The Dead Don't Bleed: Part 2, The Aftermath by S. Ganley Page A

the shed. This time Doug kept up a brisk pace but avoided a full on sprint so he wouldn't end up gasping for breath once he reached his target. He congratulated himself for remembering that little detail, it was things like that he was sure could end up getting him and someone else killed if he didn't learn such lessons early on. Slipping inside the side door of the shed he studied the tools hung neatly on pegs along both sides of the small storage room. He had to hand it to Cameron's mom, she was a neat freak when it came to organization. Each gardening tool was hanging carefully in a spot designed especially for it and he couldn't see a speck of dirt or rust on any of the well-used instruments. He saw several hand held tools that would have done the job nicely but would have also required him to get well within arm’s reach of the zombie before he could strike a killing blow. The shovels were nice, but also a little heavier than he would prefer, then his eyes fell on an old fashioned gardening hoe. The four foot handle was long enough to keep him well out of reach at the pinnacle moment and the curved edge still shone silver from a recent sharpening. The metal end was about a quarter the size of a shovel and was light enough that when he gave it a test swing he felt confident that he could heave it without a problem. Satisfied that it would be sufficient to do the job he returned to the side door. After a quick check of the yard to ensure nothing had come along behind him, he circled around the outside of the shed to the back and then pressed himself firmly against the wall of the building letting his courage build. From that location he could make out the sounds of the zombie on the other side of the wall struggling futilely against the tangle of hoses and rope wrapped around his legs. Every so often the creature would let out a frustrated bellowing moan which was thankfully only loud enough to be heard from a short distance away. Even as non-communicative as these things seemed to be, the frustration represented in its moans was one that he easily recognized for what it was. The thing had probably been stuck in that same position for the past couple of days, judging by the worn patch of dirt Doug had noticed on the ground in front of it. It was a testament to just how much they had lost even the most basic ability to reason. All the creature had to do was stop struggling and reach down with its hands and pull the tangle from its legs and it would be able to free itself.
    The frustrated moans coming from just a few feet away from him around the corner of the shed began to give him the first tendrils of doubt that he would be able to carry through with driving the hoe into its head. Even though he knew without a shred of doubt that not even an ounce of the humanity that had once been a caring father and devoted husband remained in that shell of a human, there was a familiarity in those frustrated moans that gave him pause. He could feel the doubt and fear creeping up on him. Across the yard watching the zombie struggling against its bindings and out of earshot from it, he had been able to convince himself that killing it was nothing more than killing a wild animal that was threatening him. Now, just a few feet away, weapon in hand and seconds from actually carrying through with it, the sounds of that struggling beast started to send shudders of doubt rippling through his body. Doug forced himself to close his eyes, block out the sounds and told himself over and over that he had to do it, their survival depended on eliminating this threat. He told himself that he would stand there for no longer than one full minutes and at the end of that time he would turn the corner, raise the hoe above his head and crash it down into the zombie’s skull in one fluid motion. He began working to control his breathing and stared at his watch as the seconds rapidly started ticking down.
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    They found a neighb orhood just off Riverbend