Dawn of the Dead (21 page)

As Steve fumbled with the second lock, Peter faced the few zombies that were converging along the balcony. He lifted his new superweapon and stared through the scope. The gun went off with a stupendous growl, the sound of its power reverberating through the mall. The single shot ripped cleanly through the center forehead of one of the creatures.

A pleased smirk on his face, Peter took aim again and made another perfect kill. Then a third time—whammo—and another zombie bit the dust. All the while, Roger fired several times, some of his shots going wild, others making the target.

As Fran stood ready at the roll gate, Steve finished with the final lock. Then she pushed against the cage, and it started up. Now, Steve stood and the two rolled the cage into the ceiling, but Steve was particularly careful not to let the gate roll out of his hands. They had been instructed very carefully by Peter, and they both wanted to make a good impression. This is like the first day of school, Fran thought cynically. They were both afraid to do anything wrong and have Peter’s wrath brought down upon them.

Fran moved into the store followed by Peter, who pulled the cart behind him. Then, Steve, Peter and Fran pulled the gate shut long before any of the advancing creatures could reach them.

Once again, the zombies pounded on the locked gates, but the humans were already running through the aisles of the big store, and the pounding was very distant to them.

“How’s the ride?” Peter asked as he wheeled Roger into the elevator and hit the button for the first floor. The doors closed and the car started down.

“Kinda bumpy,” Roger said, trying for humor, but Peter could sense that he was in extreme pain. In a movement that was out of character for the stern trooper, Peter put his hand on Roger’s shoulder.

“Look here . . .” he started, his voice cracking a bit.

Roger was immediately embarrassed, for himself as well as Peter.

“I know, I know . . . Shut up,” he said affectionately.

They had both been through a lot together, and it was something not easily put into words. It was an unspoken truce on the battlefield, something that men in combat would carry about with them forever.

The elevator doors glided open, and Peter pushed the cart out into the first floor of Porter’s. His expression did not show any of the softness that the conversation with Roger, seconds before, had exhibited. He was ready for action.

Fran and Steve charged down the store escalator, moving faster than the steps. They ran through the hardware department, where Steve snatched up several propane torches. Fran stuffed a few extra bottles of gas into her backpack.

Then, as Fran held two torches, Steve lit them. A great hiss exploded, and one of the propane nozzles spat out a white hot flame as it was ignited by one of the new disposable lighters that the foursome had “liberated.”

Peter wheeled the cart up to the first-floor entrance gate. Several creatures outside the cage flew into a sudden frenzy at seeing the humans, as if they were animals in a zoo. They slammed against the grid but it only swayed, holding up against their weight as usual.

“Unlock the middle one last,” Peter instructed.

Steve fell on the right-hand lock with his keys. He could feel Peter’s eyes boring into the back of his head and wanted to do the job properly. His hands shook as he tried the keys in the lock. As he crouched by the gate, the zombies converged, pushing and shoving. He could smell their hot sour breath and feel their insistent pressure against the cage. Fran held one of the lit torches very close to the gate, and the creatures backed away, cringing and shielding their eyes. Finally, Steve found the correct key, and the lock gave way with a solid click.

Once more Steve crouched. This time he bent over the lock to the extreme left. As if they were trained seals, the zombies followed. Fran stood at attention with the flaming torch. No longer did she shrink away when the creatures approached. She had become almost inured to them.

“All right,” Peter said to Steve’s back. “The toughest part’ll be gettin’ by these right here . . .”

The second lock clicked open. The zombies continued to push, and the gate was more pliant with only the middle lock securing it now.

“It’s a long haul down to the entrance,” Steve replied, moving to the middle and final lock.

Peter craned his neck to see past the zombies and down the concourse. Attracted to the noise and commotion, several other zombies started toward Porter’s entrance.

“We’ll be all right,” Peter told him, looking off toward one of the main entrances, where a truck trailer blocked off the entrance from the outside.

“It’s too far!” Fran cried out, panic rising in her voice.

“There’s no backin’ out now,” Peter insisted. “We gotta lock those doors!”

“We’ll never make all four,” Fran countered, her fear in control and the power of reasoning replacing it. “It’s too risky.”

“You just stay here and be ready to open up for us,” Steve told her from his crouching position.

Suddenly her eyes lit up.

“The car!”

“What?” a startled Peter asked.

“The car!”

She pointed to the slowly spinning exhibit that displayed the new automobile. It was a sleek, sporty Mustang that looked fast and maneuverable.

Peter immediately grasped the plan forming in Fran’s mind. He looked trepidatiously at Roger, who had been uncharacteristically quiet during the last few hours.

“You OK to start it?” he asked the other trooper, who cringed with pain but nodded his head affirmatively.

Despite Roger’s discomfort, he moved quickly and efficiently, reaching for his supply pack.

The zombies continued to clutch at the gate with renewed strength. At the unlocked ends, the grid gave a little but still managed to hold the ghouls out. Fran approached the gate and waved the torch menacingly. The creatures moaned and moved back. With a flick of the wrist, Steve unlocked the middle and final lock.

“It’s goin’ up,” he warned.

With a thunderous roar, the gate swung out of Steve’s fingertips. The zombies charged, but Fran’s torches made them hold back slightly. Steve grabbed one of the propane canisters with one hand and drew a pistol with the other. Fran drew a handgun from her holster too, and they both fired into the pack of zombies. A few fell by the entranceway, knocking over a small perfume display. Others tried to approach but were frightened away by the bright flames.

With remarkable agility, one male ghoul started toward Steve, but the pilot managed to blast his torch directly into the monster’s face. The black matted hair caught fire, and the creature threw itself wildly about, scattering other zombies around him.

During the altercation, Peter saw his chance to break away with the cart and charged through the opening.

Wincing in agony, Roger gripped the sides of the cart until his knuckles turned white. Peter maneuvered him through the throng of zombies, and they crashed through, scattering the creatures about like so many bowling pins. They headed straight for the car exhibit, successfully dodging the few zombies on the concourse in the cart’s path.

“Close the gate . . . close the gate . . .” Peter shouted over his shoulder as he made his way toward the spinning vehicle.

Steve grabbed the lip of the roll cage, and it started down. Fran stood by, still inside the store, with one of the torches held high as if she were the Statue of Liberty safeguarding New York harbor.

“The keys, Stephen,” she realized as the gate rolled down steadily. “The
keys
!”

Steve dove toward the gate and tried to impede its downward progress, but it slammed shut with a metallic crash.

“Jesus Christ!” Fran swore in desperation at Steve’s clumsiness.

Peter stopped in his tracks when he heard Fran’s outburst. He looked back but several creatures had followed him and they advanced slowly, blocking his view.

Other creatures had stayed with Steve, and they approached him as he tried to pass the keys back through the small opening in the gate. The big ring was too big.

“You mother!” Steve cried out to no one in particular.

“Keep ’em . . . just keep ’em,” Fran shouted frantically. “Look out!”

The zombies approached Steve from the back now and they were very close. He lunged at them with his torch. They backed off slightly.

“Come on, man! Get outa there!” Peter cried out as the creatures on the concourse continued to draw closer to him and Roger.

Still in agony, Roger managed to level off several shots, but he was very shaky from his extreme discomfort. With much skill and a little luck, he was able to down one of the zombies.

“Stephen,” Fran shrieked. “For God’s sake . . .” she held up her torch so that the bright flame faced the converging ghouls.

Stephen crouched and put the key in the right-hand lock, which was also approachable from the outside. The zombies continued their slow relentless crawl toward him.

Peter was also in a terrible predicament as another group of the creatures drew nearer. He started to push the cart again, and managed to dodge around two little clusters of the walking dead.

Just as the lock clicked, one of the bolder creatures grabbed Stephen from behind. A quick-thinking Fran managed to aim her torch closer, and it disarmed the zombie for a moment. Stephen was able to thrash his body back and knock the ghouls off balance. Then he deftly lifted the gate just high enough to slide the keys underneath it with just one lock undone.

The creatures swarmed around him now, closing in. One of them grabbed Steve from behind, knocking his torch flying. It rolled away with agonizing slowness, but Steve was blocked from retrieving it. Desperately, Fran tried to aim her pistol, but she couldn’t shoot through the grille. Instead, she held the torch higher. She was horrified as Steve kicked and scrambled, rolling on the floor. The zombies smothered him as if they were flies attracted to a discarded sandwich. He managed to roll onto his back and kick his legs high, knocking one or two of them to the floor. Then he pulled himself up to one elbow and fired with his pistol, killing another. He crawled to the torch and grabbed it, the clutching creatures tugging at his pants and shirt, all the while.

They didn’t have any particular system, but merely seemed to reach out and grasp whatever was close by. Their movements were wild and random, but there were so many of them that they managed to throw Steve off guard, and he had to struggle to regain his balance.

He was able to bring the flame up and flashed it at the zombies. They backed away enough for him to crawl to an open space. Once there, he was able to scramble to his feet, and he charged down the concourse toward the car.

Once at the exhibit, Peter stopped the cart, even though two lumbering creatures were practically breathing down his neck. He raised his rifle and fired at the oncoming ghouls. Roger, mustering all the strength he could and grimacing with the agonizing pain of his wounds, managed to pull himself up out of the cart. He limped to the exhibit as Peter’s supergun scored two perfect hits.

The platform was spinning slowly, but the wounded trooper lost his balance as he mounted it and fell, rolling against the car. The turntable carried him around toward another creature. Helpless, struggling in pain toward the driver’s door of the vehicle, he didn’t even have enough strength to call out.

“Watch it, Roger,” Steve, who was approaching, cried. “
Roger!
”

Roger turned his head and saw the ghoul just before the creature grabbed him. The thing’s hands randomly clutched at Roger’s dripping bandage, and its hands were covered with the trooper’s blood. Roger shrieked in pain.

Peter jumped onto the spinning turntable and leaned across the hood of the car. Without pausing, he fired point-blank into the creature’s skull, and his supergun drilled a hole the size of a half-dollar through the creature’s head. The momentum of the spinning turntable caused the thing to fall off the exhibit stand.

Peter rushed to Roger’s side. Excruciating pain shot through him as he tried desperately to open the driver’s-side door.

Peter tried to help Roger, and as they managed to open the door, which was unlocked, he eased his friend onto the seat. Immediately, almost numb, Roger went to work under the dash.

“Get in!” Peter shouted to Steve as he saw the zombies advancing now. As if a battle cry had gone out, they arrived from all points of the concourse. Steve rushed up to the platform, and he and the big trooper scrambled into opposite sides of the back seat. Simultaneously, they slammed the doors, making sure both the front and back locks were secured. Roger still worked as quickly as he could. The sweat drenched his face and neck, and his face twitched uncontrollably.

The leaders of the separate bands of creatures converged on the turntable. Some fell as they tried to step onto the moving disc, but others were successful and struggled over to the car. They smashed at the windows of the car with their hands, trying to find a way inside. From Fran’s point of view, it was a nightmarish scene: the men huddled in the shiny new, slowly rotating car, surrounded by the living dead, pounding and scratching the car.

She now relocked the gate mechanism that Steve had previously opened. She stood again, and tried to see over the zombie crowd, but it blocked her line of vision to the car. She could only hear the moaning of the creatures and their insistent pounding. With a sigh of despair and frustration, she turned the valve on her propane nozzle, extinguishing the flame.

“I’ll drive it . . .” Steve called out as the car’s engine roared to life. Roger gave a weak smile at his victory.

“I got it,” the wounded trooper insisted.

His face contorted in agony as he moved into position behind the wheel. Although he was shaking, he bit his lip and slammed the car into gear. As if they were cockroaches, at least eight creatures crawled over the car, and more threatened to approach. Roger waited patiently as the platform spun to a more desirable position. As soon as the nose of the car aimed directly down the concourse, he stepped on the gas and the car pulled out quickly. The men in the back watched in horror as zombies still pounded at the windows, their distorted faces pressed very close against the safety glass. As the car roared away, the creatures fell off into a heap, one on top of the other.