Chereads / Bite: A record of the Apocalypse / Chapter 9 - Search and rescue

Chapter 9 - Search and rescue

2 PM. Jon has not come back yet. Toby hasn't seen him since they dropped the stuff off and then left with the car. So many possibilities ran through my head. Had he been attacked? Was he trapped somewhere? Had an accident?

Jon and I have been friends for six years. Despite being almost polar opposites on many things, we met when we worked at McDonald's and quickly got on, going out for drinks, playing video games, and living together. I thought realistically about where he could have gone. He had a cousin in York, but that was over 240 miles away. He wouldn't go that far, would he? The gun shop—maybe he went there, but that was close. It wouldn't have taken him this long unless something went wrong.

I sat up off the bed, knocking the how-to guides I had been handwriting to the floor. We had a respectable amount now, covering most basic things we would need to know, archiving humanity's knowledge for the future. I put my coat on and headed for the door. Ty didn't want me to go, but I told him I would be back in an hour—if not, then he could panic. I put my phone on silent—didn't want it going off and alerting everything to my location—and headed out the back. A few creatures saw me exit, and I had to draw them away before I could start my search.

The streets were calm, with only shouts and screams coming from the distance as I made my way past the burger place. It was closed, shutters down. I kept walking down the street, sticking to the pavement. I didn't want to get hit by someone driving a car who thought I was one of those things. I saw more of the living on my way than the dead—people piling into cars with items strapped to their roofs. A mass exodus was happening in front of me. These people would soon be refugees in their own country.

The dead were now more numerous, but on the wide road, it was quite easy to dodge around them. A few motorists even aimed at the creatures, sending one flying into a wheelie bin a few feet ahead of me. I made it to the turning just past where Jon worked in a betting shop. I looked through the window, just in case for some reason he had stopped there. He hadn't, and the shop was deserted.

I turned off. "Chris Potter Sporting Goods, est. 1978." The storefront was completely green, and the shutters were up, surprisingly. There was a large number of dead outside the door, all with parts of their heads missing. I got to the door and poked my head around, then quickly pulled it back as part of the doorway next to my head exploded. Gunshots are a lot louder in real life than they are in the movies, and I was temporarily deafened.

"Stop shooting, you idiot! I'm not dead!" I bellowed.

"What the hell do you want?"

"I'm looking for someone."

"Well, it's only me here, so get lost."

"If I poke my head around the corner, are you going to try and blow my head off again? I'm only looking for a friend."

"Fine, but keep those hands where I can see them."

I put my hands out into the doorway slowly and then walked into his full view. One quick pull of the trigger, and he could paint the wall with my brains. The store was wood-lined, with various rifles and what appeared to be shotguns. The man standing behind the counter had one of those pointing at my face. He was an older man—thinning grey hair and a weathered face—wearing jeans and a green t-shirt the same shade as the storefront, displaying the store name.

"Hi there," I said.

"What do you want?"

"And I'm Tom."

"That doesn't change my question. What?"

"I'm looking for a friend of mine."

"And I said no one's here."

"You don't know what he looks like."

"Well, what does he look like?"

"Bald, my height, solidly built."

"Haven't seen him."

"What if I showed you a picture? I'm reaching into my pocket to get my phone."

"Get down!" the man yelled and brought the shotgun up.

I threw myself to the floor, and another ridiculous bang echoed around me. I turned around to see a now headless corpse flop out the doorway. I cautiously got back to my feet, phone in hand, with a picture of Jon.

"Him. Have you seen him?"

The man looked at the photo and then back at me. He raised the shotgun again, but this time, it was aiming at me.

"Yeah, I know him. That little fucker got one of my guns."

I looked down the barrel of the gun. "Well, when I find him, I will tell him to return it immediately."

"Don't bother. Got him locked up in the back there."

I looked over his shoulder and saw a chair propped up against a walk-in cupboard door.

"Jon?" I said.

"Hi," he replied.

I turned back to the man, who still had the gun pointing at me. "Well, I'm sure he is very sorry about what happened, so I will take him off your hands."

"No way. We are waiting for the police to come get him."

"Er, dude, I don't think the police are coming."

"Shut up. Get over here. You're joining your friend in there."

"But I only just came out of the closet," I said. That got me a nudge in the back with the gun. It shut me up just as he was about to open the door when another creature appeared at the doorway. He turned to blast it. I made my move. He had a two-barrel shotgun, so after this shot, he would have to reload. Pistols are illegal in this country, so I knew he didn't have a backup on him. I turned and planted my foot straight into his crotch. Not very fair, I know, but I don't believe in playing fair. I believe in winning.

The man groaned and sank to his knees. I knocked the chair from the door to let Jon out.

"And where the bloody hell have you been?" I asked.

"Trying to come out the closet," he said.

My laugh was stopped halfway out of my mouth when the shopkeeper punched me in the gut, winding me. I doubled over, and he punched me in the jaw. I saw stars. He was standing over me, one hand on his balls, the other on his empty shotgun, holding it like a club. He lifted it up, and then a chair smashed across his face. He fell to the floor. Jon still held the chair legs.

"Take your time, why don't you?" I replied.

He laughed. "Well, whilst we're here," he said.

I sighed and had a look around. I could see two weapons just lying there next to the shopkeeper. We grabbed them and the boxes of bullets he had been using. There were loads. We piled them into a spare cardboard box and made for the door—or rather, we had to throw ourselves out as the shopkeeper was back up with another gun, taking aim at us. We dived out the door. I followed Jon just past the shop and to the car just around the corner. He was bleeding from a cut just above his eye, and I felt blood on my cheek.

"You okay to drive?" I said.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"Dude, don't you ever go off like that again. Next time I will fucking leave you."

"No, you won't. You love me too much."

He laughed, and I laughed as we drove off...

We came in through the back door. We had to lure the things away again, but eventually, we got back inside. Sky ran up and hugged both of us. Ty patted us both on the back, and we explained what had happened whilst we cleaned up the wounds. We were in quite good spirits now, all things considering, and we prepared some food and went into my room to eat. But the TV put us off our meals—it's spreading outside of the UK. Continental Europe is reporting cases. The States, Africa, Asia—God, it's everywhere.

5 PM. Toby called, and we told him we had found Jon and what we had acquired. He had more news—everyone in the 15-flat building has left. They went and checked the whole building. This settles it—we can't stay here much longer. It is not secure enough. Moving all the supplies and people will take two or, more likely, three trips. That will attract some attention, so we're gonna pack everything up and brainstorm.

10 PM. All packed up, plan made, just waiting for the morning, and it's all systems go. Cars have been driving off all day, people heading for the evac zone. It's a gamble to stay, but we can always follow later, and I don't want to be stuck in a massive traffic jam with the creatures coming up behind us. So we stay and await our fate.