"Shit," he said as he landed with a thump inthe dewy morning grass. He pushed himself up off the ground as the otherssprinted through the gap in the fence. Mort pulled him up, and they movedthrough the tall grass, their eyes glued on the ground ahead, none of themwanting to find a surprise hiding in the waist-high grass.
In their hands, they gripped shovels, a pickax, and evena sledgehammer. There was even a lone table leg that they had liberated from acoffee table in the living room of the old man's house. Joan gripped it in herhands. Despite the fact that the table leg was easily the least effective ofthe bunch, she was glad that she had it, as it would be the easiest for her touse. She had never been very strong, and the lightweight weapon was good enoughfor her. They would find something better down the road, at least she hoped so.
She smiled at Clara as they ran, through the street. Sheknew it was a fleeting feeling, but moving about in the cool morning air, thesun glowing orange behind them, made her feel at least a little bit of hope,almost as if she were just going for a morning jog. They found the gate in thebackyard and tried to open it. The overgrown foliage at its base prevented thegate from opening, and Mort and Lou had to throw their shoulders into it to getit to slide open wide enough for them to slip through.
Then they were on another street, a typical suburbanthoroughfare that ran through the neighborhood. Signs of decay could be seenhere and there. A cop car sat with its doors open in the middle of the street,the policeman nowhere to be found.
They ran up to it, and Katie searched it quickly, lookingfor anything that they could use. There was nothing. It had been picked cleanalready.
A block down the street, with the dead forming up behindthem, they found one of the policemen, trapped underneath the tire of an SUV,his back broken, but his arms still clawing at them. Bullet holes dotted thewindshield of the SUV, and blood painted the windows.
Again they paused to see if they could find a gun, but itwas already gone.
They had no plan, they just knew to head west. Like Lewisand Clark before them, they were on an expedition that could end with themlosing their very lives. One thing was certain; they weren't likely to wind upin history books for their deed.
Their breathing was heavy now, and panic was runningroughshod through their bodies, making them feel hectic and unsettled inside.Then they heard the growling. Joan spotted the first dog, a medium-sized muttwith straggly white hair and a muzzle that had turned brownish-red over time.An old dog collar jingled as it pawed its way down the pavement, its long clawsclacking against the hard surface.
Joan didn't pay it any mind. It was just one dog. Maybeit just missed its owner and wanted some companionship. That's what she toldherself anyway, but in her mind, she couldn't stop thinking about the crazy oldman as he was torn apart.
Then another dog appeared to her left. It moved swiftlythrough the knee-high grass that defined the front yards of suburbia, remindingher of a shark moving through the water, the drying reeds parting before itsblood-colored muzzle. This one wore no dog collar. The brown and black dog,matched their pace, and Joan bit her lip, worrying.
"I think we have a problem," Joan said. As sheturned to look at Clara, she spotted another flash of movement in the grass totheir right. It was another dog, a burly Rottweiler, its black pelt shiny andslick.
"Yeah, I see 'em," Clara said.
"I think they're herding us," Joan said.
Katie, out of nowhere, said, "Maybe they're justwaiting for one of us to fall. Then they'll pounce."
"Whatever the fuck they're doing, I don't likeit," Lou said.
"Man, I am not trying to get bit by no dog,"Mort said. "Ain't there enough stuff out there trying to bite us?"
"Let's check out one of these houses with agarage," Lou said. "Maybe we can find another car and get the fuckout of here."
"I think that's a grand idea," Joan said.
They continued on for half a block, eyeballing the housesas they passed. Busted windows and bloody doors were no-no's they all agreed.There were a lot of no-no's. Eventually, the decision was made for them whenahead of them appeared the leader of the pack, a massive dog that looked partDoberman and part Rottweiler. It sat in the middle of the street, its tonguelolling out of its mouth as if it were waiting for its master to come home. Itdidn't seem to have a care in the world, but when they got within ten feet ofthe thing, it began to growl and snarl, its white teeth looking like a mouthfull of daggers to Joan.
"In that house," Lou said, pointing towardsanother two-level building with a parking garage.
"Don't make any sudden movements," Joan said."Dogs can sense fear." She didn't know if it was true, but from herrandom encounters with stray dogs throughout her entire life, that had seemedto be the case. They walked slowly, with confidence, up to the door of thehouse. It was a plain white house, a couple of needlessly grandiose columnsclimbed skyward and propped up an overhang that covered the entrance of theabode. Lou reached for the black iron handle of the door, depressing the buttonon the handle. It didn't give.
The others stood with their backs to the house, watchingas dogs of all shapes and sizes, some with collars around their necks, paddedtowards them, tongues lolling in the heat. They were hungry. Joan could seethat in their eyes. "Get that door open," she said as calmly as shecould. Behind the dogs, the dead were gathering to see what all the commotionwas.
Lou stepped back and delivered a kick at the doorway. Itrattled in its frame but didn't give. The leader of the pack began growling,and then he barked,
