“There are more of them inside,” Malik shouted. “Too many for you guys to shoot.”
“Lamar!” Mitch called as he changed magazines. “Don’t just stand there. Shoot the fuckers!”
I grabbed Tasha’s arm. “Are you okay?”
“No,” she said, shaking me off and raising her pistol again. “I’m wet, I’m cold, I smell like smoke, and I just threw up all over my shoes.”
My reply was drowned out as she squeezed the trigger again. It didn’t matter if she was fine or not—she was okay enough to start shooting again. That was good enough for me. Turning, I set the rifle’s stock against my shoulder, closed one eye and sighted through the scope, picking a female zombie with a ragged bite wound on her cheek as my target. I pulled the trigger. The rifle’s stock slammed against my body, making my arm go numb. Watching through the scope, I saw the creature’s head explode in magnified color. Grinning, I picked another target and did the same. Then another and another. My shoulder ached, but it was a good pain. Despite the seriousness of the situation, I felt more confident than before. With the scope, I was a much better shot. Then, the fifth time I squeezed the trigger, nothing happened. Remembering that Mitch had said the rifle held four bullets, I cried out for more. At the same time, Tasha clicked empty, too.
“Mitch,” I yelled. “We need more ammo.”
More dead poured from the building and into the street, forcing us backward. A few of them moaned with hunger, but they were mostly silent. Some of them had decomposed so badly that there wasn’t much left of them— just arms and legs and gaping, toothless mouths. Another large group of corpses appeared farther down the street. I recognized a few of them from the battle we’d witnessed earlier. Still more of the creatures exited the nightclub, drawn to the sounds of conflict.
A man ran out into the street. I don’t know where he came from, but we immediately knew he was one of us—alive—just from the way he was screaming. An undead rat hung from his face, tiny claws digging into his flesh, yellow incisors ripping at his cheek. Infecting him with the disease. Poor bastard was dead already. He just didn’t know it.
“Help me,” he begged. His voice was slurred—reminded me of Alan. The rat dug deeper, shredding flesh. “Help me, please!”
Mitch fired one shot, killing both the rat and its victim. When Mitch looked up again, his eyes widened at the number of zombies slowly homing in on us.
“Mitch,” I hollered again. “We need more bullets!”
“No time,” he said. “There’s too many of these things. Let’s get the hell out of here.”
Malik stepped forward. “Ya’ll are forgetting something.”
He pulled the pin the way Mitch had shown him and tossed the grenade overhand. It soared over the creatures’ heads and through the open garage door, disappearing deep inside the building.
I froze. “Oh shit…”
“Move!”
Mitch shoved us forward, sprinting back toward the fence. Tasha and I started to follow him, but Malik refused to move. I don’t even know if he heard us. His attention was focused on the machine shop. His eyes shone with anticipation, and he licked his lips. Just like any other boy his age, he wanted to see something blow up, and know that he’d done it. I’d been the same way as a kid, when we used to buy penny sticks and M-80s from the guy at the Korean grocer.
I grabbed his arm and pulled. “Come on, Malik.”
“But I want to—”
“Now!”
We ran. Seconds later, the grenade went off behind us. There was a brief flash and a muffled
“Shit,” Mitch said, grabbing another grenade off his belt. “Somebody rang the dinner bell.”
“What are you doing?” Tasha asked.
“What we should have done in the first place. I’m going to blow that lock off. You three get back.”
We stepped back out into the street, but the zombies swarmed toward us. Their stench grew with every faltering step. More and more of them kept coming: humans, dogs, cats, rats, and something that had been skinned—something so pink and glistening that I couldn’t tell what it used to be. Whatever its origin, now it was just one of them—an eating machine.
“Forget it,” I said. “Another minute and they’ll be on us.”
“Bullshit,” Mitch argued. “They’re slow. I’m gonna blow the gate and then we’ll be home free.”
“Mitch. Look behind us. We can’t get out of the grenade’s range without running into them.
“Please, Mr. Bollinger,” Tasha pleaded. “Let’s just go—”
Malik stuck close to Mitch. He watched the approaching hordes with wide eyes. “Yo, give me another grenade. I’ll take care of them.”
Mitch looked at the locked gate; then at the zombies, and then turned to me.
“Goddamn it. You’re right. Let’s go.”
“Stick close to the fence,” I told the kids. “Don’t let them box you in. They may be slower than us, but if enough of them fill the street, we’ll be trapped.”
“Where are we going?” Tasha shouted as we ran.
“The harbor,” I choked. “Maybe we can hole up inside the aquarium for a while.”
I knew how stupid that sounded. How hopeless and futile. The National Aquarium was the centerpiece in Baltimore’s busiest tourist area. No way was it free of zombies. But I didn’t know what else to do, and Mitch wasn’t offering up any alternatives.
“What about a paddleboat?” Tasha suggested. “We rode on one last year when we took a field trip to the Inner Harbor. They hold four people.”
I nodded, gasping for breath. “Good idea.”
The undead followed after us with single-minded determination. Their feet echoed on the street and sidewalks. Their stench went before them like a cloud.
“Give me your guns,” Mitch said. He still had my useless shotgun. It was wedged between his backpack and his shoulder blades. I raced along beside him, watching as he ejected my magazine and loaded in a fresh one that he pulled from the backpack. I was impressed. He did it without pausing, found the bullets without having to search through the pack. Mitch tossed the rifle back to me and then did the same for Tasha.
My lungs burned, and my legs were starting to feel like rubber. It felt like I’d been running for hours, and in truth, I had. Since leaving the kids’ apartment, we’d been on the run, chased by one zombie after another without a chance to catch our breath. I was amazed the kids were holding up as well as they were. Personally, I felt like dropping. Mitch was panting, too. He’d seemed like he was in good shape. I wondered just how heavy his backpack was and what he had inside of it.
Tasha turned around and raised her pistol. I guess she’d wanted to take a shot, lessen the pursuit. But instead of doing that, she froze, staring at the onrushing corpses.
“There’s so many. Look at them all.”
She didn’t sound afraid; just stunned.
I nudged her. “Keep running, Tasha. Don’t look back anymore. Just run.”
Three mangled corpses lunged out of the shrubs in front of the Sylvan Learning Center building. Mitch snapped off three shots, dropping them before they could cut us off.
I had four bullets left-one for each of us, if it came to that.
Mitch darted down an alley between a travel agency and a Whole Foods grocery store.
“This way,” he called.
“No,” I insisted. “We have to head for the harbor. That way takes us back into the ghetto.”
