by Rosaria, A.
“How do I look?”
“Like an ugly duckling.”
Priss glared at her. “You’re such a meanie at times.”
Sarah laughed. “I’m pulling your leg. You look like a little princess.”
Priss faced the store window. Her smile disappeared. “Something moved outside.”
Sarah rushed outside and glanced up and down the street. No one. “Are you sure?”
Priss held her Sig tight in her hands and nodded. “We should go back home.”
Sarah didn’t want to end their day like this, but the safe thing to do was to leave. But before they could go, she needed to first check one more shop. They dropped the bag with clothes in the cart. The cart hobbled over the cobblestones as she raced toward the gun shop. She skidded to a halt in front of the entrance. Priss, close behind her, bumped into her. The place wasn’t like she left it. The door to the storeroom was wide open. Sarah rushed inside. The gun racks were empty and so were the few ammo boxes left. Someone cleaned the place out. Blood rushed to her face. She forced herself to breathe and bolted back outside. Priss followed her.
“Sarah, wait.”
Sarah pushed the cart up the road.
“Sarah! What’s going on?”
“We have to leave now.”
The world pressed down on her. She glanced from side to side. She noticed movement in the alleyways. “Help me push the cart.”
Priss helped push. The cart hobbled dangerously on the road. Each time it threatened to tip over, Sarah and Priss kept it on the road going in a somewhat straight line. Once they reached the house, they rushed for the door to find it locked.
“Spacey!” Sarah bounced her fist against the door. “Open up!”
Sarah looked back the way they’d arrived. Nothing, yet. She pounded her fist on the door. “Open the goddamn door.”
Priss joined Sarah at banging on the door. Panic grabbed her and tried to drag her into a deep pit filled with despair. She looked over her shoulder. She spotted something sliding back into the shadow between two buildings.
“Stay near the door,” Sarah yelled as she drew her revolver and strode to the middle of the road. She stopped facing the tree line, feet apart, holding her revolver relaxed at her side. Whoever or whatever was following her, she’d rather face it than wait to be attacked in the back. As the seconds ticked away, an uncomfortable feeling gripped her that something was about to happen and that that something was something terrible. Her finger tightened on the trigger as she raised her revolver, aiming at nothing in particular. It upset her that there were only shadows she could aim at. Shadows from which unseen eyes could stalk her.
Sweat slid over her trigger finger. She readjusted her grip on her gun. Behind her, she heard Priss yell for Spacey to open the door. Sarah put pressure on the trigger. The door opened.
“Sarah, get in!”
As she faced the door, she detected something shifting in the corner of her eye. She dropped to her knee and aimed at the movement and squeezed the trigger. The recoil sent her hands up, blocking her view. It was the first time she’d shot the revolver, and she hadn’t expected the kick. When she lowered her hand, she noticed a bullet hole in a wall with a dark mold stain. Sarah chuckled as she stood and went inside. A groggy Spacey studied her in silence. He smirked as he shut the door, bolted it, and plodded upstairs.
Sarah threw herself on the sofa and groaned. This was crazy. She allowed things to get at her. However wrong she had been about being followed, the fact was that someone stole the remaining guns and ammo, and that someone, or more likely someones, could be stalking them, biding their time for an attack, or they could be miles away, leaving for whatever destination. No, she was being paranoid. This place was remote, but not that remote that no one else could stumble on it. There were other towns in a twenty-mile radius. It was possible they were not alone. No matter how many people turned zombie, there were always survivors left to bump into.
“What was that about?” Priss said.
Sarah sat up. She still held her revolver. “I saw something, or I think I saw something. Did you?”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe? Only maybe didn’t loot the ammo and guns. I left enough for two to three cart runs. They cleaned the store up.”
Priss took her place at the kitchen table. “Crap, you are right.”
Crap indeed. A mountain of crap. They could vanquish zombies all day long without risking their zombie’s friend plotting revenge. Humans had friends. Those three Spacey killed, their friends might come looking for them. And if those friends could clean out a place in a New York minute, then they must be many. Ten men at least. And Sarah’s new house stuck out with its boarded windows. There was no doubt in her mind they noticed it if they passed it by.
Sarah sighed. “Yeah, we are totally screwed.”
“Should we leave?”
Sarah grimaced. “It will be dark soon, we won’t be able to find shelter in time.”
They were humans in the area who might track them down, that is, if they hadn’t already, and don’t forget the enhanced zombie that left them a morning present. They had no choice but to ride this out. Sarah went to the kitchen. At least she’d ride it out with a full belly.
“Soup? Again?” Priss groaned.
Spacey dug his spoon into the soup and back to his mouth. Each time the spoon went back down the bowl, he smacked his lip. Sarah scowled at Priss for not appreciating her soup. Soup was the one thing she was great at making. Besides, it wasn’t like she had time to cook something more elaborate and filling. Sarah grabbed Priss’s bowl away from the girl.
“Hey, give that back.”
“No soup for you,” Sarah said with a leer.
“Please,” Priss whined.
Sarah pushed the bowl back. “Don’t complain about my cooking.”
They continued eating in silence. The tension grew as it got later. Sarah recognized that, whatever happened, she would gain a little sleep. Not long after sunset, they heard footsteps outside. Someone or something walked twice around the house. Sarah grabbed her shotgun and Priss her rifle. Spacey snuck upstairs, leaving them to protect the ground floor. For a second Sarah wondered if the old man was using them as a buffer against the enhanced. She shuddered the doubt away; this was not the time for it.
The footsteps stopped at the front door. One loud knock startled Sarah. Silence. Sarah inched nearer toward the door, Priss right behind her. The door shuddered with a second knock, followed by another, and another, and they kept arriving, hard and loud.
“Who’s there?”
The knocking stopped. The steps went away from the door. Sarah exhaled. Something heavy hit the door, rattling it in its frame. Fists banged against the door, making the whole thing shudder like an earthquake was going on. Sarah clutched her shotgun tight. With the windows boarded up tight, she couldn’t peek out to see who was outside, banging on the door. She should have made murder holes. There was now no way to defend the house from the inside. She hated it. The waiting. The always reacting.
“Goddamn, we boxed ourselves in. So stupid.” Sarah bolted for the back door and slung one backpack over her shoulder. The other she handed to Priss. The third one she held up in her arms. “Upstairs!”
It was the logical place to make their stand once the creature broke through the door. And if needed, they could make their escape over the roof.
Spacey waited for them at the stairs. He gestured them to hurry. Their beds formed a row behind the ledge. Sarah frowned at him as he pushed the beds down the stairs, blocking the way up. Good thinking. It inspired her with an idea. Sarah tapped Spacey on the shoulder to follow her. Inside her room, she signaled him to assist her with the double-door wardrobe. Together they labored it outside and placed it standing on the landing in front of the stairs, completely blocking the way up.
The front door shuddered. A big crack formed in the middle. Not long now before the thing got inside. Sarah utilized the wardrobe for cover and aimed at t
he door. The zombie kept smashing its body against the door, each hit adding a crack in the wood. It kept going, splintering the wood. A fist broke through. Sarah shot at it. The recoil sent her staggering back. By the time she recovered herself, the arm was gone, and so was the zombie.
“Did you kill it?” Priss whispered.
Sarah shook her head. Her eyes zoomed in on the large hole in the broken door. A wail from the outside startled her. The enhanced zombie hit the door with such force that it broke through the door. It hit the ground sliding as Sarah shot at it. The lead pellets zipped through the air above the enhanced zombie. Sarah shot at it again. The pellets bore into the floor as it jumped out of the way. She held her breath and aimed, finger on the trigger, about to squeeze. The zombie blurred out of her sight and disappeared into the living room.
The creature started to throw the furniture in the living room. She heard wood smash against the wall and glass shattering. The enhanced zombie wailed as it went through a destructive rage. It fell silent and a second later the enhanced zombie raced for the stairs, jumping and climbing on the beds blocking its way. Sarah shot at it. Missed. She shot again, this time forcing the creature back into the living room, where it continued its raged-induced destruction.
“Priss, get me buckshot. I will kill this sucker.”
When the world was normal, where the dead stayed dead, she’d considered joining the army. Firearms fascinated her. For a girl her age and generation, she understood her guns and different ammo. What she lacked in experience, she possessed in knowledge. Birdshot, which she had been using, had more and smaller pellets than buckshot. Great for small game. Buckshot did much more damage, while birdshot had more spread. Loaded with birdshot made it easy to hit zombies, but it did not drop them—she needed buckshot for that.
She handed Priss her shotgun. “Load it up.”
Priss stared at her wide-eyed, not moving.
“The shells are in the blue box inside my backpack. Hurry.”
Sarah drew her revolver and aimed in the direction of the living room. The zombie left cover and made a mad dash for the stairs. Sarah squeezed the trigger, carefully aiming each shot. The first bullet missed. She aimed lower. The second and the third one hit the zombie’s torso. It staggered but kept advancing. She adjusted her aim a little higher. Fourth and fifth passed inches from the zombie’s head. Sarah tightened her grip, waited for the zombie to stand still while trying to go up the stairs, and squeezed. The bullet scraped the side of its skull. The zombie recoiled with a scream and fled back into cover and out of sight.
“Priscilla!” Sarah held her revolver back while keeping her eyes downstairs. She heard the zombie pace inside the living room. At any time it could return charging back out. Priss handed her the shotgun. Sarah racked a shell in and aimed at the living room. The house grew silent. Her arms trembled with the effort of holding the shotgun in place. She lowered her aim and looked over her shoulder at Priss. “Grab your rifle and take my place.”
Sarah rolled her eyes as Priss went to get the rifle. Priss could sometimes be such a ditz. Sarah pushed the shotgun in Spacey’s hand. “And you, make yourself useful.”
Sarah flipped her revolver open. Twisted it around. Bullet casings fell and hit the floor. Hurriedly, she clicked the speed loader in place, pulled the loader back, and snapped the revolver shut. Priss returned, gripping her rifle. Sarah gave the short girl a reassuring nod as they switched places. The girl forced a tiny smile while gripping her gun. Priss would be okay. When it counted, she often got things done. Sarah forced herself not to remember the few times Priss had not. There was no room for doubt right now.
Sarah rushed to her bedroom. The gun case with the P90 lay in the middle of the room on the spot where the bed used to be. She flipped the clasps and pushed the lid open. Doe-eyed, she stared at the gun. Blood rushed through her veins in excitement when she picked it up and clacked the clip in place. Bolstered and ready to rock, she slung the P90 over her shoulder using its strap. She’d teach the freak a lesson that would burn holes in its body.
Downstairs, silence descended. Whatever the zombie got planned, it was going about it in stealth. Sarah looked hard at the boarded-up window. To keep them out, they had locked themselves in. Sarah felt bad about the situation. Not only zombies, in all their not-so-fun iterations, waited outside, but also fellow survivors with axes to grind. Despite the extinction-level shit humanity went through, they were still fighting among themselves. All because of uncontrolled greed and lust for power. It became humanity’s downfall, and now at the precipice’s end, it still wreaked havoc in making certain the human race stayed down.
Sarah removed her coat to strap on the bulletproof vest. Pulling her coat back on, she strode out the bedroom.
“Seen the bastard yet?”
“No,” Priss said in a high squeak. The short girl stood rigidly near the stairs, while Spacey leaned his old ass against the wall, dangling the shotgun in his hands.
“Okay, pay attention. We need to plan our exit in case it breaches our defenses.” She felt inadequate commanding their tiny ragtag group of three. And about Spacey? She presumed that he would do whatever he wanted, no matter what she ordered him to do.
“Wear your bulletproof vests. Humans are also hunting us now.”
Sarah changed places with Priss standing guard. Priss and Spacey left to get their vests. Sarah glared down the stairs. No movement. No nothing. She wondered what the thing was up to. Priss returned, bulletproof vest strapped tightly on her body underneath her coat. Spacey didn’t return. Sarah raised an eyebrow.
Priss shook her head. “He’s crazy. You expect him to behave like a normal human being?”
Sarah grimaced. “Guess the two of us will keep the watch. You want to go first?”
“Yeah, why not? I can’t sleep with that thing hanging around.”
“All eyes,” Sarah said as they switched places. “Wake me up in two hours.”
Sarah sat and rested her back against the wall, the P90 leaning close by against the wall. She held her revolver on her lap. Only then Sarah eased her breathing and shut her eyes. Sleep didn’t arrive. After a while, Sarah groaned. Who was she deceiving, thinking she could fall asleep? She tried to rest instead. The silence downstairs pressed on her, denying her any semblance of relaxation. The only sounds she heard were Priss’s feet shifting about and her own beating heart.
Priss hummed a tune. Sarah focused on the song and felt herself sway away on it. Fatigue draped over her and dragged her mind away from reality, and soon after, she faded out. Sarah jumped awake, startled by a pat on her shoulder.
“It’s your turn,” Priss said.
Sarah changed places with Priss. “Have you seen it?”
“No. Do you think he fled the house?”
“Fat chance of that happening.” She took the spot guarding the stairs and wondered where had Spacey run off to. Probably sleeping somewhere without a care in the world while a monster stalked them.
Sarah caught herself looking at her watch. Minutes passed while it felt like an hour went by. God. She’d slept for longer, but it felt like seconds. It wasn’t fair that time went by so slow when awake and idle. It was past three into the night. The days were long, but the nights seemed longer, and this one lasted into eternity. She wanted to kill the monster and be done with it.
Sarah risked a glance back at Spacey’s room. Another one being like a ghost. She glanced back down the stairs, aiming her P90 at the opening leading to the living room. She frowned. Still no sound. Should she risk looking for Spacey? It irked her that she didn’t grasp what the old man was up to. She tiptoed to his bedroom door and pushed it open ajar. She’d been right. Spacey lay sprawled on the floor, sleeping. He didn’t even bother wearing the body armor.
She kneeled next to him and lay the P90 on the floor, about to shake him awake, when she heard a loud crash. She rushed back to the stairs. She looked at her empty hands and groaned. She pulled her Ruger and held it high as she leaned ov
er to peer. A bed soared into the air toward her. Sarah ducked. The bed smashed against the wardrobe, toppling it. Sarah rolled out of its way as it crashed down on the floor. Priss jumped up, looking wildly around, dropping her rifle to the ground. She bent over to pick it up as the other bed soared into the air. It whizzed over Priss and crashed against Spacey’s bedroom door.
“Run,” Sarah yelled. She cursed herself for being this stupid. She should have known it was biding its time. The thing must have super hearing. She leveled her gun at the blur rushing her and kept squeezing the trigger till every last bullet went toward the zombie. A bullet hit each shoulder. A third chipped a river along its neck. Two went wide. The last one flew straight at its head. The zombie flinched away, its back hitting the stair railing and sliding down. The bullet missed.
Click! Sarah froze for a second, staring down the barrel of her revolver as the zombie tumbled down the stairs. It hit the floor, bounced, and sprung up on its feet, its dead eyes locked with hers. Sarah whirled around. Priss frantically tried to haul the bed blocking the bedroom door out of the way. It slid about a foot. Sarah grabbed Priss and pushed her through the half-open door.
Sarah heard rapid-pounding monster feet behind her as she was about to slide inside the room. Something hard bashed against her, flinging her aside and the door shut. Sarah rolled hard on the floor and got up in a crouch. The enhanced looming over her stretched its arms, sharp claws ready to rend her to pieces and devour her whole, not leaving any meat behind to rot.
Sarah bellowed in defiance as she unsheathed her bowie knife from its scabbard. The enhanced swung a claw at her face aimed to gauge out her eyes. Sarah ducked to the side while slashing out with her knife. The monster’s claws raked the door. At the same time her knife cut a line in the zombie’s wrist. White fluids spattered the floor and leaked out the cut, but a second later the wound sealed back up.
