second button and the garage door began to rise, the electricity coming from the battery on the roof.
Smoke from the burning house next door curled through the crack. As the door rose further, they saw feet, some clad in sneakers or dress shoes, others bare and in various stages of decay.
The door continued to rise.
Don flicked on the headlights.
A dozen zombies stood framed in the garage doorway, shoulder to shoulder, blocking their exit. The one in the middle raised a Mossberg pump shotgun and fired.
Danny screamed.
Wet, cold, and trembling with pain and shock, Frankie glanced around in panic. The German shepherd hobbled toward her on three legs. To her right, six human corpses and an undead cat crept closer. One of the zombies wielded a golf club and two others brandished butcher knives.
Closing in on her left was a creature dressed in the tattered remains of a paramedic's uniform. Its skin was burned black and peeling off in layers. It clutched a small .22 pistol in one charred hand. Behind it stood another, fresher corpse, brandishing a fireplace poker. Frankie was afraid to turn and see what was behind her.
The stench grew worse as they drew closer. She held her breath. The smoke stung her eyes, making them water. Her head swam, and her wounded leg and arm felt heavy, like they were made of lead.
'It will be easier if you don't resist,' the burned zombie rasped. Its voice was like sandpaper. 'Not as much fun for us, but easier all the same.'
'Fuck you,' she choked, trying to sound brave. To her ears, the words sounded anything but.
Another corpse stepped closer. Frankie watched in revulsion as a plump worm dropped from its forearm.
'How many humans were with you?'
Frankie recoiled. Its breath was like an open sewer.
The dog growled, a phlegmatic rumble that lost none of its menace. Black fluid leaked from its eyes and nose.
The burned ghoul grabbed her arm. Its fingers felt like cold, raw sausages.
'We counted four of you, plus one in the other house. Are there more?'
She spat in its face. The act winded her and the thickening smoke made breathing torture.
'No matter.' It grinned, revealing blackened, broken teeth. 'We'll find out soon enough.'
The grip on her arm tightened and the rest of them closed ranks. Frankie tensed.
'I hope that when you eat me, you all catch herpes.'
Her hand darted for the burned zombie's face, plunging two fingers into its eyes, blinding it. The creature reared back in surprise and Frankie broke free of its grip. Without pausing, she clubbed its head with the empty rifle.
The dog leaped, white fangs flashing in the darkness. Frankie dropped and rolled. The dog fell sprawling beyond her.
Above the shouts, Frankie heard a motor turn over.
'They're inside the garage! Here! They're in here! Around front!'
The haze thickened, obscuring everything except the zombies surrounding her. Taking advantage of the distraction, Frankie plunged into the smoke.
The first shotgun blast shattered the passenger's side headlight. The zombie jacked the Mossberg's pump again, and Martin watched, transfixed as the empty shell floated through the air in seemingly slow motion.
'Shoot it, Martin!' Jim shouted.
'No.' Don grabbed Martin's wrist. 'Don't waste your ammunition. We don't know how long it will be before we can get more.'
The creature fired again and took out the remaining headlight. Laughing, the other zombies fanned out, completely blocking the doorway.
'De Santos!' Jim punched his shoulder from the backseat. 'Drive!'
Don was frozen behind the wheel, his eyes wide. Panic had gripped him, and he wasn't thinking clearly.
Danny whimpered, covering his ears with his hands.
'Well, what are we supposed to do if we're not shooting?' Martin asked.
'This.' Don's paralysis snapped, and he stomped on the accelerator.
The zombie's laughter stopped as the SUV shot toward them. The fresher corpses flung themselves aside. Don mowed down the slower ones. The impact jolted the vehicle, and he prayed that the airbags wouldn't deploy. There were more bumps and then they were free, speeding down the driveway.
Thick, black smoke engulfed everything and with no headlights, Don couldn't see more than a few feet ahead. Frightened and still not thinking clearly, he squealed to a stop and glanced into the rear-view mirror. The zombie with the shotgun clambered to its feet.
'Get down!'
Jim shielded Danny with his body. A second later, the rear window shattered, spraying them with chunks of broken glass. Danny screamed again.
'What are you doing?' Martin shouted. 'Drive!'
Don gunned the engine.
