Free LZR-1143: Infection by Bryan James Page B

It was either brick our way in here and risk a barricade, or stay out there, strip to our birthday suits, baste ourselves with butter, and jump on one of those damn grills that are on special outside.”
    He didn’t answer, but shook his head and turned toward the garden center doors. Kate and Fred were there already, struggling to upend a metal futon against the opening in the door. A particleboard chest of drawers blocked each of the sliding doors, and a couple metal Tiki torches secured the chests against the doors by lodging against the shelving units on either side.
    “Who’s this,” Kate asked, understandably wary after our last human encounter, and unconsciously grabbing the end of her shovel.
    “This is Earl!” I said cheerily, pointing in mock excitement at his nametag.
    She stared at me briefly, questioningly, her eyes then moving to follow him as he passed her and looked outside to the fence.
    “Jesus!” exclaimed Earl, his tone rising as he took in the scene outside.
    I looked out again. There were more than before.
    Many, many more.
    We all chipped in, piling items on the barricade. The futon went against the window, then some bags of fertilizer to keep it in place, some more Tiki torches for stability, and some chairs from housewares. It looked strong enough to give us warning that they had gotten in. That’s about it.
    As an afterthought, we moved a set of table and chairs from the outdoor dining display, and put them behind our masterpiece pile o’ crap.
    “OK, Earl, so we’re sorry for busting in here, but we just barely made it out of the hospital alive, almost lost our heads to a crazy cop outside, and are just looking for a safe place to crash and recharge. Are you alone?”
    He looked at me inclined, I think, to tell me to fuck off.
    But then he looked at Kate, who was pretty even in disheveled exhaustion, and his face softened. “I’m the manager of the store,” he said, self-importantly, “and we sent everyone home when the crazies started appearing. I didn’t approve of the decision but it came from corporate. Regional corporate, anyway. There’s always some bullshit reason for people to go home: bird flu, AIDS, cancer, etc.”
    This guy must have been an absolute jewel to work for.
    “I thought it would blow over, but the regional guys called and told me to close it up. I locked up and stayed about an hour and a half to do the books.” He looked toward the barricade, scratching his nose.
    “I went to leave a couple hours later, and the parking lot was already full of these things, most moving toward the linen superstore across the street, some milling around in my lot. A couple of them were clustered around a car out there, trying to get in, but I couldn’t make out what they were after. Something was moving inside, but… Anyway, it looked like a bunch were ganged up outside the linen place like they are outside the garden center here. Maybe some people like us were hiding in there and they knew it.” He glared at me, as if revealing his presence here wasn’t somehow inevitable.
    “So I kept real quiet, turned off the lights, grabbed this,” he patted his ax, “and locked my door. I had been listening to the reports on the radio until yesterday evening. Then it went dead.”
    “Your radio?”
    “Not the radio. The radio waves. Nothing. Dead air, no emergency broadcast signals, no recorded message, nothing.” He was clearly bothered by this. This bothered me too.
    “How’s that possible? I saw live news just this afternoon. Why would the radios be out but the television networks still be broadcasting?”
    He shook his head brusquely. “What you saw wasn’t live. They’ve been feeding loops of news through, cycling every hour the same stuff as before.” His hand brushed wearily over his eyes as he yawned.
    “Television has been out for two days now. Radio was the last thing to go. Well, ‘cept for the internet that is. And even that has been shoddy. Networks goin’