The Undead Situation by Eloise J. Knapp Page A

haul up one’s own bodyweight. She didn’t weigh much, but if she couldn’t get a good burst of adrenaline, we’d have to figure out another way up there.
    “Are you ready? You need to go. I can’t stand here forever.”
    After a few seconds, I felt one foot lift off and heard it connect with the brick wall as she tried to gain leverage. It was now or never. The second I felt her other foot leave my shoulder, I grabbed the heels of her boots and pushed her upward. My effort paid off as I saw her disappear over the ledge.
    Soon after, one end of the rope I gave her hit my face, followed by the sound of laughter. After rubbing my cheek, I looked up and saw Gabe grinning.
    “Sorry,” she said, but there was no regret.
    Letting the shot with the rope go, I tied one end to a pack and lifted it above my head, reducing the distance she had to pull it up. We repeated the process until all items were on the roof.
    “I’m going to get Pickle.”
    I saved her for last because I didn’t want to cause my ferret panic. Pickle was trained to stay in small spaces without losing it. Days after I bought her, I began training her for situations like this. I was paranoid and didn’t ever want to risk leaving her. For the ride to the roof, I left her in her travel cage. I brought her out, thankful for her silence, and tied the top handle to the rope. The trip was going to be hell for her, but I couldn’t let her die.
    Gabe was sensitive to my adoration for the ferret, and pulled the rope slowly and smoother than with the other gear. I felt appreciation and gratefulness towards her and didn’t bother to suppress it.
    Once I climbed the rope and stood on the roof, I took a look around. Dark smoke rose into the clouds from the direction of Puget Sound. I could barely see it between the tall buildings of downtown, but there was just enough space to catch it. That explained the lack of Zs. They were shuffling towards the latest excitement.
    This is heavy , I thought as I shrugged my backpack on, Pickle now transferred inside it. Did I pack too much?
    I put her in the outer zipper pocket of the pack, separated from the rest of my gear. Pickle settled in after much defiant wriggling. Gabe and I crossed the barren rooftop, keeping an eye on the roof access hatch. We leaned over the other edge to see the alley.
    It was empty. Luck wasn’t something I relied on, but it was helpful. She’d rappel down, since I could cover both ends of the alley with the Barrett, then I’d follow. From there we went on foot. I had a car in the underground garage across the street, but there was no way in hell we were going to go get it. The entrance was visible from the balcony, but was blocked by a red sports car and a minivan. We’d rough it out on foot until it was safe to hotwire a car.
    After I secured the rope around a huge metal ventilation system, I helped her into the climbing harness and showed her how to control the belay device.
    “Try to walk against the wall around the windows. We’ll go unnoticed longer if the ones inside don’t see you. Once we’re down, keep the talking to a minimum.”
    Then she was off, rappelling down the building as though she’d done it a million times before. I wondered if she’d done any rock climbing back in the day, but it was too late to ask her. By the time I thought of it, she was halfway down. There was no point in using the Barrett to cover her. I waited until she retrieved the 9mm I gave her before I started down, too.
    When I got to the bottom, she pointed to the two exits of the alley. Right or left? Did it matter? We didn’t know what was on either end, but I chose right just for the hell of it. As we walked, I brought up my carbine, the main rifle I’d be using.
    Single file, guns on the ready, we moved silently around dumpsters and garbage, each footstep taking us farther down the block and closer to the unknown.
    I maneuvered around an indistinguishable pile of gore, opting to breathe through my