even more difficult. When it clicked open, I breathed a sigh of relief. Slowly, I opened the storm doors and stuck my head out-shotgun barrel first. The coast was clear.
"Come on."
I helped them up into the alley, and then shut the doors behind us. The kids put their wet washcloths over their faces and waited for me. After hunting around for a moment, I found an old skid and managed to tear a board loose from it. I wedged the board between the door handles.
"That should slow them down."
Malik squeezed my hand. "What now?"
I checked both sides of the alley. The front led out into the main street, where the zombies had surrounded me earlier. The rear intersected with another alley running along behind a bail bondsman's office. We went that way as carefully and quietly as possible. Behind us came a muffled thump. The zombies in the basement had discovered the storm doors.
"This way," I whispered, hurrying the kids along.
We turned left, and then right, and then left again, working our way toward the waterfront, more out of need than any sense of direction. I wasn't trying to reach the harbor. That was never my plan. We were just trying to stay ahead of both the fires and the zombies. Several times our progress was blocked by one or the other. I preferred the flames. Didn't have to waste ammo on them. Whenever possible, we stuck to side streets and back alleys.
We'd made it a few more blocks before we were attacked again. We were behind a used sporting goods store and I was trying to get a bearing on the fires. The smoke was getting thicker again, making it hard to tell how close the flames actually were. Every time the wind shifted direction smoke billowed toward us.
Without a sound, a corpse lurched out from behind a Dumpster. The only reason we noticed it was because it accidentally kicked an empty forty-ounce while stalking toward us. Its face was concealed by a hockey mask. The zombie clutched a hockey stick in its hand but never tried to use it as a weapon. I think it held the stick more out of instinct than anything else. With its free hand, it reached for my head, trying to pull me toward its gaping mouth. I ducked, sidestepped, and swung with the shotgun. The stock crashed against its jaw. The corpse stumbled backward. Gripping the shotgun barrel in both fists, I clubbed the creature's legs, breaking both of its kneecaps. As it collapsed, I smashed its head in. The zombie's face imploded behind the hockey mask. Black sludge that must have been curdled blood squirted out of the mouth and eyeholes like wet clay. It lay on the pavement, twitching.
"Hit it again," Malik cried. "Smack that son of a bitch."
I did. I struck the zombie on the side of the head, and its mask flew off. Its face looked like a bowl of spoiled spaghetti. Black mold grew on its skin. I slammed the shotgun down again and the skull cracked. The zombie quit twitching and lay still. Bending over, 1 picked up the hockey stick and wiped the mud and gore off of the handle.
"Here." I tossed the stick to Malik. "Think you can use this?"
"Hell yeah, I can." He grinned like a kid who'd just unwrapped his Christmas presents. Then he swung the stick around in a circle, making a sound like a light saber.
"Knock it off, Malik," Tasha said. "You're gonna get blood on me."
"No I ain't. I know what I'm doing. Next zombie we see, I'm gonna crack it in the head just like Lamar did."
"Now you're talking," I said. "Just don't hit me or your sister with it"
"You should have given it to me," Tasha said. "He's too little to hit anything with it."
Malik frowned. "Say's you."
"It's not fair."
"We'll find something for you," I promised Tasha. "Don't worry."
After I'd cleaned the gore off the shotgun butt so that I wouldn't accidentally infect myself, we continued on. I wiped the sweat from my
"Come on."
I helped them up into the alley, and then shut the doors behind us. The kids put their wet washcloths over their faces and waited for me. After hunting around for a moment, I found an old skid and managed to tear a board loose from it. I wedged the board between the door handles.
"That should slow them down."
Malik squeezed my hand. "What now?"
I checked both sides of the alley. The front led out into the main street, where the zombies had surrounded me earlier. The rear intersected with another alley running along behind a bail bondsman's office. We went that way as carefully and quietly as possible. Behind us came a muffled thump. The zombies in the basement had discovered the storm doors.
"This way," I whispered, hurrying the kids along.
We turned left, and then right, and then left again, working our way toward the waterfront, more out of need than any sense of direction. I wasn't trying to reach the harbor. That was never my plan. We were just trying to stay ahead of both the fires and the zombies. Several times our progress was blocked by one or the other. I preferred the flames. Didn't have to waste ammo on them. Whenever possible, we stuck to side streets and back alleys.
We'd made it a few more blocks before we were attacked again. We were behind a used sporting goods store and I was trying to get a bearing on the fires. The smoke was getting thicker again, making it hard to tell how close the flames actually were. Every time the wind shifted direction smoke billowed toward us.
Without a sound, a corpse lurched out from behind a Dumpster. The only reason we noticed it was because it accidentally kicked an empty forty-ounce while stalking toward us. Its face was concealed by a hockey mask. The zombie clutched a hockey stick in its hand but never tried to use it as a weapon. I think it held the stick more out of instinct than anything else. With its free hand, it reached for my head, trying to pull me toward its gaping mouth. I ducked, sidestepped, and swung with the shotgun. The stock crashed against its jaw. The corpse stumbled backward. Gripping the shotgun barrel in both fists, I clubbed the creature's legs, breaking both of its kneecaps. As it collapsed, I smashed its head in. The zombie's face imploded behind the hockey mask. Black sludge that must have been curdled blood squirted out of the mouth and eyeholes like wet clay. It lay on the pavement, twitching.
"Hit it again," Malik cried. "Smack that son of a bitch."
I did. I struck the zombie on the side of the head, and its mask flew off. Its face looked like a bowl of spoiled spaghetti. Black mold grew on its skin. I slammed the shotgun down again and the skull cracked. The zombie quit twitching and lay still. Bending over, 1 picked up the hockey stick and wiped the mud and gore off of the handle.
"Here." I tossed the stick to Malik. "Think you can use this?"
"Hell yeah, I can." He grinned like a kid who'd just unwrapped his Christmas presents. Then he swung the stick around in a circle, making a sound like a light saber.
"Knock it off, Malik," Tasha said. "You're gonna get blood on me."
"No I ain't. I know what I'm doing. Next zombie we see, I'm gonna crack it in the head just like Lamar did."
"Now you're talking," I said. "Just don't hit me or your sister with it"
"You should have given it to me," Tasha said. "He's too little to hit anything with it."
Malik frowned. "Say's you."
"It's not fair."
"We'll find something for you," I promised Tasha. "Don't worry."
After I'd cleaned the gore off the shotgun butt so that I wouldn't accidentally infect myself, we continued on. I wiped the sweat from my
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