yanked out the wedge holding it open, and crouched to hide.

A few seconds passed. Devlin listened from behind the door, waiting, anticipating. 

It should only take a moment to start. Maybe the door has to be closed and then opened? The magnets need to make a connection and then…

A screaming, whooping siren roared throughout the restaurant and resounded in the street.

“What is that? Joe, you trip a wire or something?”

“No, dumbass. Where’s the shotgun?”

Fierce, shrill growls could be heard when the security alarm pitched low. They drew closer and soon heavy steps hammered the sidewalk. Devlin pushed himself deeper in the gap between the door and the wall, and he caught flashes of dirty clothes and decayed flesh through the sliver of space. The dead stampeded into the restaurant, and Devlin held the door with a tight grip as it rattled from the force of motion.

When the last of the infected passed, Devlin stood and slipped outside, closing the door behind him. He turned the knob. Locked. Devlin smiled and backed away, only taking a momentary glance at the sign for the Scales of Justice Tavern.

Devlin hurried down the sidewalk toward the intersection. He only made it half the distance before he saw an alley, and as he passed it, he caught sight of a zombie running the opposite away at the far end. A body lied closer to the alley’s start. A woman with purple heels.

He walked into the alley and stared down at the bite marks on her thick body, her broken nose, and the blood darkening her auburn hair.

“Damn, girl.” Devlin knelt and lifted her handbag. It was heavy. He popped it open and saw his Colt Python. He took it along with a pack of cigarettes. “Sleep well.”

Devlin left her there, stepped out of the alley, and started on his way to Danny’s.