She climbed out of the trunk and collapsed to the floor. Her legs felt rubbery and weak. She lay there panting, until they felt better. Then she climbed the stairs, put her ear to the door, and listened. The house was quiet.
“Shannon…” Allison bit her lip and tried not to cry.There were no zombies in the living room or kitchen. Allison glanced out the window into the backyard, and shuddered, remembering what they’d seen last night. Then something occurred to her. It was daylight outside. When they’d first seen the zombies, it had been getting dark. Now it was morning again, which meant she’d slept all night inside the trunk.
Allison began to get a bad feeling inside—her parents were never coming home, and the zombies had eaten her sister. She pushed the tears away, trying to be a spitfire, trying to be brave, the way they’d want her to. She wondered what to do next. Should she call 911? Go next door to the neighbor’s house? Or just wait? What if the zombies came back?
While she was trying to decide, she heard a noise from upstairs—a soft, muffled thump.
Allison froze.
The sound was repeated, louder this time. Before she could move, she heard the hiss of a closet door sliding back on its track. Allison couldn’t be sure, but it sounded like it was coming from her and Shannon’s bedroom.
She tried to call out, but her mouth was dry, and she could only whisper.
“Shannon?”
Footsteps.
Allison licked her lips and took a deep breath. She opened a kitchen drawer and took out one of her mother’s steak knives. Her heart pounded in her chest.
The bedroom door creaked open, and the footsteps crept down the hall. Her eyes glued to the stairs, Allison slowly backed towards the front door.
“Hello?” a voice called out, small and afraid. Allison whimpered. “S-Shannon?”
“Allison? Is that you?”
Allison’s spirits soared. Her sister was alive! She ran to the bottom of the stairs. Shannon stepped out into the light, saw her, and began to cry. The two girls rushed to each other and embraced, crying and shaking.
“I thought the zombies got you,” Allison sobbed.
“I thought you were dead.”
“I thought they got you, too. I hid upstairs, in the closet. I must have fallen asleep. What about you?”
“I hid in Daddy’s old trunk, down in the basement. I fell asleep, too.”
They straightened up and wiped their eyes. Allison grinned. “I’ve really got to pee.”
“Me, too,” Shannon laughed. “Oldest goes first.”
Allison scampered up the stairs behind her. “Not fair!”
When they were finished, Allison asked, “What do we do now?”
Shannon thought about it for a moment. “Let’s get all the food and water we can carry, and some books and games, and we’ll go hide in our clubhouse.”
“But won’t the zombies find us there?”
Shannon shook her head. “How could they? It’s a secret. We’re the only ones that know about it.”
They made their preparations, and then, when they were done, the two sisters walked hand-inhand down the secret street. The sun climbed high into the sky and shined down upon them. Then they disappeared into the shadows of the woods, to a good, secret place, where neither light nor darkness could find them.
LAST CHANCE
FOR LA CHANCE
Jamie La Chance groaned amidst the chaos.
“What do you mean the flight was cancelled?”
He slammed his palm down on the counter in frustration. “This is the third time you people have done this! It’s ridiculous!”
The girl behind the counter bit her lip and stared at the computer monitor, refusing to meet his eye.
“All flights have been grounded, sir. Nationwide—by order of the President. Nobody can fly right now.”
“But I’ve been here all night! I have to get home—back to California…”
“There’s nothing I can do, sir. I’m sorry.”
The guy behind Jamie shouldered his way forward. He stank of sour sweat and cigarette smoke.
“Where can we catch a train?” he demanded.
“This is bullshit.”
The woman didn’t look at him either. “All trains have been stopped as well. Nothing is running. The President just declared martial law a few minutes ago, and the country is now under a national state of emergency. There’s —”
A commotion broke out three counters down from them, as a wild-eyed young man vaulted over the counter and shoved a ticket agent out of the way. He grabbed the computer monitor and shook it.
“I’ve got to get home,” he snarled. “You don’t understand! My wife is pregnant!”
Jamie watched as the fallen woman rose to her knees. The young man reached down and grasped her hair, clenching it in his fist.
“I need to get home,” he screamed. “Tell me how, god damn it!”
Around them, a few bystanders watched the scene unfold, but no one stepped forward to intervene. More people ran by, screaming at each other, shouting into cell phones, or just looking generally dazed.
Earlier, after the first cancelled flight, when Jamie was stretched out in a hard, plastic chair and trying unsuccessfully to sleep, somebody had mentioned that the world was ending. He’d scoffed. But now he thought they might be right. The crazed man picked up the computer keyboard and slammed it over the ticket agent’s head. Blood flowed. Several people screamed. A few ran away. But most just watched, as if it were a movie or a play.
Jamie wanted to help her; he felt compelled to. But his feet remained rooted to the floor. He could only stare as a National Guardsman finally materialized from the crowd and, without one word of warning, raised his rifle, sighted, and then squeezed the trigger. The attacker’s head splattered against the wall. A moment later, his lifeless body tottered over.A woman standing next to Jamie fainted. Her newspaper fluttered across his feet and he glanced down at the headline. MASS HYSTERIA GRIPS NATION. THE DEAD WALK. BIO-TERROR NOT RULED OUT. Martial law. State of emergency. He needed to call home, needed to check on Joann and his kids, Travis and Leslie, as well as their families. His cell phone battery had died during his extended stay here at the airport. He glanced around in desperation and spied a bank of pay phones. Jamie pushed his way through the crowd, and waited ten minutes for a phone to become free. He had to elbow a fellow traveler out of the way when the man tried to step in front of him. He brought the phone to his ear and heard a dial tone. He pulled out his credit card and dialed his home in Rowland Heights, California. There was a pause, and a series of electronic crackles, but that was it. There was no ring, no answer. Just silence.
“Damn.”
He tried again, and got the same thing. Then he dialed Travis in Buena Park, California, and was greeted with more dead air. Calling Leslie and her husband, Martin, at their new home in Nampa, Idaho. This time, he got a recorded voice that told him all circuits were busy.
Frustrated, he slammed the phone back onto its cradle. His ears began to ring, and his skin felt flushed. Heart attack? Panic attack? He didn’t know but he realized that he needed to calm down. He’d never get home if he were hospitalized here in Baltimore.
The fear in the air increased, becoming almost tangible. Somewhere, a woman began to shriek. Jamie forced his way through the masses again, and exited the airport. He stood on the sidewalk, breathing in car exhaust fumes and cigarette smoke, and tried to think.
A taxi sat next to the curb, the driver slumped backward in the seat, his eyes closed, his mouth slightly parted. Maybe he could get a ride to a friend’s home—he had several that lived in the Baltimore area.
Jamie banged on the taxi’s window, and slowly, the driver opened his eyes.
