19. Supply Run
The Cough Is Loose
The decision was made, but that didn’t make it any easier.
We needed supplies. Badly. The go-boxes were getting dangerously thin. After a quick breakfast and the usual percolator ritual, I gathered everyone under the main tarp. The morning air was already thick with humidity and the heavy scent of wet cypress.
“From now on we’re running Combat Buddies,” I said. “Two teams. Jack and Sarah. Tom, Raych, and Mikey. One strong shooter on each team, balanced skills. We move together, we fight together, we come back together. That includes night watch shifts from here on out. No exceptions.”
Raych gave a small nod of approval. Tom looked steady. Sarah squared her shoulders. Mikey sat up straighter, proud to be included.
We loaded the 4Runner and Tom’s truck and rolled out toward the old strip mall about twelve miles away. The back roads were overgrown in places, with a few abandoned cars sitting on the shoulder, but nothing had started rusting heavily yet. It still felt like the world had only stepped away for a moment.
The strip mall itself was a ghost of what it used to be. Shattered glass glittered across the parking lot. Bullet holes pockmarked some of the storefronts. Scattered bodies lay where they had fallen, far advanced in the hot, humid weather. After three to four weeks most of the soft tissue was gone, leaving leathery skin stretched over bones. The sickly-sweet stench of decay hung heavy in the thick air.
We cleared the area carefully, then split into our new teams. Sarah and I took the small grocery store while Tom, Raych, and Mikey hit the hardware store next door.
Inside the grocery store the shelves were mostly picked over. In a spot where there had obviously been a fight, shelves knocked over and a body on the floor, we struck paydirt. There were a few unopened cases of canned goods, some salt, two sealed bags of coffee beans, Hogg Batch Coffee. It was a brand I hadn’t heard of before, something local in this part of the world I guessed. It looked decent, and that’s what counted. Best of all, a 25-pound bag of basmati rice that had somehow gotten missed underneath a collapsed shelf. The place still smelled of dust, spoiled produce, and old blood.
“Look at this,” I said, pulling the heavy bag out. I handed it to Sarah. “You carry the rice. I’ll carry the rest. I can drop it if I need to and get my rifle in play. If the rice gets dropped, that bag might split open and that would be a disaster.
Sarah grunted as she heaved it onto her shoulder. “This thing weighs a ton.”
I grinned. “You’re tougher than you look. We’ll get it to the 4Runner quick.
Next door, Tom, Raych, and Mikey had better luck than expected. They came back loaded with three fresh cans of white gas for the Coleman, a good set of mechanic’s tools that made Tom’s eyes light up, some batteries, and a handful of other useful odds and ends.
We were loading the trucks when the trouble started.
A group of six Walkers came around the corner of the building, faster than the old ones and moving with ugly purpose. Two of them actually seemed to coordinate, one letting out a sharper moan that drew the others closer.
“Contact!” I called.
Raych and I opened up. Tom’s Winchester boomed. Sarah dropped one with her Mossberg. We put them down quickly, but the noise was loud. Too loud. The sharp cracks and booming echoes rolled across the abandoned parking lot.
We didn’t wait around. We finished loading and got out of there fast, hearts still pounding as we drove back toward the safety of the swamp.
Back at camp that evening, the percolator was hissing and the new coffee was brewing. It smelled pretty good. We had rice, beans, canned goods, white gas, and a little extra seasoning. Not a feast, but enough to buy us more time.
I looked around the fire at my crew. Everyone was tired, but no one was broken.
Raych leaned against my shoulder. “Those Walkers today were different. Faster. Working together.”
Tom nodded. “We need to stay sharp.”
I took a slow sip of the fresh coffee. “We will. Combat Buddies stay in effect. We protect each other.”
The percolator kept working. The coffee smelled strong and rich.
We had bought ourselves a little more time in our green fortress.
But we all knew the clock was ticking louder now.
Bougie Apocalypse
A serialized military-flavored post-apocalyptic pulp story about heirloom beans, De Buyer carbon steel skull-crackers, good coffee, and refusing to let the apocalypse win.
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