Race to Refuge

Chapter Twenty-Four: Charlie

Looking at those monitors and seeing the zombies everywhere, I knew I didn't want Ty anywhere near it.

"Hey," I told him. "You stay here with Mojo. I've got this."

He shot me a disbelieving look. "Really? No way. Not with fifty of those things in the kitchen and another fifteen around the infirmary."

I tried making my voice light. "Yeah, but these zombies are like one hundred years old. They weren't in great shape even before they were infected. I'll just slip into the kitchen, fill up some boxes just like we did at the diner, and then take off. Then I'll go back and handle the infirmary." Even as I said it, though, I knew it sounded like a fairytale.

Ty knew it too. The kid wasn't stupid. "I'm going with you. Mojo can stay here. With both of us, it'll go a lot faster. I can distract the zombies while you grab the food. Then we can run out. I'll lure them into the dining room, since it'll be less cramped."

"No, I'll lure them and you'll get the stuff," I insisted. "Although I still wish you'd stay put."

Ty said quietly, "Maybe I was a kid a few days ago, but the last few days have made me grow up fast. You're not old, but I know one thing—I'm still a lot younger and faster than you are. I've got a better chance of making this work."

"Okay," I reluctantly agreed. Then I said, "Hey, why don't you see Nana real quick before we head over to the Zombie Lounge?"

Ty studied me out of slitted eyes. "Why? So that she can talk me out of going in there?"

Actually, yes. But I realized that Ty wasn't going to buy it. As I said before, he was a smart kid.

"Let's get this over with, then," I said grimly. I pulled off the small backpack that I'd grabbed that had the .22 and ammo. I hesitated and then asked Ty, "Do you know how to use this? Otherwise, I'll take it and try to provide you with cover."

"My dad was pretty anti-weapons," Ty said. "But I had a friend whose dad took us to the shooting range. He thought my dad knew. Plus I was in scouts, so I'm good with rifles, too."

I was satisfied enough to hand the gun over to him. In any other scenario, I couldn't picture myself giving a fifteen year old boy a gun. But other scenarios didn't include zombie infested retirement homes.

The grim nurse pointed us in the direction of the kitchen. "There should be some empty packing boxes in there that you can use to throw the food in," she said.

The wide halls lined with handrails were eerily silent as we walked down them. Mojo whined when I tried to make him stay, so I reluctantly allowed him to come with us. If we ran into trouble, we wouldn't have been able to return and get him anyway—it was better to have him with us.

Ty and I walked in silence, not wanting to attract any attention. Just the same, though, I still felt like we could be jumped on at any second from any of the adjoining rooms. It was a tense five minute walk to the dining room and kitchen.

We could hear the moaning sounds before we got to the dining room. Mojo's fur raised on his back and his eyes were steely. Whether it was true or not, Mojo seemed to think that he could take on zombies with no problem.

There was a hallway and a door that led to the kitchen. Ty and I listened outside the door for a few minutes to see if we could hear anything directly on the other side. Not hearing anything, I slowly pulled open the door and Ty aimed the gun inside the room. There was nothing there.

We moved quickly into the kitchen. Ty bobbed his head silently to me to indicate a stack of produce boxes that were wide and long enough to put a bunch of cans in.