The Walking Dead_ The Road to Woodbury - By Robert Kirkman Page 0,46

selects a dozen movies. They take a few board games, some playing cards, a telescope, and a small digital voice recorder.

They make a trip out to the truck, stuffing the camper to the gills with the goodies, before returning and starting in on the treasure trove of useful items in the darkness at the rear of the store.

* * *

“Shine it over to the left, babydoll,” Josh asks Lilly from the aisle outside the sporting goods department. Josh holds two large heavy-duty duffel bags appropriated from the luggage department.

Scott and Bob stand nearby, watching expectantly, as Lilly sweeps the narrow beam of her flashlight across the disaster area that once trafficked in soccer balls and Little League bats.

The yellow shaft of light crosses mangled displays of tennis rackets and hockey sticks, cannibalized bicycles and heaps of workout clothes and baseball gloves strewn across the blood-spattered floor. “Whoa … right there, Lilly,” Josh says. “Hold it steady.”

“Shit,” Bob says from behind Lilly. “Looks like we’re too late.”

“Somebody beat us to ’em,” Josh grumbles as the flashlight plays across the shattered glass display case to the left of the fishing poles and tackle. The case is empty, but from the look of the indentations and hooks left behind, it’s obvious the enclosure housed a wide variety of hunting rifles, target pistols, and street-legal handguns. The racks on the wall behind the display are also empty. “Shine it on the floor for a second, honey.”

In the dull cone of light, a few stray shells and bullets are visibly scattered across the floor.

They walk over to the gun counter and Josh drops the duffel bags, then squeezes his massive form behind the case. He takes the flashlight and shines it down along the floor. He sees a few stray boxes of ammunition, a bottle of gun oil, a receipt pad, and a blunt silver object peeking out from under the case. “Hold on a second … hold the phone.”

Josh kneels. He reaches under the counter and pulls the blunt steel end of a muzzle out from under the bottom of the case.

“Now we’re talking,” he says, holding the gun up in the light for all to see.

“Is that a Desert Eagle?” Bob steps in closer. “Is that a .44?”

Josh grips the gun like a boy on Christmas morning. “Whatever the hell it is, it’s heavy as shit. Thing must weigh ten pounds.”

“May I?” Bob takes the gun. “Holy Christ … this is the goddamn howitzer of handguns.”

“Now all we need are bullets.”

Bob checks the clip. “Manufactured by bad-ass Hebrews, gas-operated … the only semiauto of its kind.” Bob looks up at the high shelves. “Shine that light up yonder … see if they got any .50 caliber express up there.”

A moment later, Josh finds a stack of cartons marked “50-C-R” on the top shelf. He boosts himself up and grabs half a dozen cartons.

Meanwhile, Bob thumbs the release and the magazine falls into his greasy hand. His voice goes soft and low, as though he’s speaking to a lover. “Nobody designs firearms like the Israelis … not even the Germans. This bad boy can penetrate tank armor.”

“Dude,” Scott says finally, standing behind Bob with a flashlight. “You planning on shooting that thing or fucking it?”

After an awkward moment, they all burst out laughing—even Josh can’t resist chuckling—and despite the fact that their laughter is brittle and fraught with nerves, it serves to break the tension in that silent warehouse of blood and looted shelves. They have had a good day. They’ve hit the jackpot here in this temple of discount consumerism. More importantly, they’ve acquired something here far more valuable than mere provisions: They have found a glimmer of hope that they’ll make it through the winter … that they just may come out the other side of this nightmare.

Lilly hears the noise first. Her laughter instantly dies and she looks around as though waking with a start from a dream. “What was that?”

Josh stops laughing. “What’s the matter?”

“Did you hear that?”

Bob looks at her. “What’s wrong, darlin’?”

“I heard something.” Her voice is low and taut with panic.

Josh turns his flashlight off and looks at Scott. “Turn the flashlight off, Scott.”

Scott extinguishes the light and the rear of the store is plunged into darkness.

* * *

Lilly’s heart thumps as they stand there in the shadows for a moment, listening. The store is silent. Then another creaking noise penetrates the stillness.

It comes from the front of the store. A wrenching sound, like rusty metal squeaking,