Kurt holsters the two pistols on his legs and swings the M-16 assault rifle over his shoulder. On the back of his motorcycle hangs a shotgun. The desicion to keep the shotgun was in case he is ever in a wreck, immobilized, the one weapon he would want would be the shotgun. Kurt revs the motor and hits the kickstand.
The streets are lined with cars, some from wrecks, others just never moved when people fled in panic. Some still have keys in them. None of the buildings have lights on. The sunrise casts shadows against the town, giving it a zebra skin. He turns on Main Street and parks in the middle of the street. He takes a look around, in every direction, and seeing no one, he walks up to the sidewalk.
The building's sign states: Morning Glory Yoga Studio. The windows are missing, broken in the chaos earlier, swept up by Kurt months later. The sunlight shines in against the still untouched wooden floor.
Kurt walks in, the rifle in his hands, careful to check behind every corner and closet, making sure he is alone. He pulls a mat from the side by the way, sets down his rifle, and lays the mat on the floor next to the gun. He takes off his shirt, his shoes, his socks, his pants, everything but his boxers and starts off the day with stretches and a Sun Salutation posture.
* * * * *
At the Hastings, Kurt parks in the grass before the actual parking lot. From the grass, there are no cars around, and he can easily access any direction on the road. It still surprises him how many cars were left at Hastings. Most of them must have been looters, he thinks to himself. He doesn't bother with the door, but walks in where the windows once were, staying in the open. He's pushed shelves and counters and registers out of his way a long time ago, allowing plenty of open space around him as he walks with his rifle, looking down each aisle he passes.
He places DVDs back where he had set his American Flags, marking the place. House, M.D. Season 3 is set back and Season 4 is pulled from the shelf. Alfred Hitchcock is set back and the next one taken. He puts back Raging Bull and looks on what's next from "Roger Ebert's Great List," found in the book section of the store. He has finished the series Ally McBeal and picks up Boston Public.
In the distance behind him, glass cracks. Kurt raises the rifle and walks backwards to the middle of the aisle, aiming. He turns around and aims at the other end. He creeps down the aisle towards the middle of the store (more open). He hops from one side to the other, seeing around as much of the corners of the aisle as he can before going into the open. He checks around his feet, then around the knocked over table where DVDs are scattered about. He checks farther away and slowly gives his attention to the source of the noise, the dead standing at the front of the store, just inside the window.
"Must have fallen in," Kurt says to himself. He keeps the rifle up, looking around and be careful there aren't more about. He scans each aisle as he walks, circling every table, looking for places they could hide and avoids passing them unchecked.
Before the dead, he pulls the spade from his belt and thrusts it into the dead's head, where a piece of skin is missing, cracking the weak skull and pushing into the soft brain. He dead goes limp. Kurt pulls on the spade and it gets tangled in the long hair of the dead. "Damn hippie," Kurt replies.
He raises his rifle again. There are dead in the parking lot, scattered and cirling about. Only a few of them, but they are there. "Dammit." He keeps his rifle on them as he walks sideways to the door. Getting out, he lowers the rifle and pulls the spade, staying close to the building as the dead slowly notice him, one by one. They turn and start to wonder towards him. He is already running, and they are not close to his motorcycle. He revs the engine and speeds away.
Going back up North Street, there are more of them, scattered around. One is under the shade in a big tree before the church. Another two, wearing Whataburger uniforms, turn to watch him go by out of the window as he passes the faded orange and white building.
As Kurt drives up to the Garner tower, there is another one trapped in the bear trap, clawing at the ground. He carried himself away from the traps until the leg gave way, then his arm was caught in a beartrap. When that limb didn't give away, he dragged the trap, with the other traps it was chained to, ten feet. The trapped dead's nails were detached, slowly worn off by the clawing against hot concrete.
Kurt stares at the dead, clawing to move on. It might have been there since just after Kurt left, clawing away after losing limbs and being trapped a second time. It had lost its nails and clawed on, now trying to get away by dragging its body by exposed fingertips. The skin was gone, and so was muscle. Bare bone against asphalt, leaving four bloody lines where the fingers stretched and curled, stretched and curled, stretches and curls in a vain attempt to move on past the traps.
"I hope my spirit is like yours," Kurt tells the crawler. "Cause we're going to be spending some time together and it don't look like either of us are going away easily." He pulls the spade and impales the skull. The crawler stops.
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