Eaters by Michelle DePaepe

next door to the liquor store and grab me a six-pack. Actually, maybe I’ll just bunk over there. They’re probably having a good party, compared to this morbid crowd.”
    Everyone must have thought he was joking, because no one stopped him when he ran over to the door and turned the latch. He stepped out, and a cigarette and orange flame appeared like a magic trick from his pocket. He took a long drag and exhaled a puff of smoke, then began walking a few feet to the right, towards the liquor store.
    Through the blinds, Cheryl, Mark, and a few others watched as a group of bedraggled-looking Eaters, two men and a woman, who had been shuffling about in the road, lifted their heads and sniffed the air, then started coming towards him.
    Ed held up his hands. “No need for alarm, people. I’m just passing through.”
    A man in a navy blue suit nearest to the sidewalk picked up speed. His head shook from side to side as he did an unsteady zigzag towards Ed. The decidedly inhuman-like walk was even odder, because his face was skeletal, a bony mishmash of scraps of skin and flesh. His teeth snapped back and forth like a steel trap, and drool slithered down his chin. The appearance was so horrific, if Cheryl didn’t know better, she’d have thought it was an actor who’d spent a few hours in a makeup chair getting ready for a performance on Halloween night.
    Surprisingly, Ed didn’t flinch. He held his ground as if he thought he could take the man. Cheryl wondered if he was right. The Eater looked frail, literally like a walking corpse. Wouldn’t it be easy to just give him a sucker punch and knock him down? It seemed possible—his body was so ravaged by the disease, perhaps he was less of a threat than his nightmarish appearance suggested.
    The Eater stumbled up over the curb then came towards Ed with his fingers outstretched like claws. The couple behind him, who were obviously sick, but not in an as advanced state of decay, did the same.
    Ed hesitated for a second as if he didn’t know whether to keep going forward or back up a couple of steps towards the sandwich shop.
    Before he could make up his mind, the first Eater reached him and grabbed at his shirt.
    “Back off, buddy!” Ed yelled, dropping his cigarette and batting the gnarled hand away.
    They surrounded him, closing in like a pack of wolves.
    Cheryl panicked. “We gotta do something to save him. Mark, go out there and shoot them!”
    Mark shook his head. “If I did, the sound of the gunfire might draw attention to us. He was stupid. He shouldn’t have gone out there.”
    By now, any window of rescue was gone. As the Eaters began ripping and tearing at his clothing, skin, and hair, Ed fell down to his knees and curled up into a defensive position with his hands covering his head.
    Cheryl looked away, tears streaming down her cheeks, as they tore him apart, one fistful at a time, like they were the devil’s two-year-olds, and he was a blood-filled birthday cake.

Chapter Six
     
     
    Two days later, very little had changed with their situation, except for the unfortunate drop in the number of survivors in the shop. After Ed’s death, three people had shown signs of the sickness. It started with a fever, followed by welts and ashen skin. After the first one collapsed and seemed dead, they dragged his body to the cooler, but before they could shut the door, he sprang up and tried to attack the shop employee, Steve. Mark shot him just in time. After that, they didn’t take chances. As soon as someone collapsed and no longer had a pulse, a couple of gunshots to the head ensured that they’d stay dead.
    Now, they were down to eighteen.
    The generator had pooped out a day back, and the power hadn’t come back on. The weather outside was hot, and the thermostat inside the shop read over ninety. Since the meat was spoiling quickly, they’d been eating the bread, chips, and condiments instead. There was still running water, but someone had heard from a friend