Free Dead Quarantine by A. Rosaria Page B

shadows. He halted, looked around,
but saw nothing. It must have been his imagination playing tricks
on him. A container office, probably from the real estate company,
stood a bit away from the houses. A few trucks, a car, and a van
stood parked next to it. About to move away, he heard something
brush against the van. He whirled around. A silhouette moved from
behind the van. It was a man with a construction helmet on—one of
the workers left behind. Shade covered his face. The man stood
motionless, staring at him.
    Ralph waved. “Goodnight,” he said and
immediately felt stupid for doing so.
    The man lurched forward in an awkward way as
if each step was his first. Ralph backed away. It meant one thing.
A moan came from another direction. He looked. Two other men came
from behind the third house under construction. Same as the first,
they had construction helmets on and they had the same kind of
walk. The van zombie was getting closer. Ralph could now clearly
see that its throat was torn out. This one had not died from the
flu. Ralph backed away from him. Behind him, he heard a growl.
Three more came walking. They were going to surround him and block
his escape.
    He had no choice; he ran for it. The two
were fifteen feet away. He had to get past them to get to the
house. With any luck, they could only move slightly faster than
walking. The house was still a hundred yards away. He rushed the
two zombies, ducked under their grabbing arms, and ran between
them, leaving them fast behind. Angry growling and moans chased
him, but they couldn't keep up with him while he was sprinting. He
felt his muscles sour; he couldn't keep this speed up any longer.
He was almost there; just a little bit more and he would safely
reach the house.
    His left leg cramped and he stumbled in the
dirt, rolling sideways in pain and clamping his hands around his
calf. Gritting his teeth together, he pulled his hands away. The
zombies were steadily closing the distance between them. He tried
to stand and fell again, crying out in pain. He could not walk
until the cramp subsided. He rolled to his stomach. Clawing the
dirt, he pulled himself forward, dragging his legs behind him.
Between cries of pain, he cried out for help.
    The moans sounded louder by the second. He
was too afraid to look back. He crawled forward, expecting any
second the bite that would signal his end. He kept his eyes focused
on the ground, putting all of his energy in his arms to pull
himself forward. Footfalls sounded ahead of him. Damn. He had been
too late, so close yet too late. He lay down, unmoving and waiting
to be put out of his misery. He regretted not having the chance to
know Lauryn better and not seeing his family again.
    “What has gotten into you, lying in the
middle of the street? Get your ass up,” a man said.
    Hands grabbed him and hoisted him up. He was
tall and broad. The zombies were almost on their heels. The man
held him up while they hasted for the open door. Yellow light
basked over them, hurting his eyes, but there was nowhere else he
would rather be than inside with those lights. Moving just a tad
faster than the zombies, they kept out of reach.
    A few steps led to the door. He would have
to climb, though he could barely support his weight on his leg with
his cramp still in effect. He slowed down, not sure how to manage
it.
    “Move!”
    The man grabbed him around the waist and
hoisted him up the steps. He jumped on the landing and pulled Ralph
along. One zombie tripped over the step and fell; its fingers
grabbed onto Ralph’s shirt as it went down, pulling Ralph with it.
The man turned, raised his boot, and stomped on the zombie’s skull
before it could dig its teeth into Ralph's flesh. The cracking
sound sent shivers down Ralph's spine. The man grabbed him by the
collar, dragged him inside, and slammed the door. He was safe for
now.

CHAPTER EIGHT
    Sarah
sat next to Lilly, her best friend since junior high. She liked her
a lot. She was shy, pretty,