fingers. She wiped them on her pants, then stuck the lanyard and keys in her pack.
Crowbar leading, flashlight pointing the way, she stepped inside the store. There were more undead in here than she expected. A store that sold no food or guns had little to help anyone unless they planned to stay in Danville for awhile. So, why so many? She slid into another aisle. No undead. She kept moving, toe-to-heel, flashlight forward. The light froze on a creature crouched in front of a light bulb display case. Clear eyes lifted; pupils dilated in the bright beam. The zombie rose, dropped a skeletal hand on the floor. She slid forward, crowbar over her head.
Blood still stained his lips, his teeth. The scrawny punk, with a skullcap and sagging jeans, moaned and reached for her. His flesh still showed patches of pink on his cheeks and hands. In life he might have been attractive, with his long hair and angular bone structure, but he was dying, so far gone that he knew nothing else but hunger. She slammed the crowbar into his skull; his forehead collapsed, squirting blood and brain matter around the iron weapon. His skull cap soaked up most of it, but streams of bright red blood still ran down his face, into his eyes. A gurgle escaped his lips as he fell. Wide eyes stared straight up at the ceiling when he hit the floor. Motionless. Finally at peace.
She knelt in front of the hand he’d been chewing on. From what skin and muscle were left, bright pink flesh still covered the knuckles and wrist. This hand was fresh, with no sign of necrotic damage in the fingertips. Did that mean someone around here was alive? Where would they be hiding? Morrows wasn’t designed for zombie fortification. And considering someone was missing their hand, they probably wouldn’t be alive for much longer. She moved down the next aisle, past the lamps and ceiling fans, into the hardware section. The smell of blood saturated the air. She peeked around the next aisle; spotted the door torn off its hinges at the very far end.
‘When I found the door lying on the concrete floor, my heart sank. I didn’t have to see the room to know I was too late. Where the doorway had been was nothing but deep gashes in the wood and drywall. Stuffing from chairs covered the room. The file cabinets were overturned. Even the poor potted plant hadn’t survived. It was split and drooping, its pot shattered. Beyond this room was a hall, redecorated to match the room I’d just left. Blood slid down the paint, to puddle on the floor, leaving Rorschach-like designs everywhere. Absolute devastation painted in red. I stepped into the hall, could see the employee break-room, and had no hope of finding survivors, especially when I noticed a couple zombies seated at the table as if on lunch. At the same time, they looked at me. One of them was missing a hand.’
• excerpt from August 29 th entry
Pupils dilated in her flashlight’s beam. Neither one moved, just watched her as she slowly eased her crowbar back on her belt. She pulled her 9mm from its holster. The zombies stood, their chairs sliding back. Their skin still showed patches of pink. She fired as they moved. Faster than the truly dead ones, they walked instead of shuffled. Her bullets slammed into the guy’s skull, dropped him halfway between her and the table. The other one, a female, left a trail of shining blood behind as she bumped and stumbled into the chairs and table legs to get around them. The zombie’s jerking motion had the gun bobbing.
She backed up, kept the gun steady this time. The zombie moaned. Rushed her. She fired. The first round kicked the undead’s shoulder back, had her stumbling over her feet. The second punched a hole through her right cheek. The zombie dropped, her blood splattering the floor. Her chest heaved once, let out a rattling breath. May put her gun away, took out her crowbar. And caved in the zombie’s skull. Those clear, bright eyes faded, lost the light within them.
Crowbar leading, flashlight pointing the way, she stepped inside the store. There were more undead in here than she expected. A store that sold no food or guns had little to help anyone unless they planned to stay in Danville for awhile. So, why so many? She slid into another aisle. No undead. She kept moving, toe-to-heel, flashlight forward. The light froze on a creature crouched in front of a light bulb display case. Clear eyes lifted; pupils dilated in the bright beam. The zombie rose, dropped a skeletal hand on the floor. She slid forward, crowbar over her head.
Blood still stained his lips, his teeth. The scrawny punk, with a skullcap and sagging jeans, moaned and reached for her. His flesh still showed patches of pink on his cheeks and hands. In life he might have been attractive, with his long hair and angular bone structure, but he was dying, so far gone that he knew nothing else but hunger. She slammed the crowbar into his skull; his forehead collapsed, squirting blood and brain matter around the iron weapon. His skull cap soaked up most of it, but streams of bright red blood still ran down his face, into his eyes. A gurgle escaped his lips as he fell. Wide eyes stared straight up at the ceiling when he hit the floor. Motionless. Finally at peace.
She knelt in front of the hand he’d been chewing on. From what skin and muscle were left, bright pink flesh still covered the knuckles and wrist. This hand was fresh, with no sign of necrotic damage in the fingertips. Did that mean someone around here was alive? Where would they be hiding? Morrows wasn’t designed for zombie fortification. And considering someone was missing their hand, they probably wouldn’t be alive for much longer. She moved down the next aisle, past the lamps and ceiling fans, into the hardware section. The smell of blood saturated the air. She peeked around the next aisle; spotted the door torn off its hinges at the very far end.
‘When I found the door lying on the concrete floor, my heart sank. I didn’t have to see the room to know I was too late. Where the doorway had been was nothing but deep gashes in the wood and drywall. Stuffing from chairs covered the room. The file cabinets were overturned. Even the poor potted plant hadn’t survived. It was split and drooping, its pot shattered. Beyond this room was a hall, redecorated to match the room I’d just left. Blood slid down the paint, to puddle on the floor, leaving Rorschach-like designs everywhere. Absolute devastation painted in red. I stepped into the hall, could see the employee break-room, and had no hope of finding survivors, especially when I noticed a couple zombies seated at the table as if on lunch. At the same time, they looked at me. One of them was missing a hand.’
• excerpt from August 29 th entry
Pupils dilated in her flashlight’s beam. Neither one moved, just watched her as she slowly eased her crowbar back on her belt. She pulled her 9mm from its holster. The zombies stood, their chairs sliding back. Their skin still showed patches of pink. She fired as they moved. Faster than the truly dead ones, they walked instead of shuffled. Her bullets slammed into the guy’s skull, dropped him halfway between her and the table. The other one, a female, left a trail of shining blood behind as she bumped and stumbled into the chairs and table legs to get around them. The zombie’s jerking motion had the gun bobbing.
She backed up, kept the gun steady this time. The zombie moaned. Rushed her. She fired. The first round kicked the undead’s shoulder back, had her stumbling over her feet. The second punched a hole through her right cheek. The zombie dropped, her blood splattering the floor. Her chest heaved once, let out a rattling breath. May put her gun away, took out her crowbar. And caved in the zombie’s skull. Those clear, bright eyes faded, lost the light within them.
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