"Clear me a way to that dumpster," Mort yelled,running with the bag full of ammunition slung over his shoulder. Blake did hisjob, and the heads of the dead exploded, as Blake and Mort moved down thealleyway to the dumpster. Mort pulled his revolver and placed it under the chinof one of the dead that Blake had missed. He pulled the trigger and blood andbone shot into the air. It was as if for a brief moment he was standing next toa demented whale that shot gore out of its blowhole instead of water. The browndumpster was large, and the dead pressed around them. Mort threw the blackplastic lid into the air and climbed into the dumpster among bags that wererelatively sealed and the smell of decaying food matter.
Blake piled in after him, but Mort hardly noticed, as hewas too busy feeling around in the bag for the hand grenades. "Get thatlid closed," Mort commanded. Blake did as he was told, and in the darknessMort felt his hand close around one of the metal eggs. He handed it to Blake,and then he searched for the second one.
"What the hell do you want me to do with this?"
Mort's laugh echoed in the dumpster, and the first of thezombies tried to lift the heavy plastic lid up to no avail. Instead the armssnaked into the dumpster underneath the lid, clawing and trying to grabanything they could find. Mort shivered at the cold touch of their fingers, andthen he put his own fingers around something even colder. He pulled the grenadeout, triumph in his throat.
"We're going to blow our own asses sky high?"Blake said.
"It beats getting eaten."
"You're a wild man, Mort." Blake smiled."Alright, these things are old, so as soon as you pull the pin, you tossthat Easter egg right out as far as you can. You got that?"
"I got it."
"Alright, on three, pull the pin, and drop itoutside. You got that? On three." Blake's voice had a feverish quality. Itwas if he was high. Was it fear or excitement? Mort had no idea, perhaps it wasa mixture of both. Blake counted to three and then yanked on the metal pin.Mort did the same and they tossed the grenades outside the thick metaldumpster, praying that the grenades wouldn't destroy them.
The ensuing blast left them senseless in the dumpster.The force of it rocked the dumpster into the air and onto its side; its blackplastic lid fell open, where it rested on the ground. When Mort finally openedhis eyes, he did so with a human head inches from his face, trying to bite him.Mort counted it a stroke of luck that the head wasn't attached to a human body.
Mort shook off the stars swimming in his eyes, regrettingthe movement as soon as he did it. He turned around to see Blake lyingunconscious, his cowboy hat smashed on the side and blood dripping from hishead. Mort attempted to stand. He staggered around and then fell square on hisbutt, throwing himself in the opposite direction of the head that was lying onthe ground. He stood once more and looked around him. The grenades had left alarge spray of gore around the alley. Torsos, limbs, and heads were scatteredall around, some of them crawling their way towards him, others appropriatelydead.
Mort bent down and gently tapped Blake on the side of theface. It took a while for him to come around, and when he did, his eyes hadtrouble focusing. Mort helped him to his feet, scrounged their belongings outof the dumpster, and together they staggered out of the alleyway, a stream ofthe dead following them close behind.
They weren't moving fast, but they were moving fastenough to catch up to the two injured men. Even with his brains scrambled, Mortcould see that. Mort spotted another dumpster in the alley that ran behind theshops. He left Blake standing up against the wall while he dragged it to theappropriate position. Mort threw their bags onto the roof and then climbed ontop of the dumpster. He dragged Blake up on top of it, and then boosted him uponto the roof.
Then came the hard part. Lifting weights wasn't a typicalpart of a homeless man's daily regimen. Mort got a handhold on the roof, butcouldn't manage to pull himself up. His legs flailed in the air, as the deadbegan to moan underneath him, their arms reaching to the sky as if insupplication.
"Blake!" There was no answer.
He felt the first hand on his boot, and doubled hisefforts, but it was no use. "Blake!"
A hand wrapped around his ankle, squeezing it. Mortscreamed in pain. "Blake!"
His fingers started to slip, and he felt another handgrasping at his ankles. Then Blake was there, blood leaking out of his ears,and his eyes glazed over. His rough hand grabbed Mort by the wrists, and withall of the energy that he had left, he pulled Mort onto the rooftop.
They lay there in the sun, gasping and hurting all over.Blake sat on his tail, his hands pressed to his ears, and his eyes squeezedshut. Mort sat up, pulled the guns and ammunition out, and through trial anderror, he managed to get them fully loaded. Below them he could hear the moansof the dead.
In the distance, he saw a helicopter fluttering throughthe air. Mort stood up, and waved his arms. The pilot flying the helicoptereither didn't notice or didn't care. Either way, Mort sat back down, and waitedfor Blake to regain some semblance of his former self. Mort looked back in thedirection of the pawn shop. Smoke was rising where they had come from. Thegrenades might have done more damage than he thought.
Mort pulled a mangled but functional cigarette from hispocket and lit it up, adding his own smoke to the air. It was his last one.
Chapter 14: A New Band
Beelzebub's had been easy enough to find. They actuallycould have walked there, but riding in the jeep was a nice change of pace, andit kept bullets in
