K. T. Swartz (9 page)

And slammed it into the thin barrier between her and the undead; glass splintered. Like the ravenous, mindless monsters they were, the zombies pushed their fingers through the cracks, leaving behind chunks of flesh. She ran for the truck. Fingers raked her shoulder, grabbed her arm. She swung without looking, felt the vibration of metal against bone. The zombie stumbled back, dragged at her sleeve. Behind her, glass shattered. She swung again, as hard as she could. Bone caved in, forced blood out of the zombie’s nose and ears. The monster sagged against the wall as loud moans suddenly grew so much louder. She ran. Dove into the truck and slammed the door.

Dozens of arms clawed at the air, pealed the glass from the doorframes. They climbed over and around the waist-high frame. Like rats they poured into the parking lot. She put the truck in gear and floored it. Tires squealed, as the first shambling dead crossed the threshold. Arms waved for the truck; with dragging feet and cloudy eyes, they surged into the light. She drove all the way down to the far end of the store and pointed the grill at them. One foot on the brake, the other on the gas, she tapped it lightly. Let the engine rev. Not too fast or she’d destroy the truck. But hit them at the right speed, and she’d mow them down like grass.
Oh, for a semi-truck right about now.

She let off the brake; the truck bucked, shooting forward. Her knuckles went white on the steering wheel as it flew toward the All-Mart shoppers. They were a strange mix of camo, Spring-Break fun, and brown smocks with the All-Mart logo on the left shoulder. She aimed for the stragglers, and the truck slammed into them. It rattled hard enough to make her teeth chatter before flying past. She braked, looked back. Three zombies now resembled speed bumps. She backed right into a few more. They bounced like rubber balls off the truck bed. Fists pounded the windows. But as she pulled away, seven zombies didn’t get back up.

She backed up to the far end of the store, shifted gears. And let the truck go. It roared across the blacktop. Hit the first zombie head on. Then slid to a halt on a mound of slick bodies. Tires spun in soft flesh. She flinched with the fists pounding the glass. She shoved the truck into all-wheel drive. Spinning wheels dug into wet and rotting skin; the spray off her tires painted the zombies behind her, but the tires finally caught on knobby spines. The vehicle lurched forward, fish-tailing but finally moving. The remaining three were unperturbed with the carnage all around them. As persistent as ever, they came on.

She let them stumble their way free of the bodies before tapping the accelerator. They looked nowhere else but at her. They might as well have been pins at a bowling alley. Their bodies slammed into the grill. She hit two; one crumpled over his road-kill friends; the second flew back, arching over the organic speed bumps. When the zombie smashed skull first into the pavement, her body slid a few feet, leaving a thick trail of skin, blood, and bone behind. The last zombie pawed at the window. She pulled out her gun, slammed the driver’s side door into him. He stumbled back, limping badly. She climbed out, let him stand before putting a bullet through his skull.

She looked to the ruined doorway. Shadows moved within. She climbed into the truck, backed down the aisle so her headlights shone into the store. A small army of undead dragged themselves through the darkness. She was going to need another plan and quickly. To continue using the truck would only waste gas and damage it further. Her hands on the steering wheel, she looked around the parking lot. It was nothing but vehicles and wide open space. A few scrawny trees grew in the islands in front of each aisle. A loose collection of outdoor furniture lined the front of the store. There were buggies, vending machines, and a metal structure around the small garden center.

She stared. A cage of propane tanks sat locked against the outside wall. She backed down the aisle as the horde shambled closer. Zombies followed like baby ducklings as she pulled ahead and spun the truck around. The truck shot toward the tanks. Rubber squealed when it stopped. She jumped out. Her crowbar bent and twisted the metal propane cage. Moans reached her ears. Without looking back, she dove into the truck, slammed the door. In the rearview mirror, some of her fanatical followers reached the truck bed.

She floored it, turned sharply down another aisle. They followed, cloudy eyes rushing after her. Her foot tapped the brake, let them catch up. Then led them on another cat-and-mouse game around the parking lot, until she pulled up beside the propane tanks. Dragged one from the cage, loaded it in the truck. Just to be on the safe side, she grabbed another one. Hopped behind the wheel.

She lengthened the distance between her and the zombies as she headed for the back lot, away from the other cars and anything else inflammable. She parked and set the propane tank on the blacktop. The first of the zombies shambled from between the vehicles. If she judged the distance of the explosion right she could expect shrapnel up to thirty to fifty feet. The only gun she had was her 9mm, with a range of sixty to seventy feet. Not much of a cushion in case the explosion radius was greater, but it was all she had.

She climbed out of the truck and unscrewed the silencer; tossed it in the passenger seat. Both hands on the gun, she sighted the propane tank. Took a deep breath; held it. And let it out slow. She rested her finger on the trigger. Maybe her mind was playing tricks on her, but the horde seemed to have grown. They pulled at each other, trying to get ahead, but their rotting bodies and unsteady feet only had them stumbling and jerking awkwardly into each other. A few stragglers came behind, but the majority rushed her as fast as their decayed muscles could move.

And they began to close the gap between them and the propane tank. Their moans mingled, crashed together, to roll over her. She didn’t move, kept her eyes on the tank. The first few undead stepped into the invisible kill zone. At thirty feet to the tank, they looked nowhere else but at her, lost in the mob mentality that urged them forward. At twenty feet, she took a deep breath, steadied her aim. At ten, their dragging, heavy steps reached her ears.

The fastest zombies passed the tank. Less than seventy feet to her now. Still plenty of time to run if she wanted. She could still hit up several smaller stores and not have to put herself in so much danger with stupid stunts like this, but she needed things she could only find here, and this was the only plan she could think of. It was stupid, and if it worked, the sound alone would draw every zombie within hearing range. Shrapnel could very well kill her; the truck could be damaged. She shook her head, not taking her eyes off the propane tank. No more time. No more doubt, as the slowest of the walking dead stepped into the blast radius. She pulled the trigger. Her bullet slammed into a zombie’s leg; he fell, blocking her view of the tank. Panic slid down her throat. She squeezed the trigger, emptied the clip–

Fire rolled across the blacktop. The propane tank exploded in a brilliant mushroom cloud; ignited gas tore through the dozens of rotting bodies as if paper. Shrapnel bounced across the blacktop in front of her. An arm slammed into the hood, slid across it, and over the side. Burning chunks of goo splattered the parking lot. She tensed as the heat blew across her face. And as the cloud of fire clawed its way skyward, it left behind a forest of zombie candles. The stench of burning flesh rolled over her; crackling flames drowned out the zombies’ moans as the handful still standing stumbled their way toward her. She watched them melt, until the last remaining zombie stepped within range, only to have his knees buckle. He collapsed in a pile of burning rot.

‘I still can’t believe that worked. The explosion got them all. I stood at the edge of a blast zone over sixty feet in diameter, with metal shrapnel peppering the truck’s hood, and I’d actually briefly considered using the second tank for fear the first one wouldn’t be enough. It would have been overkill and quite possibly could have killed me. I don’t exactly condone using propane for large explosions just because of the noise and the large visual aspect. They’re not the best for hiding, but sometimes they’re necessary. Jeremy would have been proud.’

She tossed the gun in the passenger seat and climbed in. Drove back to the glass doors to again let her headlights shine into the store. If her math was correct, she’d put down about forty or fifty zombies, but a store this size would have well over a hundred, maybe two. To keep up this game of chase would only chew up her day and in the process attract more zombies, thereby compounding her problem. While she certainly had the resources for maybe a dozen more explosions, such a waste of time and resources had to be avoided.

Only two zombies emerged, drawn by the light, and she crushed their skulls with her crowbar, then drove around the side of the building, to All-Mart’s automotive center. She parked and climbed out, grabbing her gun and silencer. She peeked through the garage windows. Three dead mechanics and a customer stood like lifeless statues among the two cars suspended on racks above their heads. She crawled along the garage door to the customer entrance. Fingers lightly on the handle, she turned the knob. Grimaced at the click it made. She glanced through the window again. Only one took a shuffling step toward the door. But he stopped, his arms swinging. Foggy eyes stared at nothing.

Shaking her head, she tightened her grip on her crowbar, twisted the knob until the door opened just a crack. It swung open with barely a sound. Crouched down, she slipped inside. Stopped. None of the zombies moved. Gritting her teeth, she eased the door closed until the lock touched the frame. Another soft click. She rose, both hands on her crowbar. The only zombie within range had a shock of white but grimy hair on his head. His glasses had sunk into the skin across his nose. The old zombie’s shoulders were slumped; his bowed legs twitched with the effort of holding him up. A walker lay on the floor.

She lifted the crowbar over her head. He moaned on impact, his forehead compacting. Blood squirted from his nose, across her clothes. As his glasses toppled off his nose, she spun. Three zombies shuffled toward her. She stayed behind the railing separating the garage from the customer area. Both zombies bumped into the bars, still reaching for her. She smashed both of them in the head, and it suddenly occurred to her that she was playing ‘pop the weasel’, but with zombies. A female in a pale blue mechanics’ uniform stumbled on the welcome mat, pawing at the air. May swung the crowbar like a golf club, caught the zombie under the jaw with the claw part. She jerked at her weapon when it stuck like a hook in a fish.

The zombie’s jaw ripped from her face, hung by a joint. Her tongue slapped her neck, and still she reached for her. She backed up, her shoe catching on a dead mechanic’s leg. Behind her was the door into the lobby. She rammed the flat end of the crowbar through the zombie’s nasal cavity. Wrenched the curved end down and in. The sharp point popped against the back of the zombie’s skull, and the mechanic fell. She pulled her crowbar free, wiped it across her back and sleeves.

Her flashlight beam illuminated the customer service lobby inside the store. No zombies. She stepped into the room, propped the door open behind her. Behind the desk were two sets of keys. She shoved the doorstop as far under the door as possible, until it was against the wall. With the car remotes in her hands, she pressed the alarms. With no carpet or curtains to dull the shrieking alarms, their screams crashed into the concrete walls, rebounded off them, and rattled through her brain. Headlights flashed on and off, filling the garage with sudden brilliant stabs of light, only to pitch the room into darkness again.

She let them screech and wail at each other as she ducked into the craft department, checked each aisle before moving further in. She worked her way across the wall, stopping by the fabric-cutting table. The car alarms filled the entire store, their headlights like blinking eyes. She watched the aisles. And waited. From the darkness, shadows moved, but the alarms made any other sound impossible. She forced herself to remain in place as a short, hunched zombie stumbled toward her. Its head turned in every direction. She held her breath, watched its steps carry it closer, until it stopped again. The store employee passed within reach, its stench tickling her nose. She squeezed it shut, let the zombie move away.

They were like flies drawn to honey – very slow flies that couldn’t fly – but they shuffled their way toward the open garage door. Her eyes followed each one, counted them. The number kept growing, reaching twenty, then twenty five. Her stomach sank as the number climbed into the forties. She slipped to the end of the aisle, looked to the massive crush of bodies choking the door. The room beyond should have been large enough to hold them all, but they stopped just shy of that goal. There were simply too many for her to handle if this didn’t work. She had to get them all in that room, or she’d have to abandon the building.

Staying low, she crept across the aisle, back to the automotive lobby. With only the counter between them, she peeked over the edge just as the car alarms went off, pitching the garage and the lobby into darkness. She froze, patted her pockets for the remotes. Punched buttons until both cars began screaming and throwing light across the walls. The swarm shifted, their hands in the air, clawing at the car racks. The dam broke, finally bleeding into the garage. Only a few bumped and shuffled around the door, but again the flood slowed. She darted around the counter, screwing the silencer back on her gun. Fired at the one holding up the last two.

The sound of him hitting the floor caught their attention. Their heads jerked around as if pulled by strings. And finally they moved for the door. So did a few in the garage. She fired two shots, dropped the zombies in the lobby. And ran for the door. Rotted fingers wrapped around the doorframe, tightened as the flood of zombies shifted back toward her. She slammed the crowbar into the zombie cashier’s skull, put her boot to his chest, and shoved him back in with the others. His thick body tripped up those behind him. They stumbled, didn’t have the capacity to catch themselves, nor could they move as dragging feet trampled them under. She kicked the doorjamb away, slammed the heavy metal door on somebody’s fingers. She swung her machete at the zombies reaching through the door.