Resident Evil Series Fan Fiction ❯ Survival ❯ Act 3: One Stop shopping. ( Chapter 3 )

 

I could see Meijer's; the parking lot was full of zombies. Hundreds maybe even a few thousand seemed to fill the parking lot and an almost solid wall of undead blocked the main entrances. I'd have to go through the gardening center on the far right side of the building, which would put me near their small sporting goods section. I hit the gas in the squad car, not wanting to get bogged down by zombies.

I swerved on the road side swiping a few of the zombies with my car, a disgusting crunching noise was heard every time, I was never really the greatest driver ever, I kept getting into these little things called `accidents' so I swerved into the parking lot and came to a semi-crash stop near the gardening center's open gate, the car blocked any additional monsters from having easy access.

“Fuck.” It seemed as though everyone was a zombie but I could still hear some gunshots inside, so I grabbed my duffle bag and the 12-gauge and opened the car door, the zombies were closer then I'd expected, nearly thirty patrolled the small fenced in area in front of me.

“UHHgh!” a zombie lunged at me; I didn't have time or space to bring the shotgun to bear. I brought my leg up and held the zombie back. My dog started barking wildly, I drew the Beretta and blasted the zombies face in. Several more lurked toward my open door, I opened fire. The muzzle flash added a strobe effect to the grizzly scene as four more fell, I kept firing several rounds went wild. The magazine ran dry.

“Fuck!” I ejected the empty magazine and slid it into my pocket; I grabbed out another magazine and slammed it home. Twenty zombies stood between me and the entrance. I calmed my breathing down. They're too tightly packed to simply run pass, not with the dog in tow, take time and aim Kazuki, they aren't in any hurry. Just take your time and make each round count. I closed the car door and rolled the window down. I rested my arms on the open port and aimed carefully, slowly squeezing the trigger.

-BAM! - The Beretta jerked in my hand, a zombie fell, I repeated this process until all the zombies in the now blocked off garden center fell dead. I holstered the Beretta.

“Good, this way I've cleared the escape route.” I reloaded the empty magazine and the half full one. I was down to 100 nine millimeters total, still not low but I'd only been through an hour of this hell and already used up 50 rounds of nines, which meant I needed to find more ammo and fast. I got out of the car, shotgun ready and duffle bag across my back, dog following close behind me.

The scene looked like it was tore straight out of a Resident Evil game. Blood saturated the walls and floors, corpses and zombies were everywhere, things were knocked over. Next to me was a corpse, had something I liked; he was holding a Zastava M70, a Yugoslavian Kalashnikov style assault rifle that he was no longer in need of and he had chosen to give it to me. I could see three extra magazines in his shirt. I grabbed and checked the weapon, empty so I reloaded it and slipped the extra magazines into my vest. The M70 had a three way sling and it used the same round as a Russian made AK47; the 7.62 x 39mm which packed a wallop of knock-down power at close ranges and the weapon doubles as a bludgeon due to the steel backed wood stock, designed to enable a skull crush. I slung the rifle over my shoulder and picked up my Remington.

“Help!” a female voice from the sporting goods section, I ran holding the Remington tightly, a zombie was in the way so I drop kicked it in the chest and smashed its head in with my foot when it hit the ground, two more were in my way and one shot shell tore both their heads off. When I got to the sporting goods I saw a girl backing away from something I couldn't see holding a Kar98k rifle.

“Get down!” she ducked as I aimed and a Dodger Monkey leapt into the air, I shot it in the chest and watched the body be torn in half by the heavy buckshot, “Are you ok?”

“What the fuck kind of question is that!?” She picked up the rifle, “But it could be worse.”

She was cute, a little shorter than me with long black hair and a slightly cubby body, not fat not skinny just a little extra meat which looked good on her, she was slightly tan and had an Asian looking face, Japanese maybe and she was dressed fairly casual with loose jeans and a black t-shirt and tennis shoes.

“Hi I'm Kazuki Ferret, nice to meet someone who isn't a zombie.”

“Jill Cho and likewise,” She stood up panting then she pointed to the boxes of rifle rounds, “I came here to get more rounds for my rifle.”

Mr. Parker started barking as a crowd of undead advanced towards our location. I dropped the duffle bag next to the girl, “Grab the revolver from inside and start loading it with ammo then go to the over side of this divider and load up with pistol rounds, I'll cover.”

“Wha…?” She said and I took a quick glance at the assortment of ammunition. Being a frequent connoisseur of Meijer's fine bullet selection I could tell that they had two boxes of 3”magnum deer slugs, five boxes of 8mm Mauser rounds, two boxes of .30/06 rounds, five boxes of .223 Remingtons, four boxes of Federal double aught buckshot shells, eight boxes of 7.62 x 39 soviet rounds, and various other rifle rounds. The pistol rounds were on the other side of the divider. I spun around to face a literal hoard of zombies; I shot another glance at the bewildered Jill.

“Now damn it!” I screamed at her, I quickly focused only on the hoard of death in front of me. I fired the shotgun and two fell with their heads burst open and another staggered as the shot struck it in the chest, I pumped the empty shell out and fired again and pumped and fired the repetitive process yielded consistent results of mutilation of my unworthy foes. A single zombie is no match for a human, our intelligence and physical strength give us an unfair advantage and our ability to use fire arms makes the average human a potential zombie killing machine; however they will swarm you and devour your flesh in mass and simply over whelm you. -click- the shotgun was empty and fully fifty more zombies were still mindlessly shuffling towards me.

I brought the AK (the Zastava M70 is and AK clone and me being from America I call it an AK47) to my shoulder and aimed down the sights, flipping the selector lever to `fire'. The AK wasn't full auto thankfully, I squeezed the trigger and a massive report sounded out. A zombie fell. I aimed and fired, carefully picking targets and squeezing the AK's trigger, the gun kicked back with a light smack each time but it wasn't much compared to my .30/06. The hoard fell to the explosion fire of the Yugoslavian gun but it wasn't enough, the clip ran dry and a large crowd still stood before me.

“Fuck me sideways!” I let go of the AK, letting it hang by its sling from my shoulder. I grabbed out my Beretta, lacking the time to reload the AK. The hoard lurked mere feet from me. I froze, unable to move, the fear had frozen me. FIRE! FIRE! A voice inside my head called out, a fierce plea. I pulled the trigger and blasted a dime sized hole through an undead woman's head. I fired and fired, painting the marble-like imitation floor with brains and blood.

-BAM! - BAM! - the Beretta cried as she liberated her cries of heated lead into the world, the bullets smashed their way through skull and scalp, liberating grey matter into the putrid air.

-CLICK! - I tossed the Beretta to my left hand, pulling out the revolver and one handing it. I sighted down the heavy gun's barrel and fired. The brimstone thunder roared out a fury I only felt in my mind, a roar of a primordial dinosaur, a roar that jolted me from fear. A thundering boom that gave me the courage to think I could survive, the magnum brought with its heavy slugs and explosive roar a hope that I had lost before. The revolver was a monster itself, a great and terrible beast that needed to be controlled and respected, but brought to the wielder a hope. That resounding boom, that blast of thunderous brimstone and fire, that hot lead that rocketed from the barrel; was the most beautiful thing in the world to me at that moment in time.

The zombie's face was inches from the cold steel barrel when I'd fired. His pallid face had been smashed in by the heavy slug, his skin was burned by the muzzle flash, his skull smashed by the impact of the blow, his eyes burst from either the force or the obliteration of their nesting place, and the back of his head I imagined was a gaping cavern with ravaged edges. The zombie fell backwards.

I aimed my magnum and fired the second round, finding another undead human to liberate from their sad marionette existence. After that one and two more, all that lay before me was a pile of corpses. I breathed in that horrid smell of rot, blood, urine, sweat, and burned gun powder. It was a smell I would grow used to, but not the kind of scent one finds in a perfume bottle at a store.

“FERRET!” My friend Sean stepped into view holding and over and under shotgun and a colt .45 tucked into his waist band; Sean was taller than me by a head and very thin, dress in a metal head fashion and dashing good looks with short spiky hair.

“Ok, I'm done.” Jill handed me the duffle bag, which was laden with ammo, most of it for guns we didn't have.

“Ok, let's go I've a car waiting outside.” I picked up the shotgun and put all my gear in order, “Sean you drive, Come Mr. P.”

My dog's ear perked up as he sniffed me over, tail wagging.

Too be continued in act 4…..

-Kazuki Ferret wrote this