"I think they're coming," Joan said.
"Shoot 'em," Mort said as he unscrewed the capof the next gas can. It was heavier, maybe half full. He hoped it was enough tokeep the generator running for a little bit, or else, Lou and Clara were goingto be in trouble.
He dumped the can's contents into the generator,flinching as Joan fired her first shot.
"Shit," she said, and then he heard her rackanother round into the chamber. She fired again, the crack of the rifle deafeningin the metal utility shed. He tossed a glance over his shoulder to see a man incamouflage advancing towards her. His head was shaved, of more than just hair,and his arms reached out for her.
She brought the rifle up, and Mort was sure she was goingto miss, but then the man's head exploded. Cordite hung heavy in the air, asMort finished pouring the gasoline into the generator. Then he tried to figureout how to start it. There were more switches here than there needed to be.Choke, throttle, oil pressure, they all meant precious little to him. Machineswere foreign in every way.
He spotted a black plastic handle, like you would see ona lawnmower. He remembered that from being a kid, his dad yelling at him onSunday morning to get his scrawny but up and go out and mow the lawn. Hegrabbed the handle in his hand and pulled on it as hard as he could. The enginesputtered, but it sounded as far from life as the two dead mean bleeding allover the concrete floor of the utility shed.
He looked at the buttons again, wondering what the hellhe was missing. Another shot caused him to flinch, and he began flippingswitches and yanking on the plastic handle, hoping that something he did wouldbe the right combination to get the generator started.
"Fuck," Joan muttered, as she loaded anotherround into the gun. Mort could hear the groan of another dead thing as it triedto get at them in the shed. The odd thing about the moans of the dead was thatthey sounded neither male nor female. He wasn't sure that they were using theirvoices at all. It sounded almost as if the dead were just squeezing dead airout of their lungs, a haunting sound, a sound that he would never get used to.
Mort gave a giant yank on the cord, and then thegenerator sprung to life, sputtering and then catching. He didn't know how longa half a can of gas would last in the generator, but he hoped it would be longenough. Mort pulled Joan backwards with his free hand, and swung his macheteinto the head of a bald man, his gut flopping loosely in his ripped andshredded pajamas. The blade sent vibrations up his arm as it cleaved throughthe bone. He used the weight of the falling corpse to free the blade, bloodarcing in fine red droplets and painting the concrete floor.
More were coming. If the dying generator hadn't beenenough to draw them, the gunshots from Joan would have done it.
"Let's get back inside," he said, and theystepped out of the garage, keeping their eyes on the shaking forest. It was asif the trees themselves were coming to life. They ducked inside the slidingglass door and locked it behind them. As they disappeared around the corner,they could hear the dead banging upon the windows.
****
When the lights went out, they stood still as statues inthe dark of the room. Clara wanted to scream. She wanted to turn around andrun, but she knew that this was just panic speaking. Instead she stood still,listening to the noises in the dark. They could hear the sickening rip offlesh, blood droplets hitting the hardwood floor, and something much worse...the revolting sound of someone chewing on sloppily. In her mind, she picturedone of the dead, their lips sticky with blood, trying to chew its way throughan ear of all things. She wanted to scream.
The silence crept on for an eternity. In the distance,they heard gunshots, and the chewing stopped for a second, as if whatever waschewing, had stopped to decide if they wanted to go investigate the noise orcontinue feasting on its current meal. It went back to eating, the easy flesh toogood to pass up.
She wanted to reach out to Lou, grab a hold of him, just toknow that he was still there and that she wasn't alone in this nightmare. For amoment, the chewing stopped, and then there was a sound that made her legswobble at the knees... the sound of sniffing.
Clara didn't know if the creature could smell anythingover the tangy aroma of blood and split innards, but it must have, because thenext thing they heard was the sound of clumsy feet slapping against the woodenfloors. The third footstep was followed by the grate of the bed frame againstthe floor as someone bumped into it.
She couldn't resist anymore. She had to back away. Clarasuccessfully moved one foot backward, but when she placed the second down, thefloor gave an abysmal creak. The steps began to come quicker now, and just asshe was about to turn and run, the lights flickered back on. She saw Lou fallbackwards, the little boy's face just mere inches from Lou's own, his mouth andhands covered in blood. His stomach bulged unnaturally as they tumbled to theground. On the other side of the bed, she saw the source of the boy's meal, hismother, her guts strewn about the floor. In the corner of the room, in a chairthat probably cost more than her first semester's tuition at law school, shespied Rick, sitting unnaturally, his head tilted back and his rifle at hisfeet. Blood splattered the wall behind him. She saw all of
