Waking Up Dead

themselves into all sorts of positions, not caring if they snapped their bones or removed their skin.

“The glass is very thick,” she said. “Besides they’re pretty high up. Too high to be a way in, I’d say.”

Luke shook his head. “They’ll break through them eventually when they realize they’re up there. Nothing keeps them out in the end but pure, thick metal. Help me push this.” He gestured to the vending machine only a couple of feet from the door. “If the Lynx isn’t repelling them, we need a better barricade.”

“That’s our only exit, we need to funnel them, not trap ourselves. Besides, that thing weighs loads, and the crate has the door wedged shut. It’s not like they can turn the handle. Well, not usually…”

Luke eyed the woman—an actual woman—as her voice trailed off. Where the hell had she gotten that idea from? In his experience the dead could open doors, windows—geez whatever it took to get to their food. Yeah, okay, generally they didn’t, preferring the smash-away approach, but over the last few weeks he’d come up against a few zombies who were a little smarter than the rest. The one who’d stuck his finger in Luke’s stomach for instance had got to him through a locked door. It had smashed the lock and then stuck its elongated fingers in to turn the mechanism. The glee in its eyes when it had accomplished that feat still gave Luke nightmares.

“Whether they can open the door or not is not the issue,” he told her, not wanting to get into the subject of zombie dexterity. “They’ll smash through that metal in no time, and we won’t be funneling anything. We need to reinforce it until we decide what we’re going to do.”

“How many are you expecting?”

“Too many.”

She dropped her machete on the floor and took one end of the vending machine—her version of agreement, he assumed. Luke was surprised to see a number of drinks still inside it and resolved to pop one open as soon as the machine was in place.

“One, two, three,” he said and pushed. The machine wobbled a little but did not move.

“It’s like a fucking elephant,” the woman said.

Luke almost laughed. “How many times in your life have you pushed an elephant?”

“Never, but you got my gist.”

“On four…go.” Luke pushed the vending machine as hard as he could. His legs screamed against the action and the wound in his stomach radiated pain, but he gritted his teeth and heaved.

The machine screeched across the floor. “Wait,” Luke said. “Move the crate. We’ll need to be quick.”

She nodded and pulled it out of the way—though he could see the effort it cost her by the sheen of sweat on her forehead. No wonder. She was tiny. As soon as it was free, Luke heaved the vending machine again.

“Fuck, its heavy.”

The woman kicked aside the flotation devices, scattering them across the tiles, then joined him and helped push. Her face screwed up, her breath coming in short little gasps. One last heave and the vending machine settled in place in front of the double doors, rocking on its hind legs.

Luke breathed a sigh of relief and ran a hand through his damp hair. “Thought we’d never get there,” he said, and then he kicked in the glass and grabbed two cans of soda.

He slumped against the wall next to the door and popped his open. The caffeine hit his system, but rather than giving him a burst of energy it made him more tired than ever. His head was pounding in a nasty way, and he knew the mistake with the zombies would never have happened if he’d been more alert. The bastards had had another pack with them; clearly that was what the breaking glass and death growls had been about. They’d probably already killed whoever was inside and were drawing the others to them. That poor bastard.

Luke shuddered and closed his eyes. He should have realized what was going on and the fact he hadn’t meant he was lucky to be alive. Only the last two grenades had saved him, and to be fair it was only instinct that had made him fumble in his pocket and throw them at the pack before running for his fucking life.

But he was out of grenades now, out of bullets. He opened his eyes and looked around the room. They’d get in through those windows—no doubt about it. As soon as one of the smarter ones realized they were there, they’d smash their way in. Fuck.

“Is there another exit?” he asked the woman.

She picked up her machete, sat next to him, grabbed the other can, popped it, and took a long swallow. “Except for the windows? No.”

She was shivering, and Luke looked at her properly for the first time. She was not the luscious blonde he’d hoped for. Far from it. Her hair was deep brown, almost black, and was cut short in ragged little spikes. Her skin was startlingly pale, making her huge green eyes practically dominate her face. And she was skinny. Not enough food in her system skinny. A scowl replaced the smile he’d imagined, but he could hardly blame her for that. They were in the shit.

“Total fuckup on my part,” she said. “First rule: always have an exit. But this place was familiar so…”

No, she wasn’t the blonde, but she was woman enough. All fire and sass, he got that from her immediately—the machete being his first clue—and beautiful to boot, in a stick-my-attitude kind of way.

“Listen,” she said, turning and fixing those huge eyes on him. “This is gonna sound odd, but you didn’t happen to see a guy out there? An alive one? Name of Tyrone? Tye?”

“Tye?”

“My friend. We had to split up but we were planning to meet up at that weird pink boutique a couple of blocks over. Kelly’s Clothing.”

Two people still alive? But…of course, one there and one here, why hadn’t he realized? Luke shook his head slowly as the pieces of the puzzle fell into place. A moment later and he understood exactly what that meant. “I was just there, at Kelly’s Clothing Boutique,” he said slowly.

She started. “You were there? Why?”

Luke chose his words carefully. “I was following a pack of zombies. They’d sniffed someone out, and I wanted to find whoever that was.”

“Sniffed someone out? A person? You were looking for another person?”

“I’m always looking for another person,” he said honestly.

“Then…it’s just you? Or is there a bunch of you?”

“Survivors you mean?” he asked. “No. It’s just me.”

She frowned leaving Luke to wonder if she was disappointed, but then she spoke and he realized exactly what she was thinking. “And the boutique? When you were there did you see my friend?”

“No. It was just the zombies,” he said, and he spoke as carefully as he could but made no attempt to sugarcoat his answer. They were, any people who were left, long since past that. “It didn’t seem as if there could be anyone alive in there. I barely made it out myself.”

She narrowed her eyes. “What do you mean it didn’t seem?”

“The zombies got in before I did,” he said. “And they had to have got whoever was there. There was nowhere for them to escape, and it was an entire pack.” He didn’t add that his last grenades had pretty much totaled the place. There was no need to mention that.

“Jesus…you mean…”

Luke reached out and patted her on the shoulder. “I’m really sorry.”

She opened her mouth, closed it, and then opened it again. “We should never have split up. I knew it was a bad idea. For fuck’s sake.”

“Then why—”

“We had no choice,” she snapped. “Zombies were everywhere.”

“I am sorry,” he said. “I didn’t realize. I only expected to find one person, but it all makes sense now.”

She dropped her head in her hands. “It always does. Nasty, nonstop, horrible, fucking sense.”

“I’m sorry,” he said again, mainly because he did not know what else to say.

Silence held for a moment, just a moment, then she lifted her head. “Forget it.” She bit the words out. “Just forget it.”

Her tone may have been harsh but Luke could see the pain behind it, and he knew exactly what she was feeling, had experienced the same emotions many, many times. He looked away in an attempt to give her some space. Glancing over the windows again, checking the vending machine, the swimming pool, the showers…