his hands straight into the air, bouncing on the tips of his toes as a smile spread across his face.
“Son of a bitch, Carl... one shot! Who da man? You da man!”
Carl brushed past me and I turned in bewilderment, feeling like a person who'd walked into a theater halfway through the movie. A thousand thoughts raced through my head and I felt as though my entire body sighed as the certainty that I had not been shot took hold.
Carl had made his way to the side of the silo and I tried to remember if the body had been lying there before. Didn't Doc say they had killed two of those things? Or had he said a few ?
The corpse was lying on its back and I could see blood seeping into the snow, radiating out from its head like a crimson halo. It was dressed in a ratty, blue bathrobe with a single bunny slipper adorning one foot; the other was bare and I could see black, swollen splotches on the toes and ankle.
“Freshie.” Carl called back, his voice sounding distant and muffled by the blanket of snow surrounding us. “Ain't been dead more than a week I reckon. Maybe two seein' as how cold it's been.”
He crouched and began rummaging through the creature's pockets.
“If there's any more around here,” Doc shouted back, “that gunshot is going to bring them running. We need to get going.”
“Hot damn! Nearly full pack of smokes here. Lighter too.”
Carl pocketed the cigarettes and undid the loose knot in the robe's belt. Then he rolled the thing onto its side and slipped one of the beefy arms out of the sleeve.
Doc squinted in the glare of the sun and scanned the horizon.
“Come on, Carl. We gotta get a move on!”
Carl came running back, his boots crunching through the icy crust, and the robe cradled in his arms like a baby; the fallen zombie was left naked and face down.... For a moment I almost felt sorry for the thing. It had once been someone's son, perhaps a husband and father. It had worried about the same things we all used to: bills, the cost of gasoline, terrorism. Now the last shred of dignity had been stripped from its body and it found true death in the same manner it had originally came into the world: cold, naked, and alone.
Maybe Carl saw something in my eyes as he passed. Or perhaps he instinctively knew what I was thinking.
“There were bits of flesh still stuck in its teeth.” he said. “And I guaran-fucking-tee it wasn't chicken.”
He walked over to where Sadie and Watchmaker stood, wrapped the robe around one of them, adding another layer of warmth and protection.
“Shit girl,” Doc mumbled as he placed a hand on my shoulder, “you act like you've never seen one of those bastards killed before.”
Later that evening we managed to find an old farmhouse that seemed like an oasis of normality in the flat fields. Carl and Doc had left me outside with Sadie and Watchmaker as they swept each room of the house; I held an ax in my hands and was told , in no uncertain terms, that if things went bad not to try anything foolish.
“You just see these two somewhere warm,” Carl had said as he handed me the ax. “We've been working our way south. Keep heading that way.”
But the instructions proved unnecessary; after nearly a quarter hour of hearing their voices call out “ Clear!” every few minutes, they finally appeared in the doorway and ushered the rest of us inside.
By the time the sun had begun to set, we had settled into the relative comfort of the living room. The couches and chairs were as old and dusty as some of the pictures hanging upon the wall; springs that were barely concealed by threadbare floral patterns poked into our butts and backs and the entire place had the musty smell of age. We had broken some of the kitchen chairs and had the wood neatly stacked in the stone fireplace with layers of blankets covering every window of the living room; now we were only waiting for night to camouflage the smoke that would soon be curling from the chimney, only waiting
“Son of a bitch, Carl... one shot! Who da man? You da man!”
Carl brushed past me and I turned in bewilderment, feeling like a person who'd walked into a theater halfway through the movie. A thousand thoughts raced through my head and I felt as though my entire body sighed as the certainty that I had not been shot took hold.
Carl had made his way to the side of the silo and I tried to remember if the body had been lying there before. Didn't Doc say they had killed two of those things? Or had he said a few ?
The corpse was lying on its back and I could see blood seeping into the snow, radiating out from its head like a crimson halo. It was dressed in a ratty, blue bathrobe with a single bunny slipper adorning one foot; the other was bare and I could see black, swollen splotches on the toes and ankle.
“Freshie.” Carl called back, his voice sounding distant and muffled by the blanket of snow surrounding us. “Ain't been dead more than a week I reckon. Maybe two seein' as how cold it's been.”
He crouched and began rummaging through the creature's pockets.
“If there's any more around here,” Doc shouted back, “that gunshot is going to bring them running. We need to get going.”
“Hot damn! Nearly full pack of smokes here. Lighter too.”
Carl pocketed the cigarettes and undid the loose knot in the robe's belt. Then he rolled the thing onto its side and slipped one of the beefy arms out of the sleeve.
Doc squinted in the glare of the sun and scanned the horizon.
“Come on, Carl. We gotta get a move on!”
Carl came running back, his boots crunching through the icy crust, and the robe cradled in his arms like a baby; the fallen zombie was left naked and face down.... For a moment I almost felt sorry for the thing. It had once been someone's son, perhaps a husband and father. It had worried about the same things we all used to: bills, the cost of gasoline, terrorism. Now the last shred of dignity had been stripped from its body and it found true death in the same manner it had originally came into the world: cold, naked, and alone.
Maybe Carl saw something in my eyes as he passed. Or perhaps he instinctively knew what I was thinking.
“There were bits of flesh still stuck in its teeth.” he said. “And I guaran-fucking-tee it wasn't chicken.”
He walked over to where Sadie and Watchmaker stood, wrapped the robe around one of them, adding another layer of warmth and protection.
“Shit girl,” Doc mumbled as he placed a hand on my shoulder, “you act like you've never seen one of those bastards killed before.”
Later that evening we managed to find an old farmhouse that seemed like an oasis of normality in the flat fields. Carl and Doc had left me outside with Sadie and Watchmaker as they swept each room of the house; I held an ax in my hands and was told , in no uncertain terms, that if things went bad not to try anything foolish.
“You just see these two somewhere warm,” Carl had said as he handed me the ax. “We've been working our way south. Keep heading that way.”
But the instructions proved unnecessary; after nearly a quarter hour of hearing their voices call out “ Clear!” every few minutes, they finally appeared in the doorway and ushered the rest of us inside.
By the time the sun had begun to set, we had settled into the relative comfort of the living room. The couches and chairs were as old and dusty as some of the pictures hanging upon the wall; springs that were barely concealed by threadbare floral patterns poked into our butts and backs and the entire place had the musty smell of age. We had broken some of the kitchen chairs and had the wood neatly stacked in the stone fireplace with layers of blankets covering every window of the living room; now we were only waiting for night to camouflage the smoke that would soon be curling from the chimney, only waiting
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