Free Whatever It Takes by Mike Staton Page A

guys,” Karl said. “Humans are sometimes worse than the zombies.”
    “Like the kid in the backseat? He was good, and we didn’t know him until we found him out here. Or Roy Joy? He’s a little off his rocker, but a good guy.”
    “We’re not discussing this right now.” Karl walked to the front of the gun store. He reached through the shattered glass and tugged the protective gate one way, then the other.
    To Percival’s surprise, it opened.
    “Owner, or whoever was holed up here, probably thought that people wouldn’t look too closely and that the zombies wouldn’t bash to the side.” Karl worked the gate open slowly, then stepped through.
    Percival clicked his flashlight on and followed Karl into the building. He panned his flashlight around in the opposite direction Karl was sweeping his light.
    The room was partially looted. Most of the long arms were gone, and both of the display cases were smashed open. There was a good amount of debris scattered across the floor, ranging from the shattered glass of the displays to paper and discarded ammunition boxes.
    “It would seem someone else beat us here.” Percival slowly walked further into the shop. He panned his light back and forth as he moved.
    “Probably, but I doubt they took everything. If they had, why bother working to close the gate from outside?” Karl walked in the opposite direction of Percival.
    “Here’s hoping they didn’t take everything of value.” Percival moved around a large rotating display. “We’ve got a backroom here.”
    “Have a look. There’s a lot of debris behind the counter, I’m going to do some sifting. Scream if you need me.”
    Percival let out a sigh and moved around another smashed display case that served as a counter. He walked to the door and raised his pistol and flashlight. He took a step forward and kicked the door, hard, right next to the doorknob. The door popped easily open, slamming into the wall as Percival swept his flashlight’s beam around the room.
    It was clearly an office for the manager of the shop, and it looked as though the looting had stopped in the main room. A desk bisected the room, with a chair positioned behind it and a computer on the corner. A handful of paperwork was still scattered across the top as though business had just frozen in place. A second door was directly across from the one Percival had kicked in.
    “Office,” Percival shouted. He moved around to the backside of the desk and began to rifle through the drawers. He came across a key ring full of keys. He shrugged, stuffed the keys into his pocket, and left the desk behind. He walked up to the second door and aimed his flashlight.
    He kicked the door, and his foot thudded solidly against the metal. He’d left a footprint of grime, but done nothing to the door. With a grunt, Percival kicked the door a second time. His second effort had the same result as the first, and left his foot a little sore. He let out a frustrated yell that brought Karl running to the office door.
    “Everything okay?”
    “Yeah, just fine. This door is simply not opening,” Percival said. “Find anything?”
    Karl was silent for a moment.
    Percival felt as though the older man were drilling holes into his back just by staring so hard.
    “You’re not okay.”
    “No, I’m not. Did you find anything?” Percival tucked his flashlight away into his pocket, fingers brushing past keys. Those would likely help get the damned door open.
    “A box of 9mm.” Karl pointed his flashlight at the other door. “We should talk again.”
    “No, we shouldn’t. Evan’s probably going to die.”
    “Yeah, he probably will. But you don’t even know if he’s injured yet. We’ve not taken the time to check him out. Stop dwelling on it, his injury isn’t even remotely your fault.” Karl moved so he could cover Percival.
    “It’s my job to get people home safe.” Percival went through the keys, trying each of the larger keys that looked like they would