Strange place to store a snack, I thought as I stepped over the tidbit and reached the end of the row and found another door. It was tucked away in the corner and was positioned in such a way as to make it impossible to open without being directly in front of it. Crap. I had room to open the door, but had no retreat on either side.
I opened the door cautiously and shined my light on the stairs heading up. Good so far. I stepped up and shined the light up to the top, but all I could see was a banister and what looked like a table. I turned back to tell the guys when I heard a small wheezing noise at the top of the stairs. I brought my flashlight back up quickly and lit up a small zombie, probably an eight-year-old. He was staring down at me and his ashen face was twisted in a vicious snarl, his teeth exposed through a torn cheek. He wheezed at me in that particular way young zombies had, curious and creepy at the same time.
I brought up my rifle just as the little bastard launched himself down the stairs at me. I had no chance at a killing shot, so I backed up quickly and let him slam himself onto the floor at the bottom of the stairs. Hate-filled eyes locked onto mine as he slowly lifted his body off the floor. I targeted those eyes and fired a killing shot right before he charged.
I grabbed a handful of his dirty shirt and hauled the lifeless body out of the way. I had no time for regrets, I needed to clear the damn upstairs. I could hear more shots being fired and I knew I had used up whatever time the guys downstairs could give me.
I sprinted upstairs and quickly looked around, seeing a small apartment dwelling. The kitchen was a mess and there was dried blood here and there, indicating more zombies, lucky me. I cleared the kitchen and small living room, then worked my way down the hall. Two small bedrooms were clear, but the door at the end of the hall was closed. I moved quietly to it and tapped softly on the door.
When I listened at the door, I heard nothing, so I was about to open it when the door shook hard, rattling in its frame. Something on the other side was pounding up a storm and by the way the door was shaking, it was big.
I watched for a second, seeing if the door would hold and when I was sure it would, I went back to the stairs to get my friends.
I was on the ground floor and halfway through the row of shelves when Duncan and Tommy came barreling around the corner.
“Go! Go! They’re right behind us!” Tommy shouted, waving his hand at me to turn around.
I didn’t need to be told twice. I spun around we ran up the stairs and back into the apartment. I let Duncan clear the landing, then I threw the table and chairs down the stairs to stall the horde, which was just reaching the door at the bottom of the stairs. Tommy ran down the hallway and Duncan and I were right behind him. He moved into the room on the left and we followed, slamming the door closed and looking for something to brace against it.
A quick look around revealed this room was not going to be a safe haven. It was a boy’s room, probably belonged to the little Z I just wasted. There was a plastic race car bed, a little pressboard desk and dresser, a plywood toy chest and a fishbowl that had some brackish water, but no fish. Absolutely nothing that would hold back the advancing hordes.
As we caught our breath, we could hear crashing sounds as the zombies fought their way past the table and chairs. In hindsight, I probably should have tossed down the fridge as well.
“Find an exit,” I told Tommy, realizing for the first time this room had no windows. “Bust up that desk,” I told Duncan. “We need splinters, anything with an edge.” Duncan pulled his close quarters weapon, a modified war hammer and set to work with gusto.
I went to the door and listened, hoping against hope that the zombies might lose us and leave or at least leave few enough behind to be dealt with easily. I could hear shuffling in the hallway and the attention was focused on the twit banging away on the end of the hall. I then heard something that chilled me cold. A small scraping sound, then a click. I realized instantly what had happened.
The damn zombie had turned the doorknob and opened the door!
I relayed the information to the other two and they just looked at me for a long moment. This changed a lot and I hoped like hell it was an isolated incident, otherwise it meant a whole new dimension to zombie fighting. If they could turn a doorknob, they could problem solve, which meant one very frightening thing.
They were starting to learn.
“God help us,” I whispered.
“No shit,” Duncan replied as he brought me some splintered desk legs. We stuck the pointed ends into the space between the door and the door jamb, putting four of them to good use. The hinged side we left alone, because it wouldn’t have helped.
I looked over at Tommy, who was busily ripping a wall apart. He cursed as he struck brick, then cast his eyes on the floor. He looked at me and I shook my head.
“We’re right over the store area, which would drop us right into the middle of it,” I said, pushing hard on a makeshift wedge.
“Dammit.” Tommy looked around, got his bearings, then stood on the small chair to punch a hole in the ceiling. “If it’s bricked up here, I have no plan.”
“You’ll be fine,” I said. “Just find us room to get through, a vent, crawlspace, attic, whatever.”
“Yeah, I just hate getting drywall in my eyes.”
“Poor baby,” I retorted.
“Listen you two-” Duncan started, but his eyes drifted to the door and his voice died away. I looked down and saw what he did.
The doorknob was starting to turn. Slowly, slowly, but it was turning. I grabbed the knob to stop it and the door shook as the dead on the other side groaned loudly and threw themselves against it. The wedges held, but Duncan had to pound them in with the war hammer because they had been loosened.
Tommy tore at the ceiling with both hands as the pounding increased. I leaned against the door to hold back the horde and felt the staccato drumbeat as a dozen dead hands flailed in the opening. Duncan waited with his hammer to pound back any pegs that worked loose.
Suddenly, the door heaved inward and all of the pegs clattered to the floor. I pushed as hard as I could against the door, avoiding the hands and arms that struggled to get around and grab hold of anything they could reach.
“Shit!” I yelled. “Tommy! We need an exit, NOW!”
“Just a minute,” Tommy sing-songed back.
“Haven’t got a minute!” I shouted, heaving against the door. Duncan was pushing hard as well.
“Your dilemma is important to us. Please hold and our next available representative will be with you shortly.”
“The one good thing that came out of the Upheaval and you ruin it.” At least the end of civilization had taken telemarketers with it.
I heard crashing sounds behind me as a zombie pushed its nasty head into the opening and tried to squeeze into the room. The door pressed against the sides of its skull, causing the graying skin to crack down the center and peel back away from its eyes and cheeks. Those milky eyes rotated a bit before they settled on me. Another hand came through the doorway and grabbed at my arm.
“Not a chance, pal.” I cursed, leaned against the door with my shoulder, and drew my SIG. I put the barrel in the Z’s eye and blew it to hell. The body slumped to the floor, but just as I pulled the trigger I realized I had managed to block the door from closing. This was turning out to not be a good day.
“We’re good!” Tommy yelled above the din.
I looked over my shoulder and saw a pair of hands sticking out from the hole in the ceiling he had made.
I glanced down at Duncan. “You first.”
“You can’t hold this door by yourself,” he said and proving his point, a sudden heave by the zombies nearly opened the door by a foot, but we managed to thrust it back.