More of them emerged from side streets and alleys. I didn’t know how they communicated, or even if they did, but somehow they knew that dinner was inside this building. All they had to do was get inside.
The fires were spreading, too. The entire horizon was now glowing orange and yellow. As hard as it was to believe, it looked like the entire city was going up in flames. The rain we’d had earlier in the day had done nothing to slow it down, apparently. And it wasn’t like there were firemen or other emergency personnel to battle the flames. I’d once seen a Civil War documentary on TV. In it, they’d talked about how General Sherman had burned Atlanta to the ground. At the time, I’d tried to picture that. It seemed inconceivable; unreal. But now, I had a good idea what that had actually looked like.
The kids had lined up the remaining shotgun shells on the windowsill. There were four of them; not nearly the amount I’d hoped for. I had no idea how many the shotgun could hold; indeed, I’d been surprised I was able to figure out how to pump it so easily. Rather than trying to load them into the weapon and risking jamming it or something, I scooped the shells up and stuffed them in my pants pocket.
Malik frowned. “Ain’t you gonna put them in the gun?”
“Not now. Maybe later.”
“Later? Nigga, do it now!”
“Hey,” I scolded. “You shouldn’t use that word.”
“Nigga? Why not?”
“Because it’s not a nice word. It means you’re ignorant.”
“I’m ignorant?”
“That’s what it means.”
He stomped his foot. “I’m not ignorant.”
“I didn’t say you were. But when you use that word, that’s what you’re calling other people—and yourself.”
Malik frowned in concentration.
I turned to Tasha. “You got any other weapons in the apartment? Anything you kids could use against the zombies?”
“No. But I think Malik is right. You should load the shotgun now. Might not have a chance later.”
“Okay.” I sighed. “I’ll load it.”
I pulled the shotgun shells out of my pocket. Then I fumbled with the weapon, wondering how they went in. There was a slot on the side, about the same size as the ammunition, but I wasn’t sure which way the shells were supposed to face. The kids watched me in bewilderment.
Malik smirked. “You don’t know how to load it, do you?”
“No,” I admitted. “I don’t know much about guns.”
“And you calling
He took the gun from me and quickly inserted the shells with his little fingers. Then, with a smug, satisfied grin, he handed it back to me.
“Thanks.”
“Mr. Washington taught me how.”
“What happened to him?”
“He got eaten.” The boy clammed up then, and stared at the floor. It was obvious that he was reluctant to say any more.
I checked outside again. The creatures were still coming. The pounding had grown louder and more insistent. We heard a cracking sound, like wood splintering. Tasha and Malik suddenly looked as scared as I felt.
“Okay,” I whispered, “is there another way out of the building?”
Tasha nodded. “The laundry room, down in the basement. It’s got a pair of storm doors that lead up into the alley. And there’s the fire escape. But it’s broke. Don’t extend all the way to the ground.”
“Could we drop to the ground from it?”
“No, it’s too high up.”
“Which side of the building is the alley on?”
“The right.”
“Do any of your windows face it?”
She pointed to a side room. “In there. That was Momma’s bedroom.”
“Stay here.”
Their mother’s room was still full of her presence. It smelled like perfume, lavender, baby powder, and vanilla body lotion. The scents were faint but lingering. It made me sad—in a few more weeks it would probably fade forever. The feeling surprised me. I thought of my own mother, and then pushed those emotions aside. No sense getting maudlin. Not while we were still in danger. The bedroom was dark, but the glow of the fires outside provided light. The bed was made up with a white, lacy comforter and light-green flannel sheets, two pillows, and a ratty old stuffed animal. Dust-covered picture frames and cheap knickknacks lined the top of the dresser. The kids were smiling in all the photos. There were a few books, mostly paperbacks by Toni Morrison, Chesya Burke, and some cheesy African-American romance titles, along with a well-worn copy of the Holy Bible.
I moved to the window and stared down at the alley—a narrow slice of pavement running between the apartment buildings. An empty paper bag fluttered by, but there was no other movement. So far, the alley was free of zombies. They’d stupidly clustered their forces at the front. It occurred to me that maybe I was giving them too much credit. They didn’t know tactics or planning. The only knew hunger. Need. They’d seen their prey go in the front door, so that was where they’d gathered. In a way, it was kind of pathetic.
So the alley was clear. The question was if it would stay that way in the time it took us to get down to the laundry room. And even then, what was waiting for us down in the streets?
I walked back into the living room. The kids stared at me expectantly.
“You guys still have water?”
“Yeah.”
Tasha took me into the kitchen, where they’d lined up plastic buckets and jugs full of rainwater. Mosquito larvae squirmed in some of them. She explained that they’d been putting the buckets out on the roof. I had the kids wet down their clothes and I did the same again with mine. I also grabbed three more washcloths and soaked them down. I explained how they would help with the smoke if the fires got too close. Then we were ready. The kids still looked frightened, but they didn’t argue or give me any lip.
“Okay,” I said. “Stick close, but stay behind me. Breathe through your washcloths and duck down as much as possible. Smoke rises, and the air will be better lower to the ground. Try to keep quiet. You ready?”
They nodded. Tasha crossed her arms over her chest and shivered.
“You scared?” I asked her.
“No. Well, yeah. ’Course I’m scared. But that’s not why I’m shivering. I’m cold. My clothes are wet.”
“Sorry about that,” I apologized. “We’ll find you some dry clothes when we get to safety.”
“Where are we going?” Malik asked.
I paused, not sure how to answer him.
“I don’t know. Somewhere else. Somewhere other than here.”
“Someplace where there’s no zombies?”
“Yeah,” I lied. “Somewhere without zombies or fires. Someplace where we can chill for a little while. Rest up. I don’t know about you guys, but I’m tired. I’d like to stop all this running and fighting. I’ve had enough for one night. Let’s get to where we don’t have to do that.”
Privately, I wondered where that place was—wondered if it even existed anymore, and if it did exist, how we’d get there.
We left the apartment, and Tasha locked the door behind us. I thought about asking her why, but then thought better of it. This was their home. It wasn’t much. None of the homes here ever were. But it was probably the only one they’d ever known, and all their memories were here, and now they were leaving it with a stranger, while a bunch of dead people pounded on the door. Deep down inside, Tasha must have known that she’d never see the apartment again. I don’t cry easily, but the look on her face damn near broke my heart.
The noise got worse as we reached the landing and started down the stairs. It kept growing louder as we
