They stepped over the bodies that had piled up beforethem. From behind, they heard the approach of the dead they thought they hadleft behind. The doors to their right began to shake, and Lou felt deathlooming over him.
"I ain't gonna die here today," he said, moreto keep himself moving than anything else. He repeated the phrase over andover, using it to push back the feeling of exhaustion that had come over him.Sweat poured from his bald head, dripping onto the floor as he swung hismachine gun, cracking skulls and sending the dead to the carpets.
The banging became louder on the doors. They knew theywere here. Though the creatures on the convention center floor couldn't seethem, they knew that something living was on the other side of the doors. Howmany were there? How long could the doors hold out? Lou didn't plan on beingaround to find out.
"I ain't gonna die here today!" he yelled as hesent a grasping child to the ground, her tiny skull bashed in. Two weeks ago,he would have cried over such a thing. Now he didn't give a fuck. Now therewere no rules. These weren't people anymore. They were hungry creatures whoseonly goal was to make him one of them. They were dead already. He was doingthem a favor.
"I ain't gonna die here today!" He swung thebutt of the machine gun again, and they fell before him, sometimes taking twoswings, but most went down in one. The groans behind them were louder, and withone final swing, a pathway opened up before him as a body fell to the ground.He ran through the opening, hoping that Blake would see him and follow.
"Wait for me," Blake yelled, his country twangall but extinguished by fear.
Then they were running down a flight of stairs, the endsof their rifles dripping gore onto the concrete steps. In the back of his mind,Lou heard the door to the stairwell open at the top of the stairs, and thenthere were footsteps and rumblings as the dead pursued them. Lou imagined aplace, a high up place with no ladders or stairs, a place where he could sitand just breathe fresh air without the fear of the dead sneaking up on himwhile he slept. He would like to find that place.
Maybe he wasn't cut out for this whole leadership thing.So far, he had gotten the other survivors trapped in an office building. He hadmanaged to get himself and Blake hopelessly separated from the group, and nowthey were running in the streets, a trail of the dead chasing after them. Someleader he had turned out to be. He began to wonder if he shouldn't have thrownhimself off the roof the way that poor little girl had done.
At the bottom of the stairwell, Blake threw his shoulderinto the handle of the steel emergency door. It opened easily, and then theywere running across a gray parking lot with faded yellow lines. How long wouldit be until all the lines on all the roads were washed and faded from thestreets?
Lou shook his head, re-focusing. The stress was gettingto him. He was in a mental space that could easily lead to a fatal error. Thatwould be fine for him, but he had Blake to think about as well. They sprintedacross the parking lot, their bootsteps heavy and scraping, the muscles intheir legs burning.
The semi-truck rose ahead of them. It was a dark bluewith two polished silver smokestacks rising into the air like the emerald towersof the convention center. On the side was stenciled "Columbia TruckingCompany." A plain, gray, fifty-foot trailer was hooked up to the back, butthere was no time to set it free. The dead were already pushing through thestairwell door and making their way towards them.
Lou hopped up on the running boards of the semi-truck andlooked inside. He almost fell backwards as a half-chewed face smashed into thedriver's side window. He held onto the silver handle bolted upright to the sideof the truck's cab, and with his free hand, he tried to pull the door open. Itwas locked. The dead were closer.
With his machine gun, which was probably more appropriateto call a club now that he was out of bullets, he bashed on the glass of thedriver's side window. It shattered on the first go, sending chunks of safetyglass cascading to the ground. The dead man inside lurched out immediately, theupper half of his body hanging out of the window.
Lou fell backwards onto the pavement, landing hard on hisshoulder, and then the trucker inside was falling on top of him. Lou shoved hisleft hand up under the man's chin pushing his head back and trying not tonotice the big square teeth that gnashed at his face. His right shoulder wasn'tworking properly, and when he tried to push with it, it sent a searing bolt ofpain into his brain.
Blake stepped behind the trucker, wrapped his riflearound the creature's throat and pulled him off of Lou. Lou sat up, gasping forair, his arm hanging loose at his side. On the ground, he spied his machinegun, he picked it up with his good arm, and swung it one-handed in a wide arcthat ended on the trucker's skull. The trucker went limp in Blake's arms, andBlake let the man drop to the pavement. Behind them, the dead were surging, pickingup speed the closer they got. The whole battle had probably taken ten orfifteen seconds, but it had been enough for the horde to close the gap on them.
Blake began to search through the man's pockets. Lou wentabout the business of climbing inside the cab, which was a tricky propositionwith only one good arm. He didn't think it was broken. He had broken bonesbefore, many times. He climbed into the cab, gagging at the smell. He didn'tknow how long the truck driver had been locked up in the cab of his
