ContamiNation

George

Sharp/Carris

Well, that's...not a good sign, I thought as I walked up to the Canadian tire. To start: the parking lot was a stack-up of cars; literally stacked in both parking and vertically. Twisted metal, charred, and split. Some of the pileups were burned, as though the cars blew up or caught fire; some were just piled.

The building itself wasn't any better. Every window was shot, doors broken off hinges, a wall was missing near the garage doors, and appliances were everywhere; scattered in every direction, some hanging half-out of cars.

It even seemed as though someone had tried to burn part of the building. Between the ashes scattered over the road and the soot spreading out through some over the broken windows on that side, the inside was most definitely destroyed by a fire.

On my way there I'd passed a few stores including Dollarama. I'd picked up a few weapons, lighters, bags, cheap food, and whatnots; shoving them into various pant-pockets.

I walked around Canadian Tire to the back where I knew the bicycles were being held. A car was too big to maneuver through the clogged streets and needed maintenance, I wasn't Diamma; she'd worked in a mechanics garage for half the year. And a motorcycle was too loud and once again: maintenance would be a problem. So, a regular, acoustic bike would have to work.

The back was untouched. That was good and bad news. I had to go back to the garden section.

It was completely destroyed. Plants, dead; supplies, ransacked and broken; shelves, knocked down; and (I think) a car ran through it at one point.

Inside was dark; peaking around the sliding doors, I couldn't see anything except, very far back, was a skylight, the broken wall, and the entrance doors, which let in a little light but that was nowhere near where I was, or where I was going.

My heart beat erratically, like yesterday in the basement. I couldn't breathe. The shelves looked as though they'd fall on me at any second. Every sound was a zombie trying to get to me. Changing winds were sinister ghosts of all those who died in there.

Bodies everywhere; on shelves like items, packed in carts, flat and run over on the floor (I jumped over one as I tried to avoid a hand from the shelf above me). My eyes hurt from trying to see if any were alive.

In the back, by the bikes, was fairly clean. That's when I realized my mistake: I never checked the area. It was dark, I was alone, and I had no escape. I could've ran, I could've ran like a bat outta hell for the exit and then do a check. Or, what I actually did, quietly, carefully looked for a bike I wanted and serviced and checked it before turning to take it out.

The bike's gears made a clicky sound that echoed through the entire building. Hoisting it up, I attempted to carry it to the exit.

"You," A voice growled from the darkness to my left. "You need...to...pay for that." I turned to look but only saw darkness and heard a dripping sound. He was speaking painfully slowly. "You...are stealing. You must...pay...arm and leg..." He let out a raspy sound that could've been a laugh and came into the light.

I nearly screamed, I could feel his injuries. My body hurt looking at him. He was missing half his face, fingers chewed down to the knuckles, blood everywhere. It made me sick to look but, when I turned to look away, more gurgles sounded from every direction. I was surrounded by who-knows-how-many zombies.

My voice felt pitifully small in the large building as I said, "I'm not stealing. I can't find a register."

"You Lie!" He spat, blood landed on the floor before me. "You...all...lie. They sent you."