Datsun had hit something very big and very hard because his arms appeared to be broken and his chest looked caved in. Jorge Velasquez, the short order cook over at the diner, was just standing out by the phone booth; his face and upper body a landscape of hot oil burns and feverish blisters. The list went on and on. One after another they picked out both long-time friend and casual acquaintance; each of them was smashed and injured beyond repair.
As more of the reanimated dead gathered in front of the glass, the group inside became even more concerned. All of this was like nothing they’d ever imagined and so they had no past experience from which to draw. This kind of thing just didn’t happen in this small town.
Hell, this kind of thing just didn’t happen.
Period.
'Are you sure that glass will hold them?’ Cody asked. 'There’s getting to be quite a few of ’em out there.'
Dillard nodded.
'That glass is pretty thick, Code,' he reassured. He turned and spoke to Betty behind the counter. 'Betty, you remember last summer when those kids shot at the front of the store with that huntin’ rifle?'
Betty nodded and assured everyone, 'It’ll hold.
'Look,' interrupted Monroe as he came up from the back, wiping his hands on a napkin. 'I’d love to sit around and discuss old pals and how solid the construction is on this dilapidated shithole, but… quite frankly, I’m more concerned with how we’re going to get help and get the fuck out of here.'
Even though it had been put rather rudely, everyone had to admit the fella had a point.
However, any further discussion of the topic was halted when the sound of whining tires was suddenly heard from the street and all eyes turned toward the front of the store. A large brown delivery truck came careening into the parking lot; its ass end fishtailing and weaving erratically. In the seconds between the time when the truck bounded over the curb on the street and when it hit the pavement and angled toward the gas pumps, it was pretty clear that there were several more of those people—like the ones outside—hanging off the sides of the vehicle. A couple more were holding onto the back gate. A pair of legs stuck out of the passenger window, kicking at the air. On the driver’s side, a large man was holding on for all he was worth, his head angled into the window and he seemed to be fighting with the driver.
'Jesus, he’s going to hit the pumps!' Cody cried out and took a small step backward.
'Oh, my God…' Irina said dumbstruck, but remained standing near the two front doors.
There was a moment when everyone agreed that impact was imminent, but at the last second the truck veered away and, back end sliding, skated around the small but potentially explosive island. Abruptly, relief turned to panic and, to everyone’s horror, the truck high-sided and headed straight at the building. Its speed never let up as it hit the curb stops out front and became airborne.
'Ooooh, shit…' Claire whispered from her position near the magazine racks.
The truck smashed into the door and instantly shattered all three of the large panes of glass. In a shower of glittering hailstones, the windows went from protective barrier to lethal shrapnel. It all happened far too fast for anyone to document, but the end result was the same. One second they were safe and sound behind the supposedly bullet proof windows and the next all hell had broken loose. The truck continued on through the glass and crashed into the first few rows of groceries. Irina Kovalenko, who thought fleetingly of how she’d only stopped in for a moment to use the bathroom, took the brunt of the truck’s front fender in the chest. The weight of the vehicle bore down on her and slapped her to the ground. Blood gushed up and out of her mouth and in the milliseconds that it took her to draw in a breath to scream, the bulk of the truck’s weight came down on her and crushed her head and chest into paste.
Cody, who had been standing to Irina’s right, was knocked back and into the Hostess display. Cellophane- wrapped baked goods exploded around him and he fell hard to the linoleum. Dazed, it took a moment for him to gather his wits and begin to climb to his feet. No sooner did he stand up then two of the people who had been hanging off the sides of the truck sprang up from where they’d landed and swarmed over him. The three of them went down and the boy’s blood curdling scream rang out. Blood spurted into the air and painted the image of Twinkie The Kid in a deep crimson.
Once the explosion of glass and metal settled, Betty (who, when she saw the truck jump the curb, ducked behind the counter) came up and into view. She looked at the demolition that was, seconds before, the front of her store and began crying. She was desperately trying to take it all in and therefore never noticed Boyd and Jocelyn climbing through the empty window frames. Before she even knew what was happening, they were on her and the three of them disappeared behind the counter. Her screams and the sound of tearing cloth echoed in the ensuing stillness.
Stanley Dillard saw all of this go down and instinctively knew that they were in a heap of hot shit. With the store front collapsed, their only source of protection was gone. Dillard, who by now had moved away from the demolition and toward the back of the store, turned to Monroe and Claire and pushed them both in the direction of the backroom.
'Run!' he bellowed.
Monroe looked around bewildered.
'Where to?' he shouted while looking around frantically. 'There’s nothing back there!'
For a split second, Dillard glanced about and realized he was right.
'The room…' Claire said. Her previous humor gone, she now sounded extremely scared. 'The one that lady was talking about.'
'Right! That a girl!' Dillard nodded and shoved Monroe back again. 'Go!'
With that, the three of them were off and running. Claire rounded the corner first and scurried toward the storage area of the store. It was basically a long hallway which ran along the length of the back of the building. Looking quickly to the left, she noticed the back access doors to the Beer and Bulk Soda refrigerators. To the right was a roll-up door which led presumably to the loading dock outside. Next to that, set in a sturdy metal frame, was a small room addition which looked recently built. The structure looked strong and heavily armored. Its walls were made of cement and thick metal rebar could be seen threaded through the concrete. On each side of it, stacks of soda cases and metal CO2 canisters stood like sentries. Thinking that must certainly be the Count Out Room, she ran off to open the door.
As Dillard and Monroe rounded the corner, they could both hear movement coming from behind them. Small racks of food and large displays were being knocked over and a chorus of low moaning could be heard. From the sounds of it, there were at least five or six of those things running up behind them, coming on fast. Monroe’s feet suddenly went out from underneath him, his designer shoes slipping on the slick concrete. He went down with a painful sound.
Dillard heard Monroe fall and slid to a stop. He looked back and saw the people coming up the aisle toward them. They were moving far faster than he’d thought possible, but he felt as if he still had time. It wasn’t like he could just leave the guy there to be killed by those things. He raced back and grabbed Monroe by the wrist and hoisted him to his feet.
'Go! I’m going to try to hold them off!' Dillard shouted.
Monroe needed no further urging and was off like a shot. He ran to where the small hall they were in met the long one at the back of the store. He whipped his head around, trying to decide which direction he should head next.
'Phillip!' he heard Claire shout to his right.
Monroe turned and saw her holding open a metal door. Frantically, she pointed inside. He smiled and started running.
'That’s my girl!' he said between frantic breaths.
Dillard managed to grab several milk crates as well as some flats of soda which were stacked against the wall and dumped them into the aisle. It wouldn’t deter the quickly approaching crowd for long, but it should delay them long enough for him to catch up to Monroe and get inside the protection of the room. He took off running as the sound of people stumbling through the wreckage reached his ears.
He ran off and turned the corner in time to see Monroe and Claire reuniting at what could only be the Count Out Room’s door. Monroe was pushing Claire inside and he turned to grab the door’s handle.
Dillard sprinted toward them as fast as his legs would carry him. Behind him, he heard the sound of his
