Read Safari - 02 for Free Online Page B

newest zombie had somehow been responsible for the army of deadheads at his front door. At his feet, the zombie tried in vain to lift its head. Strands of a few remaining tendons enabled it to open its jaws a little more, as if it were attempting to scream.
    Gus shot it through the forehead, the sound of the suppressed Ruger sounding strange on the snow-covered highway.
    He’d lingered too long. There was work to do.

4
     
    Gus circled the Home Hardware superstore in his new pickup, keeping at a steady thirty kilometers per hour and giving the few deserted cars left in the parking lot a wide berth. The sky remained overcast and sprinkled snowflakes as if seasoning a soup. Snow blanketed the ground and candy cane shaped streetlamps, giving the scene a Christmas-like feel. He rolled behind the shop and saw that the loading bay doors were all closed, which was a good sign. Sometimes gimps lucked out and got a door open, especially if it meant pushing a lever instead of a turning a knob.
    He circled the store once more and studied the ground for signs of tracks. There weren’t any that he could see, but the sound of his tires creeping over the snow-covered lot plucked on his nerves.
    “Shit.” He should have gotten half-drunk before venturing into town. That was a mistake he felt in his face and ribs. Painkillers. He needed painkillers as well as building supplies, but he didn’t know any of the stronger brands beyond the more generic ones, nor did he have any idea of dosage.
    He brought the truck around to the front, then turned it so the rear faced the entrance of the Home Hardware. Once in position for a quick getaway if needed, Gus stared ahead for a minute and mentally readied himself. He reluctantly got out and felt the cold air brush across his devastated features. The bat went into the scabbard across his back, and a full bandolier of shotgun shells crossed it. The weight of the bat pulled uncomfortably against his ribs, but he kept it there. Wishing again for the pain dampening buzz of whiskey or rum or whatever, he checked the Bowie knife in his left boot and the Ruger pistol in his right. Satisfied, he hefted the shotgun and placed the butt against his shoulder, hoping to God he wouldn’t have to use it.
    “All right. Let’s get shopping, Captain.” The name drew him up short for a moment. He didn’t have a bottle of Captain Morgan with him, but the idea that the foppish sailor accompanied him in spirit was comforting.
    Gus marched toward the main entrance, flakes attaching themselves to his battered brow and eyelids. The snow crunched with each step, and he tried to look everywhere at once. He reached the dark maw of doors and noted that they were intact. He rattled one in its frame before realizing he was pulling when he should push. Placing his shoulder against the glass, he eased inside and scowled at the gloomy interior. Shafts of daylight periodically stabbed the darkness from skylights high above, but it was too far to illuminate anything deep inside the aisles. Gus paused, standing before a turnstile and chrome sensor used to deter shoplifters.
    “What do you think? Hmm?” he asked the captain’s spirit and eyed the deep recesses of the hardware store. After a moment, he clanged the barrel of the Benelli against the metal sensor. The echo rang out in the store, and Gus shifted the skeleton butt against his shoulder, his fingers flexing on the grip.
    He didn’t have to wait long.
    From somewhere deep inside the store came a loud crash, as if a small mountain of cans had toppled. Gus turned to his left when he heard the rapid thudding of bare flesh against the floor, like a drummer warming up to really lay into the skins. Footsteps. The feet came closer, and he hunched over, shotgun ready.
    The patter of bare feet sped up, closing in, coming from his right. The thing had altered its course. Gus shifted and looked over the scope of his shotgun. The clamor became louder, as if the person who had just