Ken screamed beside her and she turned to see a hand reaching through the shattered window. He thrashed around in his seat trying to evade the zombie.
Lenore leaned over, still feeling rather sluggish, and saw the zombie try to grab Ken. “Help me! Help me!” Ken struggled with the seatbelt.
Lenore pulled the shotgun off his lap.
“I fired two shots! It doesn’t have any more!”
She took aim at the horrible shredded face and pulled the trigger. The shotgun thundered and the zombie fell. The other zombies paid no attention as they continued to pull apart the girl in the car.
“It’s dead. Calm down.” Lenore’s fingers found the button on his buckle and pressed it.
Ken nearly crawled onto her lap trying to get away from the shattered driver side window.
Lenore fumbled for the bag she had pulled the shotgun out of. More zombies were struggling to get into the car that had crashed into them. The feeding frenzy had the attention of the undead. For now they weren’t paying mind to the truck or its occupants. Lenore snagged the bag and yanked it onto her lap. Checking inside, she was relieved to see several boxes of shotgun shells.
“Lenore, Lenore, I killed that girl they’re eating. I killed her,” Ken whispered in a trembling voice.
“Can’t worry about that now,” Lenore answered and shoved the passenger door open. She dropped out of the truck and surveyed the surroundings. She heaved the bag over one shoulder and held the shotgun in one hand.
“Zombies, everywhere, Lenore,” Ken hissed.
“Window broken. Broken truck. Get out.” Lenore’s head was throbbing and her vision was a little off, but she knew they had to go and now.
Ken slid out of the truck and dragged his bag with him. He snagged Cher’s carrier. He looked too pale and his eyes were huge in his pinched face.
From behind the battered cars came the terrible sounds of the feeding frenzy. The crunching and slurping was enough to make anyone want throw up, but Lenore’s tummy was empty now. She swallowed firmly and pulled Ken along behind her.
She could see her home just three houses down the block to the right. It was so close. If they could just avoid any of the really fast zombies, they could probably make it to safety.
Ken breathed heavily beside her as they jogged toward the house. Though she didn’t want to, she reluctantly took a quick peek behind them. A badly-mauled zombie trailed behind them. Its leg was chewed to the bone and it was missing an arm. It was Mr. Thames, her elderly neighbor, who had been tending his yard when she had left for work not too long ago.
Whipping about, she aimed the shotgun at his head and pulled the trigger. The shotgun merely clicked. It was empty.
“Crap!”
“Reload it!”
“Do you know how?”
“No,” Ken whispered.
Lenore flipped the shotgun around and held it by its warm barrel as Mr. Thames drew closer.
“Let’s run!”
“It will follow us!”
Ken sobbed while he clutched the cat carrier even tighter in his arms.
“I’m gonna hit its head,” Lenore said. She blinked her eyes, trying to focus on the task. “I’ll hit him until he doesn’t move, then we run to the house.”
She saw Ken nod wildly beside her. Lenore fought back fear and concentrated her attention on the zombie. Beyond the walking remains of Mr. Thames, she could see more zombies gathering around the accident, feasting on what was left of that poor girl in the car. It was only a matter of time before they saw Ken and Lenore.
Ken unexpectedly let out a frantic, awful noise and rushed Mr. Thames. He shoved Cher’s cat carrier into the old man’s chest, toppling him over. The zombie tried to grab onto Ken, but her friend skirted away, clutching the carrier tight as Cher caterwauled angrily.
“Hit him, Lenore! Hurry!”
Lenore danced around Mr. Thames’s grasping hands and smashed the butt of the shotgun down onto his head. It made a horrible noise as his skull shattered and dented in. Yet, he continued to grab at her. Lenore slammed it down a second time and busted in the front of Mr. Thames’s face. It was shocking to see his features vanish beneath her blow in a gout of blood. She hit him one more time and finally he stopped thrashing.
“Run! Run! Run!” Ken screamed. He turned and ran.
A swift look down the street told the horrible story. The zombies had seen them and were coming. Some struggled just to walk, while others easily leapt up and started to sprint toward Lenore.
Lenore dashed after Ken. Her head swam a bit as she struggled to keep running in a straight line toward her grandmother’s house. Cussing under her breath, she clutched the empty shotgun tightly in her hands. She would not die today without a fight.
“The blue house, Ken!” she shouted. “Run to the blue house!”
Ken darted across the lawn to the house and started banging on the front door.
Lenore forced breath into her painfully-constricting lungs, but it was getting harder to run. Her body felt so heavy and her head felt like it was about to fall off her shoulders.
“Please, please, please,” she prayed.
She was almost to the front yard of the house when she heard the first gunshot. She let out a wheezing gasp and spun around to see that the zombies were still in pursuit. A few broke off the main pack toward Tito Hernandez, Olympia’s son. Her grandmother’s best friend was nowhere to be seen, but her son was on the lawn of her home firing at the zombies. He was snarling out cusswords in Spanish as he deftly fired at the running crowd. His short form was rippling with muscles and sweat beaded on his tan skin. His short black hair glistened wetly from the oil he always used to slick it back and his sunglasses hid his dark eyes.
“Run, Lenore, run!” He continued to fire and reload calmly.
The zombies fell beneath his bullets, but there were at least five still heading straight for him.
Ken continued to bang on the door. “Let us in! Let us in!”
Lenore reached the walk up to the house and huffed and puffed her way up to the steps. Checking over her shoulder, she saw the zombies struggling to maneuver over the white picket fence bordering the Hernandez house. The zombies had forgotten about Lenore and were focused on the Hispanic man. Tito continued to pick them off one by one. He was coolly efficient and brutal with his accuracy.
“Do you have your key?” Ken was gasping loudly.
“Yeah, hold on,” she answered, and handed him the bloodied shotgun. She fumbled around in her jean pockets while Cher, the very upset kitty, meowed loudly.
“Where is my Mama?” Tito’s voice was surprisingly close. He was already running up the walk. Behind him the street was littered with dead zombies.
Lenore managed to grab the key out of her pocket and shoved into the lock. “I don’t know.”
“Is she with your grandma?” Tito reloaded his pistol and looked around uneasily.
“I don’t know,” Lenore said and unlocked the front door.
“Be careful, Lenore,” Tito said to her. “Open it slowly.”
Lenore swallowed and nodded. She gently pressed the door open. Her grandmother came into view. She was lying on the floor; face down, the phone still clutched in one hand. Without thinking, Lenore rushed to her side and fell to her knees. “Grandma!”
Ken stumbled in, clutching the cat carrier, and looking around. “Lenore, be careful! She might be a zombie!”
Tito stepped just inside the front door. “Lenore, be careful, chica. Seriously. This shit is whacked out. Back up.”
“What he said,” Ken agreed.
Lenore blinked back tears and shook her head. “No, not my grandma. No.” Her voice sounded wrong to her. It was muffled by emotion and the damn ringing in her ears.
Tito appeared about to say something when Lenore saw a figure lurch into view behind him.
“Tito!” Lenore’s voice sounded shrill to her own ears.
The tiny Mexican man whirled about as his mother stepped onto the porch behind him.
“Mama?”
The old woman opened her mouth and blood spilled over her lips as she let out a hungry moan. Grabbing onto Tito, the old woman moved in swiftly for a bite.
13.
Trapped
“On my gawd!” Ken shrieked as he stumbled away from the door.
Tito didn’t say a word as he lifted his pistol and fired a shot straight up through the old woman’s neck as she lunged forward to bite him. A fountain of blood and brain matter erupted from the rear of her head. The silent zombie slid to the porch in a heap.
Rotating sharply, Tito shoved Ken further into the house. Without a word, he locked the screen door, shut the heavy wood door, and bolted it shut.
Ken stood in the foyer, clutching the yowling cat’s carrier to his chest. Lenore stared in shock at Tito. The Hispanic man walked rapidly across the living room, fell into a recliner, raised the hand still clutching the pistol to his forehead, and began to pray in Spanish.
Lenore couldn’t imagine what he was feeling. She had felt as if the world had ended the second she saw her grandmother lying on the floor of their tiny little house. Her heart had literally skipped a beat in her chest. Looking at her grandmother’s fallen form, she knew she had to find out if she was alive or dead. She picked up a heavy leaded glass bowl from the coffee table, dumped out the plastic fruit, and moved to her grandmother’s side.