Behind them, they heard the splintering of wood as Loufinally managed to kick the door open. Gray hands reached out to him, and hejammed his shovel underneath a dead man's chin and pressed him backwards intothe house.
Joan backed inside with the others, the dogs barkinguncontrollably at them. The dead were closer now. It would only be a matter ofmoments before the pounding began. They closed the door, and Joan and Claraleaned up against it. Their backs pressed against the door.
"Find us something to block this door with!"Clara yelled.
"Hurry!" Joan added.
From the living room, Lou's straining voice yelled,"I'm kind of busy." They could hear the groans of the dead man in theliving room.
Joan's eyes, wide with fear, scanned the interior of thehouse, noting the dark stairwell that plunged down to her left. It was a splitlevel house, and the lower region looked dark and unwelcoming. As she staredinto the shadows, she saw movement. A withered hand appeared, wrapped in a bluebathrobe up to the wrist. Then a sallow face appeared out of the darkness,milky eyes sat above a snarling pair of lips, and the woman climbed the stairs.
Clara gripped the pickaxe in her hand, but there wasn'troom to swing it. The woman was upon them as noises rang out from all over thehouse. They could hear the grunting of Lou as he battled something. Katie wasscreaming for help somewhere, and Mort was off doing who knew what. Clara andJoan were on their own.
Joan brought the table leg up and used it as a prod tokeep the dead woman off of them. For a second, she felt like a schoolyard bullymust feel when a smaller kid attacked them and all he had to do was put hishand on their head to prevent the smaller child from hurting him. She pushedthe woman backwards, and the creature's foot caught on the stairs leadingdownwards. She tumbled backwards, her blue robe tangling about her body.
A sudden bang behind her caused her to scream out. Thedead were already here. She wondered if the dogs had attacked any of the dead,or if they knew to stay away. She felt it was probably the former, as the dogsdidn't seem to have any interest in the dead wandering through the streets.They only wanted live flesh.
Joan pressed against the door as the dead tried to forcetheir way in.
"Shit, here she comes again," Clara said.
And she was. The woman in the blue robe was no worse forwear, and she climbed the stairs yet again, her lips drawn back in a snarl, hergrasping hands reaching out for them.
"We could use some help right about now!" Joanyelled as she pushed the woman back again. Lou came rushing through, gore drippingfrom the end of his shovel. He spotted the woman, and used the shovel as aspear, aiming for her neck. He jammed the blade of the shovel into the softflesh there, and they heard a crunch. The force of the blow propelled the womanbackwards and into the wall. Lou pushed with all his might, and they heard asickening crunch just before the woman's body fell to the ground. Stillblinking and gnashing its teeth, the woman's head rolled off the blade of theshovel and bounced down the stairs, where it came to rest in the shadows.
From the other room, Mort and Katie appeared, dragging asofa. They maneuvered it through the hallway and Mort bent down, grunting atthe pain in his knee, and tipped the couch upwards so they could lodge thecouch between front door and the stub of wall that separated the hallway to theleft from the stairwell to the right.
With the door in place, Joan finally breathed a littleeasier. She felt like collapsing to the ground, but bent over and placed herhands on her knees instead. Sweat dripped from her face, falling off in tinydroplets that exploded on the faux-parquet flooring.
She wanted to scream at the top of her lungs. She wantedto rant and rail at the universe for the predicament she was in, but shedidn't. She was too tired. Clara grabbed her by the arm and pulled her into thehouse's living room. The man that Lou had dispatched sat crumpled in a corner,his forehead caved in. Katie moved to another crumpled form, a younger woman,about Joan's age, and began the task of pulling her pickaxe out of the woman'shead. Joan felt a wave of revulsion sweep over her as Katie put her foot on thewoman's back and pulled with all her might. The pickaxe came free with asickening schlupping sound, and blood poured out onto a small rug that coveredthe wooden floor.
"I'm gonna be sick," Joan said, right beforeshe noticed that Katie was bleeding. Panic welled in her, and before she couldcalm herself, she blurted out, "What the fuck is that?"
Katie looked down at her arm, where fresh blood flowed."It's nothing," she said, attempting to hide the arm behind her.
"Nothing my ass," Clara said. "You werebit!"
"No, I wasn't," Katie stammered, fear makingher eyes bulge as she gripped the pickaxe tighter in her hand.
"What do you call that then?" Mort said,pointing at her offending appendage.
Katie struggled for an explanation, and then said,"It must have been the dog. The dog must have bitten me."
"Well was it the dog or wasn't it?" Joan asked.
"You know, if one of us was bit, you would have putthat pickaxe through our head already," Clara said.
"Everybody calm down!" Lou said. He walked overto Katie and held out his hand. "Lemme see it."
Katie hesitated, and then produced her arm from behindher back. "It was the dog; I swear."
They gathered around, looking at the wound in her arm,but it was impossible to tell whether it was a bite from a dog or a human. Thewound was a single slash, nothing that would even require stitches, but it waswhat it was, and they were living in a world where a simple scratch could
