Operation Z by Szepanski, G.D. (well read books .txt) 📗

face with a woman pointing a hunting rifle at him. She was shorter than Jim but tall compared to most woman and had long greasy black hair. If she wasn’t wearing the weight of the apocalypse on her shoulders, people would consider her pretty. They both stood across from each other, pointing their weapons. Big Jim recognized the rifle from the glass cabinet in the other room, so he wasn’t worried about being shot.

“Have you ever used a gun before?”

“Yes, and I’m not afraid to shoot you.” The shaking of the barrel of the rifle betrayed her attempt at the brave words.

“Then I’m sure you checked that weapon before you removed it from the cabinet.”

“Of course… Why would you ask me that?” Nancy swallowed hard and frowned after she spoke.

“Because you took it from the cabinet in the other room. The owner of this house is more into looks than hunting since none of those rifles were loaded. As a matter of fact, the one you’re holding isn’t even capable of firing a round.”

Her shoulders drooped, and the barrel of the rifle dropped toward the floor. Jim closed the distance and took it out of her hands. Nancy slumped to her knees, and the tears fell. After hearing her story about being raped, Jim wasn’t sure if he should comfort her or let her be. He hadn’t been trained as a psychiatrist.

“I know you’ve been through a lot. I want to help you and Chris. I won’t hurt either of you. Where is he?”

Nancy’s chest heaved, and the sobbing intensified. Jim had empathy, but he didn’t know how to help this woman. Some might put a bullet in her head and move on, but even though Jim had killed others, he wasn’t a cold-blooded murderer. While she continued to cry, Jim scanned the room looking for a five-year-old boy. Where could he be hiding? Based upon his age, probably anywhere.

“I really want to help you, but we should make sure Chris is safe first. Where is he?”

“He’s… Dead…” The sobs intensified again as Nancy delivered her grim message.

“Shit!” Her words hit him harder than a punch to the solar plexus.

Jim decided to let her cry it out on her own. He wrapped Mike’s body in a sheet and carried it outside. One round had punched through Mike’s neck, one had punctured his chest, and a third entered through his jaw and exited the top of his head. The chest shot must have stopped his heart since he had bled only a little. The fourth had missed, but Jim considered it good shooting in the dark with a sub-compact pistol. Since he didn’t plan on making this home, he stashed the body behind the house out of sight. No need to bury the scum bag.

When Jim returned to the house, Nancy had stopped crying, but she laid in a heap on the floor. He helped her up from the floor and onto the sofa. Nancy didn’t resist his efforts to help her up, but she collapsed onto the sofa as soon as he put her down.

“I’m going to make myself some breakfast. Do you want anything?”

She didn’t respond, only stared off into the distance with a blank. Jim didn’t know what she saw there, if anything. He left a bottle of water on the coffee table in front of her and he hoped she would drink it.

In the kitchen, Jim prepared himself a breakfast from the supplies he had pilfered. Jim made toast from a loaf of bread he liberated from the gas station store and covered it with strawberry jelly and chunky peanut butter. It wasn’t gourmet, but far from the worst breakfast he ever had eaten. While he ate, Jim tried to decide the best course of action. He could leave Nancy behind or force her into the truck to head out. Both seemed like poor options to him. The only remaining option required him to stay put for the day and see if he could build up some trust with Nancy before moving out. That way, she could decide what she wanted to do.

When Jim returned to the living room, he noticed Nancy had stopped crying and sat up on the sofa. He handed her a peanut butter and jelly sandwich he had made for her.

“I hope you’re not allergic to peanut butter. There isn’t an enormous variety of breakfast choices.”

Nancy took the plate from him and ate. She ate slow chewing each bite thoroughly before taking another. Jim knew nothing about her or how to deal with people who recently experienced traumatic events, so he did not understand if her reactions were normal.

“I don’t know what you’ve experienced or heard, but the world has gone to hell. The dawn of the dead struck first while I was in DC. I escaped the city just before a nuke leveled it. My plan is to get to the mountains in Tennessee. That should be far enough from any major city, and with any luck I can find more survivors. You’re welcome to come with me or go your own way. Your choice.”

Nancy stared at Jim but said nothing. She continued to methodically eat her sandwich and drink her water. Her lack of response put Jim on edge. He felt the urgency to move on but didn’t want to leave Nancy behind.

“Why don’t you think about it while I finish packing my stuff up.”

Still no response. Nancy just stared at Jim like he was an animal on display at the zoo. Jim got up and went upstairs to pack the few things up he had left in the bedroom. If she didn’t snap out of this soon, he didn’t know what to do with Nancy.

As he returned to the living room, he found the sofa empty except for Nancy’s clothes. What the hell? The sound of singing came from outside of the open door. Jim didn’t remember leaving the door open. He looked outside and Nancy skipped around the yard