Living in Before

Guts

"There you are," the stranger sighed in relief, sans Georgia accent, "You had me wondering."

Bonk!

Rick was by my side after knocking his head on a pole. The sheriff's hat atop his head remained glued to his scalp. He gripped my forearm and forced the mic to his face. "Where are you," Rick questioned, "Outside? Can you see us right now?" We waited for a reply as we huddled around the radio. It came without missing a beat.

"Yeah, I can see you," the guy confirmed, "You're surrounded by geeks. That's the bad news."

"What's next," I asked, "I'm gonna say 'this day can't get any worse,' and you'll say-"

"It can."

"Listen," Rick voiced, squinting his eyes and tilting his head as if speaking to the stranger directly, "whoever you are, I don't mind tellin' you I'm a little concerned in here."

"Oh, man, you guys should see it from here. You'd be having a major freak-out."

"Instead of telling us how screwed we are, you mind telling us how to get out of here," I demanded.

"Yeah. I'd say make a run for it," the guy simply offered. Our silence made him explain. "My way's not as dumb as it sounds. You've got eyes on the outside. There's one geek still up on the tank, but the others have climbed down and joined the feeding frenzy where the horse went down. With me so far?"

"So far," Rick muttered as I felt for the horse.

"Okay," the guy said, "the street on the other side of the tank is less crowded. If you guys move now, while they're distracted, you stand a chance. Got ammo?"

"We shit bullets," I quipped.

Rick asked about the bag, but the guy told us to forget it, much to our dismay. He snatched the dead soldier's gun and grenade- which I barely noticed. Rick knew my handgun was full. "We've got a couple handguns," he panted into the mic, "Couple dozen bullets."

I took note of how his southern accent became prominent in his voice when he was worked up.

"Make 'em count," the guy advised, "Jump off the right side of the tank. Keep going in that direction. There's an alley up the street, maybe 50 yards. Be there."

"Hey," Rick paused, "What's your name?"

I impatiently pulled Rick while the guy on the radio criticized the question. Before climbing the ladder, I wished my friend good luck. He returned the gesture as he grabbed a random shovel from the tank. Taking a deep breath, Rick climbed out first and killed the walker atop the beige tank. After landing on the sidewalk, he kept a hold of my arm as we ran down the street. Walkers as far as I could see crowded opposite of us. I voiced my surprise, but focused as Rick told me he'd shoot the ones who got too close and that I should cover him. He killed about half a dozen walkers. I killed one at point blank.

As we turned the street corner, I aimed my gun only to come face to face with a young Asian man wearing a baseball cap. Clean, fair skin stood out beneath a dirty casual button up and dark jeans. He was barely shorter than Rick, who was of average male height. "Whoa," he panicked, light voice the same as in the tank, "Not dead! Come on!"

We ran down the narrow alley, wasting no time. About halfway, the guy paused, making his backpack stop shaking, and climbed a ladder connected to a white plastered building. Rick gestured for me to go first as he stared at the oncoming group of walkers. I shouted at him to hurry when I noticed he wasn't immediately following, snapping him out of his daze. The mystery guy helped us as a dozen walkers reached for the ladder's platform. We took a break.