I held the brace with all my might, it wasn't enough. The 2x8 wooden plank was not going to hold them back. Their rotting arms and hands kept prying through the window, not caring about the shards of broken glass.Ian ran up once he saw how much trouble I was having.
"Thanks. Um, can you hold it for a sec while I reposition?" I asked. I was pushing forward, with my elbows bent out awkwardly. My wavy shoulder-length brown hair was all in my face, making it slightly difficult to see.
"Uh, yeah, sure."
"Got it?"
"Yeah. Go." I flipped around as soon as possible, now using my side and shoulder to push on it. I felt it getting easier after half a minute, like the zombies had started giving up or something. There were still some, about six or seven were persevering. I let him hold it while I pulled my knife out of my pocket. It was a hunting knife, a three-inch with a curved blade. I got it for my 14th birthday from my uncle. I started slashing everything in sight. Hands fell to the floor, blood was everywhere, and eventually, they were all dead. Or, dead-er. Whatever. Ian and I set the wood plank down and started looking around. We had been walking for three weeks looking for MInneapolis. We had started in Eastern Wisconsin, because my car had died there. He had been walking around looking for shelter when he met me. I was scared and alone. So was he. We had both killed our fair share of zombies, and together, we were unstoppable. He was two years older than me, so we weren't very far off. We weren't together together, but we were really close. He's pretty much the only family I had since the Invasion started.
