The liquor store was locked from the inside, which was a good sign, I guess. You tend to find fewer living things inside when that happens, but sometimes what you find inside is worse. We broke the glass, and then the lock, and we made our way in. Behind us, a flaming crowd of infected ran around like headless turkeys. It’s the easiest way to clear a group of them when you’re determined, and well, we needed a drink.
It was a classy place, not a convenience store. A place where you could spend three hundred dollars on a bottle. We spent nothing. I picked up some things that I had always wanted to try, some Johnny Walker Blue, an 18-year old single malt, and a few things I had never heard of, but had pretty labels. Zoic likes the sweeter stuff. The stuff that makes you think you’re not drinking. It’s funny, I’ve always liked the stuff that made it impossible to forget that you were drinking.
There was a blood trail on the floor. It looked like someone had been dragged into a back room, which now had the door shut. Best not to think too hard on that one right now. I placed two bottles of the blue label in a canvas shopping bag. That’s right. We care about the environment. I turned to look somewhere else and I caught the blood trail once again.
“I keep looking at it, too,” Zoic said.
“We probably shouldn’t.”
“Maybe it will be horrible, and justify our drinking.”
I turned away and started picking things out again. I focused on the clinking of the glass to keep my mind off of the door. Zoic went back to picking our her flavored rum, and Southern Comfort. Then I turned once more.
“We gotta do it now,” she said. I nodded weakly.
Zoic set down her bag and approached the door slowly. She knocked.
“Hello!” She shouted. No response. She turned the knob and pushed it open. I watched from a distance. She pointed her head toward the door, indicating that I should look inside. I’m not sure what look came over my face at that moment, but it was enough to make her burst out in laughter. Offended, I charged toward the door and looked inside. It’s difficult to describe the scene that I found. Inside, the owner of the store was sitting in a chair. A look of horror was frozen on his face. Between his legs, and infected had latched on to his inner thigh and maybe a bit further up. His pants were on, it wasn’t anything sexual. From what I could tell, the corpse bit his thigh (maybe it fell over or something), and he killed it. Perhaps when it died, the teeth didn’t let up, and he couldn’t move. It was pitiable, really.
“Now we’ve got a toast to make,” Zoic said. I nodded.