The Monsters Among Us ➳ Daryl Dixon

19. The Bones of Another

I could hear the unnerving chorus of biters drifting out from the inside of the large brick building to our left as we slowly made our way down the alley between the two factories. The large faded sign above the building on our right declared itself as our destination.

Paul McDonald’s Metalworks.

Both Daryl and I let out a sigh of relief when we realised the factory near overflowing with biters would not be needing our attention on that particular day.

Despite that, the sheer volume of sound coming from that factory beside us was something to be concerned about. Running along the side of the building was a series of metal roller doors. All of them were closed, locked shut by a handful of padlocks that glimmered in the mid-afternoon light, though I doubted they would do be useful for too much longer. I could hear the dead behind the doors, crashing against the metal with a near rhythmic tempo. The doors themselves didn’t look as if they were long for this world – the metal was rusted, having likely not been replaced for decades, and bowed outwards beneath the onslaught of the walkers behind them.

We hurried down the wide alley, emerging around the corner of the metalwork factory to find the front entrance. They, too, had a pair of roller doors, both along the front wall and pulled shut. Unlike the other building, these didn’t move and still glinted in the sunlight a shiny, new silver.

Also unlike the other building, these roller doors were locked from the inside. We weren’t getting in through there.

“There,” Daryl called out after a moment, pointing towards the small section of the building that jutted out from the main area. It looked to be a reception of sorts, blocked by a pair of double doors with thick glass panelling.

We approached the entrance and I reached out a hand to yank the door open, only to find it was locked.

Just our luck.

Crouching down, I searched for a brief moment for some kind of keyhole or locking mechanism, rising a few seconds later with a frustrated huff. “Damn.”

Daryl cocked a brow. “What?”

“It’s an electric lock,” I answered, gesturing toward the side of the door where a black key-card reader was mounted to the metal doorframe. “Can’t pick that.”

Daryl pointed a lazy hand toward the upper glass panel in the door. “So, we break it.”

I turned to look side-long at him with a cheeky grin, pointing a finger at him gleefully. “I like the way you think.”

He snorted a chuckle.

“Come on. A few two-twenty-threes will get through that bitch,” I remarked, turning back around toward the opening of the alleyway in order to return to the truck. Honestly, there were likely a half-dozen different ways we could break that glass. A good smack with the back of a dagger hilt would probably be effective enough, never mind a solid kick or two to the bottom pane.

Using the gun was a personal preference. And not at all juvenile, right?

We were making our way around toward the truck when the inevitable happened. A shuddering crash echoed through the alleyway as the roller door to the factory on our left folded beneath the weight of the undead behind it. Like a dam breaking beneath the pressure of water, the biters flooded out of the factory and into the alley.