Don't Whistle Past the Graveyard

Ch. Thirteen

When I got to the front door, I stopped. It was like the entire world was burning. Smoke stung my eyes and the night was lit up with fires everywhere.

I couldn't understand how it spread so quickly, and wondered how the fires had started.

The short answer is we're pretty sure they fire-bombed the hospital. Like Kyle had said, it had been a really dry summer, and everything just went up like kindling.

That also explained why we hadn't been able to call the hospital earlier, though, that's neither here nor there.

Through the thick smoke, I could just make out some movement in the parking lot and headed toward it, assuming it was just Shane and Kyle.

This is Rule #1 of the zombie apocalypse: Never, ever assume.

By the time I realized it was neither Shane nor Kyle, it was too late and the zombies had seen me. I stumbled backward, unsure of which way to go. I wanted to run, but was also reluctant to turn my back on the zombies, of which there were two.

They started coming toward me, slowly at first, then faster. I looked around desperately for something to use as a weapon since I'd given Shane his gun back.

I couldn't see Shane or Kyle through the dark and the smoke, and was afraid to call out for them. I didn't want to draw more zombies. I backed up further, eyes wide, the smoke making them tear and blur.

My heart stopped when I bumped into one of the abandoned cars still in the parking lot.

When I turned, I saw it was a newer model truck. I turned back to see the zombies now running at me and cursed. Of course. They just had to be zombies that could freakin' run.

I pulled myself into the bed of the truck and looked around. I dropped to my hands and knees, searching for anything I could use. A scream froze in my throat when one of the zombies slammed into the side of the truck, rocking it.

I could have cried with relief when my hands felt something metal. My fingers felt as the bar curved, and I laughed when I realized it was a crowbar. The sound was absolutely absurd. Why there was a crowbar there, I didn't know and I sure as hell didn't care.

I picked it up and turned, just to almost fall over when the second zombie crashed into the side of the pickup.

The zombies growled and hissed, reaching toward me with pale, bloated fingers. They didn't try to climb up after me though, and I decided to chalk that up as a win.

I stood with the crowbar gripped tightly in my hands, trying to figure out how to kill the zombies without getting scratched or grabbed. Something I'd seen in a movie or something popped into my head. My adrenaline surged, my fingers tightening even more, if that was possible.

I lifted my leg and stomped down on the nearest zombie's arm as hard as I could. I got a perfect angle and there was a horrifying crack. White bones poked out from the skin.

The zombie didn't even flinch, still trying to grab me. I stood watching it for a moment, and its indifference at the horrible injury solidified the fact that these were really zombies.

This should have completely freaked me out, but all it really did was allow me to survive.

When I swung the crowbar, it was without hesitation and as hard as I could. I connected with the zombie's head and the metal crunched through its skull at the temple. I wrenched it back, then smashed the crowbar into its head again when it was still standing.

The second hit sunk the tip of the crowbar all the way into the zombie's head and it fell.

Which would have been great, except it took the crowbar with it.

I still had one more zombie to deal with.

I looked around again, but didn't see anything else. Fear started clawing at me now. I tried to choke it down and think my way out of this.

There had to be a way.

I looked at the zombie on the ground that had my crowbar, then at the zombie still trying to grab at me. Its eyes glowed that dead white and in the flickering light, I could see where a chunk of flesh had been torn out of its upper arm and neck.

When I looked around, I could see more zombies, their forms wavering in the smoke.

That crowbar was all I had.

I felt the fear drain away, leaving cold resolve in its place. If the crowbar was all I had, then I had to get it. It was as simple as that.

Rule #2 of the zombie apocalypse is: Keep it simple, stupid. Don't over complicate things.

The other zombies were still far enough away that I could ignore them for now. I took the backpack off, not wanting the extra weight to put me off balance.

I did the same thing to the second zombie that I did to the first, but this time I tried to break both arms. He'd be less able to grab me that way. Hopefully.

I only really succeeded with one, but that was all I needed. Taking a page out of Shane's playbook, I kicked the zombie in the face twice, forcing it backwards.

I dropped to the ground and shoved the zombie away, ignoring when blood from its destroyed face dripped down onto my hands. I grabbed the crowbar and pried it from the first zombie's head, before swinging at the other zombie. 

The first swing was rushed, and it hit too low, the zombie spun around by the force. I gaped in horror as the zombie turned back to me, its jaw hanging away from its head, completely broken. It still kept coming and lunged at me.

I dodged to the side and the zombie plowed into the side of the truck, missing me by centimeters. I swung again, smashing the zombie's head between the crowbar and the cab of the truck.

Turning, I saw that the other zombies had managed to close in, and suddenly I was pissed, getting a better grip on the crowbar.

If they wanted to eat me, they'd pay for it dearly. 

Not that zombies really care or anything, but the thought made me feel better.

I just really hoped Shane and Kyle hadn't stayed, waiting for me. I didn't want them to get trapped.

I know, I know. You're rolling your eyes and that's fine. You're thinking, oh look, Raleigh's gonna go out all noble or whatever, only thinking about the hot guy and his brother that she's leaving behind.

I get it. I'd roll my eyes too, but that's just how it was. I mean, what was the point of thinking about myself?

I was pretty much dead already.

Yes, I fully realize that's a Shane quote from The Walking Dead. I couldn't resist, plus it's one hundred percent true. So sue me.

The smoke stung my eyes and I could hear the dull roar of the flames. I coughed as the smoke thickened, seeming to condense in my lungs.

I was breathing hard from the smoke and the first two zombies, and wondered if there was any way I was getting out of this alive.

The answer came in the form of a faded blue Ford and two military boys.

All I heard was, "Hit the dirt!"

I wasn't about to wait and ask questions and flung myself to the ground, grimacing when my hand landed in a pool of sticky blood from the first zombie's head.

I heard three or four shots, then someone was picking me up and throwing me into the truck.