Dead Sea by Brian Keene

mostly paperbacks by Toni Morrison, Chesya Burke, and some cheesy African-American romance titles, along with a well-worn copy of the Holy Bible.
        I moved to the window and stared down at the alley-a narrow slice of pavement running between the apartment buildings. An empty paper bag fluttered by, but there was no other movement. So far, the alley was free of zombies. They'd stupidly clustered their forces at the front. It occurred to me that maybe I was giving them too much credit. They didn't know tactics or planning. The only knew hunger. Need. They'd seen their prey go in the front door, so that was where they'd gathered. In a way, it was kind of pathetic.
        So the alley was clear. The question was if it would stay that way in the time it took us to get down to the laundry room. And even then, what was waiting for us down in the streets?
         One step at a time, I thought. Just get down to the laundry room first.
        I walked back into the living room. The kids stared at me expectantly.
        "You guys still have water?"
        "Yeah."
        Tasha took me into the kitchen, where they'd lined up plastic buckets and jugs full of rainwater. Mosquito larvae squirmed in some of them. She explained that they'd been putting the buckets out on the roof. I had the kids wet down their clothes and I did the same again with mine. I also grabbed three more washcloths and soaked them down. I explained how they would help with the smoke if the fires got too close. Then we were ready. The kids still looked frightened, but they didn't argue or give me any lip.
        "Okay," I said. "Stick close, but stay behind me. Breathe through your washcloths and duck down as much as possible. Smoke rises, and the air will be better lower to the ground. Try to keep quiet. You ready?"
        They nodded. Tasha crossed her arms over her chest and shivered.
        "You scared?" 1 asked her.
        "No. Well, yeah. 'Course I'm scared. But that's not why I'm shivering. I'm cold. My clothes are wet."
        "Sorry about that," I apologized. "We'll find you some dry clothes when we get to safety."
        "Where are we going?" Malik asked.
        I paused, not sure how to answer him.
        "I don't know. Somewhere else. Somewhere other than here."
        "Someplace where there's no zombies?"
        "Yeah," I lied. "Somewhere without zombies or fires. Someplace where we can chill for a little while. Rest up. I don't know about you guys, but I'm tired. I'd like to stop all this running and fighting. I've had enough for one night. Let's get to where we don't have to do that."
        Privately, I wondered where that place was- wondered if it even existed anymore, and if it did exist, how we'd get there.
        We left the apartment, and Tasha locked the door behind us. I thought about asking her why, but then thought better of it. This was their home. It wasn't much. None of the homes here ever were. But it was probably the only one they'd ever known, and all their memories were here, and now they were leaving it with a stranger, while a bunch of dead people pounded on the door. Deep down inside, Tasha must have known that she'd never see the apartment again. I don't cry easily, but the look on her face damn near broke my heart.
        The noise got worse as we reached the landing and started down the stairs. It kept growing louder as we neared the first floor, until finally it was almost overpowering. I wanted to scream at the dead, tell them to shut the fuck up. Glass broke somewhere, maybe in one of the first floor apartments. I couldn't tell for sure. It was hard to concentrate. The zombies stink filled the hallway and the smoke was getting stronger again, too. The front door shuddered with every blow, and long splinters of wood fell off the bottom of it. Cracks split open on its surface as the hammering continued.
        "Which way?"
        Tasha pointed toward the back of the hallway. We