The group has been quiet since yesterday, everybody too scared that those zombies will find their way in.
“No,” I say. “If we find something workable, we’ll come back and let everyone know. Otherwise, just wasting time.”
Cameron rushes off like an excited puppy. Nine years younger but still acts like he’s nine years old sometimes. Maybe it’s because of the prospect of getting Sienna somewhere safer.
I wipe my face, drag a hand through my hair, and grab the machete. The weight feels good in my hand, like the weapon becomes an extension of my arm when everything else feels like it’s spinning out of control.
I make my way to the main entrance.
The corridors are clear, though it still smells like death. That sweet-rot stench that clings to everything. Gets in your clothes, your hair, under your fingernails. The kind of smell that becomes part of you if you let it.
Just as I reach the door, Cameron practically skips back to me, jingling a set of keys like we’re going on a fucking road trip instead of escaping a zombie horde.
He holds them up triumphantly. “Let’s test them out.”
I grunt, inching the church door open to scan the parking lot and grounds. It’s a graveyard of abandoned vehicles, maybe twelve in all. Most are parked near the front entrance, some are left in the middle of the walkway, wanting to escape but apparently didn’t make it. Dark stains mark the asphalt where people fell.
Or turned.
Four zombies mill about—two by the far fence, one dragging its mangled leg on the other side, another face-down in the flower beds.
“We kill them first.” I step out, machete ready.
The morning air hits my face, fresher than the death-soaked church, but tainted with the same underlying rot. Almost peaceful if you ignore the walking corpses. Cameron follows, his breathing too loud in the stillness.
“Sienna’s going to kill me for not telling her we were doing this,” he mutters.
“Better her than them.” I nod toward the shambling figures. “Besides, you’d just distract each other.”
He smirks. “Jealous?”
“Of what? Your inability to focus when she’s around?”
“Of having someone.”
“Focus on the task.”
We weave between trees and other cars, ducking low. The closest zombie turns, nose raised like it caught our scent, then shuffles in our direction.
Its jaw hangs by strips of flesh, eyes milky but somehow still hungry.
I raise my machete and close the distance in three quick steps. The blade slices through rotted flesh and bone. No sound but the wet thud of its body hitting asphalt follows.
We split up, each targeting one of the remaining zombies. The one dragging its leg doesn’t even turn as I approach frombehind, driving my blade through its skull. Dark fluid splatters my boots, adding to the collection of stains.
Cameron dispatches his target with less grace but equal effectiveness, jamming his poker through the thing’s eye socket. His face is tight, jaw clenched against what I know is disgust. He was never meant for this kind of work.
“You good?” I ask.
He nods once, wiping sweat from his forehead with his sleeve. “One more.”
The last one creeps among the flower beds, face down, making wet, gurgling sounds as it tries to right itself. Pathetic. I end it quickly.
“Clear,” I say, scanning the lot once more. “Let’s check the vehicles.”
Cameron searches through the purse. “I think this one was for the pick up.”
He tosses me the key, and I catch it one-handed as we approach a dusty black pickup truck parked near the gate. Solid choice if it runs.
