'Shit!'
She turned and fired, choosing aimed, single shots rather than spraying in panic. Rounds tore through the zombies and also into the wall behind them.
At the same time, the sofa blocking the front door slid backward. The creatures swarmed into the house, only to drop under Jim's barrage. More took their place and fell on top of their comrades. Still more replaced them.
'Swarm them!' a zombie shrieked. 'We can overrun them with our numbers.'
'Better get upstairs!' Frankie shouted, squeezing off another three-round burst toward the kitchen. 'They're coming in on all sides now.'
'No way. I'm not leaving you here by yourself!'
'Bullshit! That's your son up there! You mean to tell me you came hundreds of miles just to die down here without him?'
Clenching his teeth, Jim aimed at the doorway and emptied his weapon.
The rifle grew hot in his hands. The zombies that weren't mowed down jumped back out the door, taking cover behind the hedge.
'Look,' Frankie reasoned, 'if you've gotta die-and it looks like we're going to-then die with your son, not down here with me.'
Jim slammed another magazine into place and glanced at Frankie.
'God damn it. You're right.'
'Well then go!'
He ran up the stairs. Crouching, Frankie laid down a burst of cover fire and then duck-walked from the recliner to the foot of the stairway, taking his place. She retreated a few steps upward as more zombies entered the house.
A bullet plowed into the recliner, littering the carpet with tufts of foam stuffing. Another tore through the stairway's wooden railing.
Outside, in the darkness, she saw a muzzle flash.
'Shit, they've got guns too.'
She waited for the next shot, saw the flash before she heard it, and fired through the open doorway in the shooter's direction. The flash was not repeated.
'One down, eighty or so to go.'
More zombies poured in through the kitchen.
Suddenly, she felt a pair of clammy hands upon her ankle, clawing at her through the banister. She screamed, jerking her foot away. The zombie's ragged nails scratched her skin.
'Come here, cow!' the zombie taunted.
She swung the M-16 and fired. The headless corpse toppled to the carpet.
Still shooting, Frankie retreated to the top of the stairs.
'Jim, if you've got a plan, now would be a good time to share it!'
The zombies started up the stairs after her.
'And these are my Yu-Gi-Oh cards.' Danny held the shoebox proudly.
Martin was amazed that Danny was reacting so calmly. He himself felt like hiding in a closet and pissing in his pants. Still marveling at the boy's resilience, he picked up a bright green, heavily muscled action figure from the floor.
'Who's this mean-looking guy? Wait a minute; I know. He's the Hulk, right?'
Danny rolled his eyes. 'No, he's Piccolo from DragonBall Z.'
'Oh,' Martin muttered, aware that he'd just gone down on Danny's cool-meter. 'I knew that.'
He glanced around the room, saddened at the signs of a young boy forced to hole up here for the last week. Dirty bedding, a rumpled pile of clothes, empty water bottles and cookie bags, and scattered toys.
Gunshots rang out below and they both jumped. It was followed in quick succession by several more single shots; then changed over to the roar of automatic fire.
Danny gave the door a worried glance. Martin tried to distract him.
'You know, Danny, your father really missed you.'
'I missed him, too. I didn't think he would come. I didn't think I'd ever see him again.'
'Oh, he came all right. And he didn't let anything stand in his way, either. Not a thing. Your daddy is one tough cookie. You wouldn't believe what we had to go through to get here.'
'Monster people?'
'Yes. But it wasn't just them, Danny. There were other bad people too.
But your daddy never stopped. He was determined to find you.'
More gunfire exploded downstairs. Martin clutched his pistol and tried to look calm.
'Mr. Martin, if you're my daddy's friend, and you helped him come find me, then how come I never met you when I went to his house in the summers?'
