by Ivan Turner
for Mr. Skolnick. Still, he looked strong. He still held his knife. At first, Dillon didn’t understand why the zombie hadn’t taken it away from him, but then realized that it didn’t make a difference. What would he do with it in a room full of people? And what would he do with it if he left that room and entered the lobby full of zombies?
Mrs. Dumpot was also in the room. She sat in the back corner, huddled down within herself. She always wore these dresses that made her look twenty years older than she was. They always had blue checks or green flowers or some terrible ugly pattern like that. They all looked like they came out of the 1920s. She always wore this thing on her head, too. She wasn’t trying to cover her hair or keep warm. Dillon didn’t know the significance. It just made her look like an old maid. She was crying, her face buried in her hands. She was alone in the room despite the other people. Dillon knew that Mrs. Dumpot had a big family. Where were they now? What were they now? They were gone, of course. Of that he was certain. Probably everyone in the building except these six people and himself were gone, either eaten by the undead or become undead themselves.
Of the other four people, only one was child. Younger than Dillon, the child was maybe five or six years old. He didn’t know her name. She was clinging to the arms of a man who did not look like he could be her father. Then again, who knew? Dillon didn’t know the man either. He was tall and thickly built. He wore his hair in classic Jamaican braids. A stern look covered his face and a bloody tank top covered his chest. Dillon understood why the girl was clinging to him. He appeared strong. He gave the impression that he ate zombies instead of the other way around. Of course, if that were true, he wouldn’t be locked in a storage closet with them. He’d have cleared the building and saved all of their lives.
The last two people in the closet were two girls. Dillon knew them by site. They shared an apartment on his floor. One of them was named Giselle but he didn’t know the other one’s name. He didn’t even know which one was which. They wore matching flannel pajamas, which he thought was weird. The stood together near Mrs. Dumpot, but completely separate from the older woman. They were frightened, but mostly keeping it together.
“Why did they bring us in here?” asked one of the girls. She might have been Giselle or she might have been Giselle’s roommate.
The Jamaican man just shook his head.
Mrs. Dumpot cried more loudly.
“For later.” Mr. Skolnick’s accent was thick. He’d come to the United States in the seventies. He’d been looking to escape religious prejudice in Poland. And now he’d found a completely different kind of prejudice. Prejudice against the living.
Dillon decided he didn’t want to be a meal for later. He didn’t want to be a meal at all. Let the zombies have someone else. He turned and put his hand on the knob. One of the two girls screamed. It wasn’t Giselle. Or maybe it was. It wasn’t the girl who’d asked the question. Startled, he withdrew his hand quickly, as if he’d been burned.
“If you open that door,” said the girl. “They’ll get us.”
“We should wait until they’re gone,” said the other girl.
“They’re always going to be out there,” said the man with the Jamaican braids.
Suddenly there was a pounding on the door. Everyone jumped back in surprise. The pounding grew louder and the door shook in its frame. The zombies outside had discovered them and wanted in. There would be no saving for later. Zombies didn’t think about dinner or lunch or a mid-afternoon snack. If there was flesh to be consumed, then the zombies would have it right then and there.
“What’ll we do? What’ll we do? What’ll we do?” cried Mrs. Dumpot over and over again.
The pounding grew ever louder. A hinge bent in and they all gasped in surprise. The zombies were going to get in. They could only imagine how many of them were behind the door. The lobby must have been wall to wall dead. The ones nearest pounded on the door. Those further away pounded on the ones in front of them. All together, they would eventually be more than a match for the door that held closed the storage closet.
Dillon looked up at the faces one more time and made his decision. He didn’t care about these people. There were none that he knew very well and even if he had… Well, look at what had happened with his parents. Mr. Skolnick looked down at his wound again. It didn’t have to be a bite wound. It was long and thin, as if he’d cut himself with his own knife, the knife that had already been slick with zombie gore. It stood out against his flesh, burning red.
Enough was enough.
Reaching for the knob, Dillon turned it and pushed against the door. It was no use. Outside, the zombies pushed back. Idiots. Giselle screamed again, but he wasn’t startled this time. He heaved with all of his might, but he couldn’t do more than bounce the door in its frame.
“Help me,” he said.
“Are you crazy?” Skolnick shouted.
“I’ll distract them,” Dillon offered, the idea appearing in his head like a brilliant light bulb. “I’m small so I can duck underneath them. When they go for me, you guys can sneak out behind.”
The five adults in the room looked at one another. Even Mrs. Dumpot stopped crying long enough to have a glance. Could it really work? Desperate, they seemed willing to cling to this small hope. No one thought twice about sending a ten year old boy into the midst of a zombie horde. That was irrelevant. If he could save them, then they would let him be their sacrificial lamb.
All at once, Skolnick pressed himself forward. The other man, the strong looking one, detached himself from the little girl and joined him. Together, they pushed against the door, while Dillon held the knob. The two Giselles (only one of them was really Giselle) lent their might as well. Shortly, the door moved slightly. A hand came through and nearly snatched Dillon by the leg. Mr. Skolnick stabbed at it and fresh red blood began to flow. The zombie was fresh. Mr. Skolnick was stabbing a neighbor. But the hand would not recede and was soon joined by another.
“Push harder!” Dillon shouted and the adults responded. At last, there was just enough room for him to sneak out between the legs and grabbing arms. With the smell of death surrounding him, he pushed through and was free of the closet.
The zombies noticed him immediately. The scenario played out as he had described it, which was not necessarily what he wanted. All of the dead turned in his direction and reached for him. There were more than before. Many more. They stepped away from the closet and that’s when things turned around. The door flew open and Mr. Skolnick and the man with the Jamaican braids tumbled into the lobby. The zombies’ attention was diverted from Dillon and they turned. They all but forgot about the tiny meal that was scampering away. There was a much larger meal that was ripe for the taking.
The zombies advanced.
Skolnick tried to get the door closed, but he was too slow in rising and too slow in grabbing the knob. The man who looked like he ate the zombies was, in fact, completely useless in a fight. He screamed and wet his pants as the zombies grabbed him and began to pull at his arms and legs and belly. Giselle and her roommate fought hard but they were no match for the dozens of undead. For each of them, it was over after one bite. They fought a little less hard each time one of them was wounded and were eventually overcome. Poor Mrs. Dumpot sat in her corner in her ugly dress and didn’t move or fight, even as the zombies made a meal of her. The little girl… Well, she disappeared almost instantly.
Only Mr. Skolnick fought with vigor. Even after sustaining several bite wounds, he swung the knife. He cut arms and chests and necks and heads. Like before, when Dillon had been watching him from the top of the staircase, he showed himself to be a formidable opponent. But there were too many of them for him to fight now and he, too, was eventually overcome.
Dillon had just about made the front door when that zombie, the scraggly one, appeared. Reaching down, he grabbed the boy up as easily as the boy had e
vaded the other zombies. Lifting Dillon high, he seemed about to toss him to the ravenous pack. But a second zombie, this one a large black man whose skin had faded to a chalky brown, grabbed hold of the scraggly zombie’s arm, shoved him, and forced Dillon free. He said something, but the boy didn’t stick around to hear what it was. He didn’t bother to process the incredible thing he had just witnessed. Two intelligent zombies were working together. And one of them had shown him compassion.
He rushed from the building and into the blinding snow.
The street was silent. There were a few in a few windows and there were the street lamps, so he could see all right. But the road was filled with snow. There were no cars or trucks. Even the plows hadn’t come by yet. There were some zombies out there on the street, but there was so much space that they were hardly a problem for the lithe boy. He ducked through them and weaved around them. Though the deep snow made it hard for him to move, it was harder for the zombies. Before long, he’d cleared the block and was free of them altogether.
And what now?
He wasn’t sure that this was the end of the world. He wasn’t sure that it wasn’t. But if it was, he was determined to be one of its survivors. Everyone else could go to hell, for all he cared. In
