The knob turned easily in her hand, and she steppedinside, her gun at the ready. It was like a time machine. There they were onthe wall, hung in a silver picture frame, his hand on her shoulder. She knockedthe picture off the wall as she passed it. It crashed to the floor, the glassshattering. Katie stepped into the kitchen, admiring the items in the house asif she were some sort of archeologist that had stumbled upon the perfectlypreserved residence of some ancient civilization.
Katie leaned against the kitchen counter. "Why thefuck am I here?"
If this were a normal school day, she would be puttingtogether lunches. Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, sliced apples, and somecheese-flavored goldfish crackers, just what a growing boy and a loving husbandneeded to make it through the day. What a pile of shit that life had been.Truth be told, she had hated it. But she was locked into it, the mortgage, theresponsibility of bringing a child into the world, the weight of weddingvows... she could have walked away from it all years ago, if it weren't for theloneliness.
She cared about them, but it was so much easier to justbe on your own. Somewhere deep down inside, she felt guilty, as if the factthat she had secretly wished for this scenario, albeit without the resurrectingdead bit, had caused it to come true. Now she was in a kitchen that belonged tono one. All its owners were dead. She was standing on the precipice of her ownfuture with nowhere to go but forward due to the fact that, behind her, herlife lay in decaying ruins. She stood waiting, waiting for the future to cometo her.
Katie walked upstairs, changed into some more suitableend-of-the-world clothing, and then she grabbed the keys off the hook by thedoor. She stuffed the revolver into her jacket pocket, and then walked into thedark garage. With her left hand, she turned on the lights. She walked to hercar, unlocked it and sat inside. That deep down, sad part of her said that sheshould just sit there with the car running while the garage filled with carbonmonoxide, binding to her red blood cells and preventing her body from absorbingand carrying oxygen. That would be too easy though.
She knew what her new purpose in life was. It was to findhell and burn in it.
Chapter 42: Friends and Murder
Zeke didn't get far before his conscience was biting athis heels. He stopped at the corner of the street, his hands on his knees, thesweat on his head cooling in the morning air. The soldier in him wanted to run,get back home, load up his guns and hump it out of town. He'd shoot first andask questions later.
The retired part of him couldn't help but feel as if hewas merely acting on instinct, like a robot. He thought about who he had beenbefore he had enlisted. Some people had called him funny. Others had called himlover. Right now, Zeke called that person dead. If what he thought was goingdown was actually happening, and he went back to what he was in the army, wellthen it was like he had died at the hands of the whore already.
Zeke turned on his heel and ran back down the block,bursting through the police station's tall wooden doors. The scene was stillhorrifying, and for the first time in a long time, Zeke felt fear. He felthumanity at the back of his throat, ready to be released. He ran to the blackman and began kicking furiously at the bar.
"C'mon, man. Hit that bar, or I'm leaving your asshere." The man looked at him, relief in his eyes. He redoubled hisefforts, and Zeke kicked the bar as hard as he could.
Behind him, the three cops remaining in the station werewrestling with their own. It was only a matter of time before they pulled theirweapons and put them down. Then they were all stuck here. That could meanescape, or it could mean death for every man chained to the bar. Overcorrectionwas always a possibility when it came to duty. If anybody knew that, it wasZeke.
The bar wriggled against the wall. The bolt securing hisfriend was now looser than ever, but it just wouldn't budge. Once again theblack man sat down on his haunches, placed his feet against the wall and pulledwith all his might. While he was doing this Zeke leapt up into the air andlanded on the brass bar. It worked. The concrete cracked and the bolt camefree, and none too soon, as the man next to his friend had finally lost hisbattle with the undead. Whole fingers stuck out of his attacker's mouth, blooddripping down the dead man's long gray beard.
The black man worked the silver handcuff feverishly downthe bar, wrecking his wrist and drawing blood in the process. He pulled hishand free just as gunshots rang throughout the precinct lobby. Zeke and his newfriend took off into the early morning sunlight, dripping blood and sweat. Moreshots rang out behind them, and they instinctively ducked, but the shots werecoming from inside the building.
The streets were eerily empty for an early summer day,and Zeke knew that it was only a matter of time until they were confronted withanother situation. They ducked into the stairwell of a parking garage and tookcover among the cold concrete stairs. Zeke peeked his head over the railingfrom time to time to assess the situation and make sure that they weren't beingfollowed. Meanwhile, his friend collapsed on the stairs taking deep raggedbreaths.
"I thought you left me," he managed to get outbetween jerky huffs.
"I probably should have," he said as friendlyas he could muster, which on a good day sounded like Beaver
