Free 36 Hours by Anthony Barnhart

on the pavement, milling around a smoking car crash, a Volvo and Buick left in the debris.
    “Everyone get down ,” I snarled.
    Les and Hannah ducked away from the window and slid against the wall, sitting down. I didn’t move.
    Les snapped, “Hypocrite. Get away from the window.”
    “They can’t see me.”
    Les snapped, “If you can see them, they can see you. Austin!”
    The infected drew closer. Something ran over and over in my mind: Funeral march. It looked like a procession of mourners, hunched over in despair, trudging one last time to echo a farewell good-bye to a lost loved on. Except the opposite was true. They weren’t out to mourn the dead, but to kill the living. And that’s when one snapped its head around and stared right at me, those fiery, sunken eyes ablaze with blood-thirst. My heart shimmied into my throat and I fell away from the window, crashing over a green trunk and falling to the ground with a large thump . The walls and floor vibrated. Hannah’s eyes widened. Les growled, “Austin. Stop messing around.”
    I crawled over beside the bed.
    “No. Get against the wall. Crouch down. If they look in, they’ll see you.”
    “The windows are high up-“
    Hannah now, voice watery: “Austin, stop screwing around!”
    Anthony Barnhart
    36 Hours
    49
    I muttered something under my breath and crawled over to the wall, scrunching up, holding my legs to my chest. Heart thundered. Sweat dripped down my face, tracing dark lines. I stared at Les and Hannah side-by-side, and imagined them holding hands. Him leaning over, and kissing her lips; her eyes fluttering, she returning the kiss, passionately, and my heart turned sour, and my mind switched over. Anger. Jealousy. The vision remained stark in my mind, and it worried me. Don’t know why. Les already had a girlfriend, and Hannah had never shown interest in him. But the very idea that they could be together made my insides churn spoiled butter. Romances forged under the heat of battle, right?
    Silence.
    The wind rustling against the windows. The tick of a grandfather clock downstairs.
    Glared at Les, mouthed, Are they gone?
    He raised his hands and shrugged.
    Legs numb. I’m going to check.
    He shook his head. No.
    It’ll be fine.
    No.
    What did he know? I was the one who opened his eyes to what was happening, anyways. I moved against the wall, the muscles in my legs burning from being positioned so awkwardly for so long. The numbness faded, and a tense burning warmed my limbs. I stood against the wall, the window next to my right shoulder. Deep breath. I swung around and gazed out the glass, barred window. The street was empty. The car crash continued to smolder. The sun rose over the roofs of the house down the drive. A smile creased my lips. We had-I leapt back, heart screaming wildly, as a bloodied face jerked up by the window. The sunken eyes glared at me, the pupils widening with lust. Torn flesh hung in ribbons from the cheek and jawbones, dried blood caking the side of the face. The mouth opened, revealing the stained teeth, and the infected threw his head against the window, leaving cracks and a red smear. Hannah and Les jumped. They’d seen me fall back and knew something was up. A hand rose next to the window and hurled against the glass. It shattered and blew between the bars. The hand wrapped around one of the bars; I bashed it with my Anthony Barnhart
    36 Hours
    50
    knuckles, and the infected howled, ripping back his arm; and his body fell away, landing with a crash in the overgrown weeds below. I stared at the blood-smeared window.
    The sound of crunching glass, then the breaking of a window. A creaking door.
    Hannah shuddered. “They’re… inside…”
    My feet took me over to the other window, and I looked out. Infected swarmed the driveway, around my Jeep. The crowd was dwindling. They were coming into the house . My mind flickered with a horrible image—the door breaking apart and them rushing in, tearing us to shreds as we