Zombiekill by Russ Watts Page B

to be empty. There was one large window downstairs, also open, and Schafer dropped to the ground. As he landed he dropped the bat, and it rolled into a rusty old carburetor, sending out a clanging sound that echoed around the yard. Schafer bristled, but nothing came running from the house. He scooped up the bat and paused. If the noise had disturbed a zombie inside the house, then it would be out any moment. At least if he were here he could scale the wall and be back over at Jeremy’s safely and quickly.
    Nothing came. Cautiously, Schafer approached the house. It was similar in style to Jeremy’s, though it didn’t appear to be in such good repair. The paint around the windows was cracking and peeling, and the yard was dirty. There was a small path leading around the side of the house where Schafer noticed a discarded child’s bike, its wheels flat and a cobweb stretching from the faded pink seat to the handlebars. A spider scuttled away under the rim of the seat as Schafer came nearer. The bike was on the ground, probably abandoned when the occupants of the house had left town. He had learnt that as many people had run as had stayed, and he hoped this was one family who had left town. Though he was prepared to do what it took to help protect his family, he didn’t really want to have to face one of the zombies. Putting down an animal was one thing, putting down another human was something else. Escaping the motel, he had managed to push them away, avoid them, and dodge their clutches. He wasn’t actually sure what he would do if he came face to face with a zombie directly and was hoping he wouldn’t have to decide anytime soon.
    Schafer put his hand on the back door and pushed. It opened easily, revealing a dark interior. Stepping over the threshold, the warmth of the sun on his back evaporated quickly, and the still coldness of the house wrapped around him. The air was cool, and Schafer had to force himself to breathe naturally. He felt like he was breaking in, even though the door was open, and he held the bat firmly in front of himself. It didn’t come naturally to him to break and enter, and he was no hero.
    “Food. Find the kitchen.” Schafer needed to speak to break up the silence. Rilla had wanted to come with him, but there was no way he would let her. It was far too dangerous, and he would move quicker on his own. He didn’t want to spend half of his time looking out for her when he had to concentrate on watching himself.
    Schafer didn’t have to look far. He walked through the ground floor of the house slowly, looking solely for where the kitchen was. Soon he found it, a small, dirty room buzzing with flies. The sink was piled high with dishes and the counter was filthy, riddled with leftover food and stains that didn’t need close inspection. Schafer wasn’t looking for fresh food and left the rotting meat to the flies. He needed tins and packets of preserved food, maybe bottles of drink too. He opened all the cupboards, coming across cutlery, dishcloths, plates and utensils, none of which were of any use. He finally opened a cupboard that contained two small tins at the back. The rest of the cupboard had been cleaned out, but he grabbed the last two remaining cans and examined the label.
    “Macaroni cheese.” He didn’t know what it was and the picture on the front of a yellow mush looked foul, but he took it anyway. If that was all he found all day, he was going to go home disappointed.
    The rest of the kitchen turned up nothing useful, and he carefully went to the front door. There was a broken pane of glass at the top of the door, and he stood up on tip-toe to see through it. As he looked out onto the front of the house, he tugged at his beard. The corpses were everywhere, not just at Jeremy’s house, but all over the street. Rotting bodies walked slowly up and down the street as if waiting for an order; men and women bumping into one another without even noticing. Some held onto bloody bones