Dredging Up Memories by AJ Brown Page A

aisle, his clothes dirty, hair disheveled. He was older, maybe pushing seventy. I took aim but lowered the pistol.
    “Hey,” I called. “Hey, you.”
    The man looked at me. There was color in his face, stubble on his chin. His brow was wet with sweat, and in his hands was a bag of chips. He shoveled a handful into his mouth and chewed quickly. He repeated this several times. I couldn’t believe I stood twenty feet from another living person. He was as much skin and bones as many of the dead were, but he was alive, and alive was something I hadn’t seen since…Davey’s death.
    I took a step forward. He cringed away from me, turning his shoulder as if he thought I would steal his chips. I stopped, not wanting to scare him.
    “Hey…umm…it’s not safe here. Not without a weapon at least.”
    He pushed onto his knees and then placed one foot on the floor. It took a few seconds, but he managed to stand though shakily at best. He stumbled away from me, grabbing another bag of chips as he did so.
    “Wait a minute,” I called after him. 
    He was faster than I thought and was through the EMPLOYEES ONLY door before I could reach him. I pushed it open, my pistol instinctively at the ready. Across the stock room was another door. He opened it and went outside. 
    “Not bright,” I said and hurried after him. 
    Outside, I was met with the backs of the buildings, where trash and recyclables once went. A few cars sat where their owners had left them for the last time. And the dead were everywhere—maybe only ten or twelve of them but entirely too many to take on without any weapons.
    The man hurried past the outstretched arms of a woman, her head sagging on her shoulders, a bone jutting through her neck. He weaved in and out as if he were afraid of nothing, as if the dead wouldn’t turn on him. At that moment, I wished I could have been that fearless, but truth be told, every day I was scared, just like a child at night with the shadows playing across the wall. Only the boogeyman is real in this world. 
    Fearlessness like that could get someone killed. I knew this and took the cautious approach. I leveled my aim on the nearest of the dead, pulled the trigger. Three more shots and the path I needed to catch up to the old man was a little clearer. I passed near the woman with the bent neck, gave it little thought as I put her down. The skin of her throat tore with the broken neck she had suffered, and her head fell back on her shoulders before she hit the ground.
    I saw the small house and made a run for it. The old man was almost to it when I reached him. He opened the door and looked back at me. His brow was creased, and I saw a hint of blue from behind slit eyelids. “Go away,” he said. “Leave us be.”
    “Wait. What?” I said.
    “Go away. We don’t want you here.”
    He stepped inside the small house, made to close the door. I grabbed it with one hand and held it open. “The world is dead now. You can’t stay here. They’ll get to you eventually.”
    “We’ve made do so far. We’ll be fine.”
    “Maybe so,” I said, desperate all of a sudden for him not to close the door on me. “But you’re the first living person I’ve seen in weeks and…and…” I was at a loss for words. 
    He grunted, then his eyes lit up slightly, the lids opening, showing some yellow in the whites. Red lines snaked through, like cracks on the yellow backdrop. He shook his head as if he were aggravated.
    “Come on in. Besides, I need to get my Louisa something to eat. It’s been a while since she’s had any food.”
    I looked behind me. The dead made their way toward us, no longer a dozen but more like twenty or more. I stepped into a dimly lit room, candles flickered their shadow dancers along the walls. The old man slid a board over the door—a makeshift lock that hearkened back to the days of knights and Vikings.
    There were guns lying about and bottles of water. The guy wasn’t so helpless after all. 
    “Good to