pounded one of the cash registers open. Zombie pus-blood drizzled on the neat stacks of greenbacks.
The trio dashed to the back of the store and plowed through the plastic curtain strips under a sign over the doorway marked EMPLOYEES ONLY . They jogged down the dark corridor lit up at the end by a glowing red EXIT sign. Zack lifted the metal bar off the back of the door. Madison and the boys peered outside.
The back lot was crammed with zombies, like amosh pit at a heavy metal concert. A hundred sickly eyes gazed at them crazily. No way out.
Zack slammed the door, and they heard a dull, bony crunch. The door bounced back open with a zombirific howl. A knotted, big-knuckled hand was slotted in the gap by the hinges, four fingers now fractured at the base, still wriggling. Zack and Madison pushed on the black door, as the mad-staggering flock moved toward the back entrance. Rice took several steps backward and then hurled himself, ramming his full weight into the doorjamb. BAM! They were safe. And the zombie hand was gone. Sort of.
Rice’s body slam had severed the zombie’s fingers, and now they were jumping around on the floor. Zack placed the bar back on the door. Madison’s mouth gaped with disgust.
“Awesome!” Rice pulled his fist down, elbow to hip. “Now we have specimens.”
“What do you mean…specimens?” Madison asked.
“I saw this one movie where zombies took overthe entire world, and these scientists needed specimens for testing at the lab.” Rice produced a Ziploc bag from his backpack and gathered the squirmy fingers off the ground. He swung the see-through bag in front of Madison’s face.
“Zack, make him stop!” Madison squealed. But Zack was already running back into the store.
“Zack!” they screamed. “Where are you going?”
By the time Madison and Rice caught up to him, he was dodging zombies and dragging heavy bags of charcoal briquettes over to the elevator.
“We’re gonna have a barbecue,” he explained. Rice and Madison stared at him blankly. “Just help me load these up.”
The zombies were closing in fast, already halfway up the food aisles.
“Rice. You have to unload those bags and bring them to the office. Okay?”
“All by myself?”
“I’ll help him,” Madison volunteered, hopping on the elevator.
“I’ll get the lighter fluid,” Zack said. “Send down the elevator when you’re done. I’ll meet you up top….” The elevator doors shut.
Zack darted down Household Goods aisle 7 and ripped open a box of black trash bags, tossing in a long box of matches. He swept a row of lighter fluid off the top shelf and into the garbage bag.
But Zack was not the only one shopping.
A deranged zombie couple thrashed at the shelves, knocking off an array of paper towels and aerosol spray cans.
The zombie woman looked like she hadn’t slept in a year. Dark bags of flesh sagged under her bloodshot eyes. Her left ear was missing, and streaks of blood poured down her neck. She wore a T-shirt that read I’M WITH STUPID .
Stupid didn’t look any better. Both his lips were gone, leaving a jagged bloodstained gash where the bottom half of his face should have been. His gumshad shriveled, exposing the roots of his teeth. It looked like he had just won first place in a cherry pie–eating contest.
Mr. and Mrs. Zombie advanced, wrenching forward in abrupt robotic bursts.
Zack skidded around the corner with his plastic satchel of flammable loot, but more zombies were now blocking his route to the stairwell. With no other choice, Zack scaled the shelves to the top.
The super market was jam-packed, zombies every where. They lumbered in all directions, displaying every symptom of meat-craving insanity.
A dozen zombie arms stretched up out of their sockets and grabbed at Zack’s feet. He stomped at the gropinghands and then took a flying leap over the drooling beasts below.
He landed slightly off balance, and the unsteady shelving unit teetered and swayed,
The trio dashed to the back of the store and plowed through the plastic curtain strips under a sign over the doorway marked EMPLOYEES ONLY . They jogged down the dark corridor lit up at the end by a glowing red EXIT sign. Zack lifted the metal bar off the back of the door. Madison and the boys peered outside.
The back lot was crammed with zombies, like amosh pit at a heavy metal concert. A hundred sickly eyes gazed at them crazily. No way out.
Zack slammed the door, and they heard a dull, bony crunch. The door bounced back open with a zombirific howl. A knotted, big-knuckled hand was slotted in the gap by the hinges, four fingers now fractured at the base, still wriggling. Zack and Madison pushed on the black door, as the mad-staggering flock moved toward the back entrance. Rice took several steps backward and then hurled himself, ramming his full weight into the doorjamb. BAM! They were safe. And the zombie hand was gone. Sort of.
Rice’s body slam had severed the zombie’s fingers, and now they were jumping around on the floor. Zack placed the bar back on the door. Madison’s mouth gaped with disgust.
“Awesome!” Rice pulled his fist down, elbow to hip. “Now we have specimens.”
“What do you mean…specimens?” Madison asked.
“I saw this one movie where zombies took overthe entire world, and these scientists needed specimens for testing at the lab.” Rice produced a Ziploc bag from his backpack and gathered the squirmy fingers off the ground. He swung the see-through bag in front of Madison’s face.
“Zack, make him stop!” Madison squealed. But Zack was already running back into the store.
“Zack!” they screamed. “Where are you going?”
By the time Madison and Rice caught up to him, he was dodging zombies and dragging heavy bags of charcoal briquettes over to the elevator.
“We’re gonna have a barbecue,” he explained. Rice and Madison stared at him blankly. “Just help me load these up.”
The zombies were closing in fast, already halfway up the food aisles.
“Rice. You have to unload those bags and bring them to the office. Okay?”
“All by myself?”
“I’ll help him,” Madison volunteered, hopping on the elevator.
“I’ll get the lighter fluid,” Zack said. “Send down the elevator when you’re done. I’ll meet you up top….” The elevator doors shut.
Zack darted down Household Goods aisle 7 and ripped open a box of black trash bags, tossing in a long box of matches. He swept a row of lighter fluid off the top shelf and into the garbage bag.
But Zack was not the only one shopping.
A deranged zombie couple thrashed at the shelves, knocking off an array of paper towels and aerosol spray cans.
The zombie woman looked like she hadn’t slept in a year. Dark bags of flesh sagged under her bloodshot eyes. Her left ear was missing, and streaks of blood poured down her neck. She wore a T-shirt that read I’M WITH STUPID .
Stupid didn’t look any better. Both his lips were gone, leaving a jagged bloodstained gash where the bottom half of his face should have been. His gumshad shriveled, exposing the roots of his teeth. It looked like he had just won first place in a cherry pie–eating contest.
Mr. and Mrs. Zombie advanced, wrenching forward in abrupt robotic bursts.
Zack skidded around the corner with his plastic satchel of flammable loot, but more zombies were now blocking his route to the stairwell. With no other choice, Zack scaled the shelves to the top.
The super market was jam-packed, zombies every where. They lumbered in all directions, displaying every symptom of meat-craving insanity.
A dozen zombie arms stretched up out of their sockets and grabbed at Zack’s feet. He stomped at the gropinghands and then took a flying leap over the drooling beasts below.
He landed slightly off balance, and the unsteady shelving unit teetered and swayed,
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