I hit the little lip and teetered forward. The only thing that saved me was dropping on my ass. Still, Ron is dangling; his grip on my arms is with both hands now as he has slid to my wrist. I look down into lifeless, black-shot eyes and he is snapping at me like a crazed dog. I can feel the click of his teeth just inches from my clenched fist. Taking the bat, I slammed it down. It took two good shots to the face. I’m pretty sure that it was reaching for the bat, and that is the only reason the damned zombie let go.
I turned just as Pee-Wee was reaching for me. Grabbing one flailing arm, and the waist of his pants, I chucked him over the side rather unceremoniously, but time was against my friends. I heard moans and snarls echoing in the dark doorway, and they were growing louder.
Preston was on his back now, crab-walking away and kicking at the two zombies seeking to get a grip on either leg. Tom was locked, arm-to-arm with the behemoth intent on trying to bite his face off. I decided that Tom was more vital.
Just that fast. It makes me just a little bit sick of myself that I’ve descended to such a base level so soon. I decided, someplace in my mind, that one man holds more value than another and was willing to put his life up as collateral.
I moved in behind the beast whose clicking, gnashing teeth could easily be heard above all the struggles. Lining up on the back of its head, I swung down like an executioner dropping his axe. The zombie barely seemed aware of my attack. Tom began screaming and as I brought the bat down again, my mind made an observation: I was forcing this thing’s snapping jaws in the exact opposite way Tom wanted! Fortunately, the thing just stopped moving and collapsed like the giant bag of rotted meat that it was.
I had concerns about Tom, but no time to investigate. I turned to help Preston. He had managed to get his gun free and was fumbling with the safety. He was still kicking his legs wildly. The two zombies were like a pair of kittens with a squeaky toy. They batted and pawed at his legs with no concern of anything around them and no fear. Just a fascinated determination and surety that they would have their prize before long.
My swing broke open the head of Granny-Zombie as Preston finally managed to flick off his safety and drop Mechanic-Zombie. A hand on my shoulder caused me to jump. I spun around. By the time I was turning, my mind was already telling me it was probably only Tom.
It wasn’t.
A fat, Hispanic man was leaning in to take a bite out of my throat! The sound of a pistol echoed in my skull as the side of the creature’s head erupted in grayish-black gore. Tom shoved the body away, snapping his fingers in front of my eyes. He was talking, but all I heard were angry hornets in my skull. My mouth was full of the thick taste of rot and gunpowder.
Tom and Preston were running for the door now. I heard gunfire through a thick wall of cotton as they vanished into the dark entry. The strobe flash of their shooting was my only light as I entered the pitch-black stairwell. I hurried to catch them in the fits of blinding flashes and cacophonous bursts of 9mm fire in an enclosed space.
Somehow we reached another door, which, by the time I caught up, was open. A dull gray light gave me a look at our surroundings. A long corridor ran to our left and right. A good number of those things were coming from both directions. Eight or nine of them were sprawled at the base of the stairs we had just descended. They wouldn’t be getting up ever again.
The store was open before us. Big windows someplace in the front allowed a little light, but it was still way too dark and shadowy. The smell of rotten food from the grocery department fought for recognition with the stink of the zombies that were visible only as shadows popping in and out of sight.
“This is a bad plan,” I remember whispering.
“We ain’t got no plan,” Tom snapped.
“I know where the garden department is,” Preston offered. “I used to shop here all the time.”
“You lead,” Tom nudged him, and we were off.
It was clear that all our noise had drawn a lot of attention. I could hear a muffled staccato pounding on the windows at the store’s entrance.
We followed Preston who had a flashlight out to try and minimize any surprises. I could hear them…plowing through clothing racks…crashing down aisles…seeking us. I was glad my hearing was coming back, just not so glad to hear them coming at us from seemingly every possible direction. I kept saying over and over, “Are we sure about this?”
Nobody answered.
We were coming to an area that was relatively well lit. A row of glass doors opened to a fenced in garden area. Fortunately, we didn’t need to go outside. An entire end display held rows and rows of envelopes. Each envelope had a picture.
Flowers. No!
Vegetables. Yes!
Preston told us to load up while he grabbed what he said were essentials. Knowing nothing about gardening at all, I had no problem deferring.
Tom acted as a sentinel, setting up where he could watch us both. He dispatched a couple of zombies and finally announced it was time to go. I looked up to see at least thirty of them coming through the electronics section and right for us.
We had to zig and zag, but managed to make it back to our door. At some point, Preston had grabbed what looked like a coat rack. As we ducked in the door that led to the stairs, Preston jammed the metal frame against the base of the door and wedged the other against the cinder block wall of the long corridor which was now seemingly zombie free. Hopefully, all the ones that had been back here had followed us into the store.
Tom had his flashlight out now and led us up. We emerged into the cold air. It was so comparatively fresh after being inside, even for such a short time.
We shut the door and Tom slid down to his butt. Preston walked over to a big metal air conditioning unit and did the same. I walked to the front of the store and sat on what was some sort of a big power box.
Nobody really wants to talk.
Monday, February 11
DAMN!
After yesterday’s adventure, each of us just sorta went to be with his thoughts. There is a strong possibility that we won’t be able to return to the complex. We are stuck up here, surrounded by what must be thousands of those things.
I never thought to check anybody.
Sitting against the cold metal of the junction box, or whatever it is, I could hear them down below. The constant moans and gurgles—and that eerie baby cry—kept me on the edge between awake and asleep. Just as the sky was turning a soft pre-dawn shade of orange and yellow that announced a beautiful sunny day, I heard footsteps.
I knew what it was without looking. I just didn’t know who.
I considered my trusty aluminum bat, but decided that I just didn’t give a damn. I drew my 9mm and checked to ensure the safety was off.
The steps drew closer; dragging through the gravel in short, deliberate strides. I could tell that the feet barely left the ground. Taking a deep breath, I pressed my back against the box and, with my legs, forced myself up, stepping out from my cover. I came face to face with Preston. Or rather, the sad and pathetic re-animated version. I looked into those eyes, just for a moment. I desperately hoped to see something, anything that had once been the man I had only briefly known.
Emptiness. Hunger?