After getting it started, Vince connected the tractor to the trailer we'd found and backed it up to the loading dock. Ed and the others fired up the forklifts to load both pickups and trailers with crates of ammunition and firearms on pallets.
Well after dark, the box trailer was finally loaded with pallets of food Kira and I had selected. If the building's heating system continued to operate, we planned to return in a year for another trailer load. The place was a virtual gold mine for us.
We stopped to eat at seven. Shane rigged a converter to both pickups' electrical systems to run microwave ovens and a few twelve volt lights. We enjoyed a hot meal of shrimp jambalaya and cornbread that Andrea Michaels had sent along. We were tired when we laid down for the night on pilfered blankets and pillows, falling sleep in the total darkness of the windowless tomblike warehouse.
Early the next morning, we ate a hot breakfast with fresh coffee, thanks again to the converters Shane provided.
We were making ready to leave when Vince opened the door to go outside and get in the Peterbilt truck he would drive back to the compound. The humming sounds of hundreds of moaning creatures filled the air and instantly put everyone on edge. A leprous hand flashed through the opening, missing Vince's face by under an inch as he dodged nimbly to the side. He slammed the door against the rotted forearm and yelled, "Zombies are inside the fence. A bunch of the damn things are standing outside this door. Help." Although its muscles had long ago rotted, the devilish monster somehow was able to push the door open slowly against the resistance of Vince's planted feet.
At six feet away, I drew my sidearm. I nodded and Vince let the door open slightly. The echo of two .45 caliber shots echoed through the airplane hangar-like space; the zombie's grip loosened as it fell backward out of the doorway. Vince slammed the metal fire door shut and turned the deadbolt.
Everyone gathered around as Ed and I took firing positions in front of the door with our Glocks in hand. Vince flung the door open, and we concentrated on head shots at a dozen undead milling on the concrete slab outside the door. They were only six to twelve feet away and instantly clamored loudly as they rushed to reach us. Ed and I stepped through the doorway and across the dead hulks. We split; he turned left and I went right. Vince followed right behind me and the others split between me and Ed.
At least twenty zombies milled about in the yard and then turned toward the humans they hungered for. Rifle fire from beside me dropped them to the ground as I inserted a new magazine in the Glock and jacked in the first bullet. I took my rifle from Kira at the same time Ed grabbed his rifle from Marilyn. A huge mob of the undead monsters still lined the fence and surged against it to reach us. The fence played an eerie high pitched tune as the mesh was pushed and jostled back and forth by the mindless beast.
I barked instructions, "Marilyn and Elsie stay here. Cover our backs and guard the door. Ed, take Vince and Martin and go left around the building. I'll take Shane and Kira and go right and meet you at the other side. Let's find where the stinking things are getting through the fence.”
The moans and screeches increased as we walked away from the hungry horde. We shot more zombies inside the fence as we walked to the end of the building. After we made our first right turn and walked hundreds of feet toward the next corner, we saw the problem. A forty-foot section of fence was down where a UPS delivery truck had crashed into it. The fence laid flat to within a foot of the asphalt with the truck on top of it. Three ungainly zombies struggled as they crossed the fencing alongside the truck. I couldn't hide a grin as the clumsy monsters stumbled and fell and clawed their way over the bouncing wire mesh material as if they were playing on a trampoline. On firm asphalt again they stood upright and turned to us. More target practice and a further delay of least two hours. But the fence needed to be fixed before we left. If not, returning to the warehouse on our next trip might be impossible. There could be as many zombies inside the fence as out. We'd never have enough time to get the gate opened if that happened.
The six of us met and agreed to hook the Peterbilt to the delivery truck and pull it on across the fence material. Then as several of us held the zombies at bay the rest of us would push the downed fence section back up while Vince backed empty trailers against it to hold it up and in place.
All of us ran from one job to another as fast as we could. Help Vince unhook from the loaded trailer, shoot a zombie or three, help hook up to the delivery truck, shoot more zombies. The steady stream of shots from back at the downed fence attested to the steady influx of more undead.
When the jury-rigged patch job was completed, we gathered at the entrance door and looked at the mob along the fence and near the exit gate. Elsie estimated there must be three to four hundred zombies clawing the fence as they moaned their dreaded tunes. No one refuted the guesstimate. We reloaded our empty magazine and readied to shoot again.
A cold, light breeze blew against our backs as six of us walked to the gate. Once there, we
