Free The End: A Post Apocalyptic Thriller by Dane Hatchell, P.A. Douglas Page A

and bent-up rusty nails to re-barricade the room.
    “They got Bo, man. What the fuck are we supposed to do now?” Willy said.
    Gus immediately turned back to Willy, who had lost all the color in his face and his eyes looked glazed over.
    “Stay tight, soldier. Stay tight! We’ve got to keep our heads in the game.” Gus turned his attention back to the two men fast at work on the barricade. The door shook like crazy. Incessant moaning and banging of fists and limbs violently shook the doors on their hinges.
    Gus grabbed hold of the large desk, and in one solid motion, yanked its heavy wooden frame in front of the doors—shoving it flush. “Got anything I can use as a hammer?” Gus said as calm as he could, given the situation.
    “Look around and grab anything that’ll work,” Seth said while he feverishly worked.
    “There’s a box of nails on the floor next to that tree over there,” George said.
    Billy popped out from behind the tree, grabbed up the box of rusted, worn-out nails, and stepped out into the center of the lobby holding the box up high, excited to see the men in uniform. He always wanted to be a cop one day, because that’s what his dad was and he loved his dad. He was so brave, at least, until he went missing.
    Grabbing a heavy brass lamp, Gus ripped off the shade and headed for the door. “Let’s see if this will do the trick,” Gus said as he stepped past the little boy, taking several nails in hand as he did.
    Billy’s eyes never veered from Gus, not once.
    The three men continued throwing up board after board, nailing in each piece quick and sloppy. Luckily, there were no windows in the room, leaving the doors to be the only thing worth worrying about when it came to barricading the place.
    “Let’s get these in, and then go back and reinforce it after,” Seth said, pulling his long dark hair out of his eyes, sweat making it cling to his face a little.
    Willy perched himself against the wall opposite of the doors, sat on the floor, and watched the three men hastily work. Looking confused and unable to focus, he had elbows propped up on knees with both hands covering his face. Several reloaded weapons tucked at his side. Two 9mm pistols, a mini machete, and an M-4 rifle all set ready to fire, safeties off.
    “Your friend over there going to be all right, Mister? He doesn’t look so hot,” George asked, hammer in hand, swinging it as he spoke.
    “Ya, he’ll be fine. He just needs a minute,” Gus replied. “We just lost one of our own out there. They were close friends, and besides, what the hell took you guys so long to let us in anyway? You do realize that we were getting run down out there, right?”
    “You’re looking at it, man. We had this whole thing boarded up. We saw you guys landing and immediately ran down here and started taking all of this crap down,” Seth said.
    *
    Once upstairs, the five of them rewarded their hard labor with rest. The front entrance was once again boarded up and as secure as it would ever be, given what they had to work with.
    Zombies pounded at the newly reconstructed blockade, ever persistent in quenching their hunger.
    Willy sat next to Billy on one couch, Billy’s age really showing. He sat wide-eyed and giddier than ever as he asked question after question about what it was like to fly in a helicopter.
    Seth sat at his broadcaster’s chair, discussing the situation with George and Gus.
    Gus kept turning his gaze toward the window, his jaw tight with an ever-growing scowl on his face.
    Even after the brutal display of fire from the sky and countless bodies falling to the ground, meeting their Maker never to return, never to rise again, the parking lot still managed to be just as full as ever. A hundred zombies, if not more, gathered below, with more gathering each minute from the adjacent streets.
    The hoard of undead shuffled atop the countless remains of their fallen brothers and sisters. Moans grew as their numbers swelled. The chopper was