by MJ Ware
*
It took us the rest of the morning to move the pallets. We put them in front of all the doors, even the rolling doors in the warehouse and auto center.
I spent the next few hours looking for a decent pair of underwear, but no luck.
The pair I had on were too far gone to be cleaned. It was time for them to go—for good. So, I put on a pair of swim trunks with built-in skivvies, instead. It wasn't ideal, but better than the alternative.
When I got back to the vision center, Misty had it all decked out like a college dorm or a bachelor pad. Tons of snacks, cheesy lamps, moon chairs, plus a ginormous LED TV. If it weren't for the homicidal zombies outside, it would have made a nice pad.
I'm not sure why, but for some reason it kinda ticked me off; as if we had no business being comfortable when zombies were roaming around right outside. Heck, we didn't even have a clue about our parents.
"Nate, how long do you think we can hold out here?" Misty was browsing Walmart's selection of music players and cell phones.
"I don't know, weeks, months, maybe longer. Why? Don't you think someone's going to come get us? I mean, a rescue party or something like that?"
"I hope so, but what if this is happening everywhere?" She put down a phone and looked right at me. "What if society has collapsed? You know, anarchy in the streets? What if our parents are already dead?"
"Geez, Miss. Don't talk like that. I thought you were the one holding it together."
"I'm just saying, we're shut up in here like a jail. Who knows what could be happening?"
"You need some fresh air. Come on, let's grab some spray paint. We're going to the roof."
"But I haven't picked out a player yet."
"We don't even have music to put on it." I gently grabbed her arm and dragged her away.
We needed to keep an eye on the zombie count, but I'd been putting it off, worried we might find the streets packed with the undead. Still, anything was better than moping around Walmart, imagining the world descending into terror while we shopped for discount electronics.
"This isn't so bad. Not as many as I expected," I said, trying to put a good spin on it.
"Still, they seem to be multiplying." Misty shrugged. "What's the spray-paint for, anyway? Going to tag Walmart?"
"It's for a distress signal. Spray a big, 'help, we're hosed' sign on the roof." I started shaking a can.
Misty stood and watched. I'd only finished half of the 'H' before the can fizzed out.
I tossed it to Misty. "Here. See if you can hit a zombie in the head."
She rolled her eyes and then turned to throw it. "Nate, what's that? Over there, someone's running. Come see."
Sure enough, way off in the distance, a kid. He looked a little younger than us. Running criss-cross through the streets, looking like a kick returner zagging upfield. Dozens of zombies followed, desperate to tackle him.
