Free Zombies! A Love Story by MAGGIE SHAYNE Page A

closest set of pipes to their source, a large tank beside one of the outbuildings. The Hastings’ old house, a hundred yards away, looked peaceful, untouched by the horror plaguing our town.
    “We’re gonna have to get out of the truck, aren’t we?” I asked.
    He nodded. “It’s okay. I sped up when we got close. They move slow. We’ll be fine.” He opened his door, then looked back at me. “I’m not gonna let ‘em get you, Suz.”
    “I’m not gonna let ‘em get you, either, Chuck. Don’t you doubt it.”
    He grinned. I pulled out my gun and worked the action. Then I opened my door and jumped down, took a look around. No zombies in sight, except the almost-one climbing down off the truck’s giant tank. Mr. Reynolds was starting to look a little blue in the lips.
    “Mr. Reynolds?” I asked, gun aimed at the ground...for now.
    He nodded. “I’m still here.” He closed his eyes, opened them again. “Let’s get this done.”
    I looked down at the hose we’d been dragging behind us. It was in amazingly good shape. Banged and scuffed up but the metal ring on the end was still intact. I spotted a wheel on the truck that must be the valve as I walked around to join Chuck at the irrigation tank. Reynolds limped along to join us, but he was looking rough.
    Keeping my eye on him, and watching carefully for other creeps, I said, “So how do we do this?”
    “You’ll have to drain the irrigation tank first,” Reynolds said. “Then refill it with gas. There’s the valve.” He pointed.
    Chuck moved fast, but quiet, and pulled the lever Reynolds had indicated. Water–no, not water. Sonatta’s nutrient solution, I reminded myself–started gushing from a spigot on the side. It made a river on the ground, and I hoped it wasn’t as artificial and toxic to the earth as everything else Sonatta made. “Can you turn the truck around so the hose can reach the tank?” Chuck asked.
    “I think so.” I went to the truck, noticed Reynolds picking up its long hose and getting it out of the way so I wouldn’t ruin it by running it over. It was a miracle we hadn’t already done so. After stalling the rig twice, I managed to turn the thing around back it up close to the tank. Chuck quickly slung the end of the hose over his shoulder, then mounted a ladder on the side of the large tank and climbed up. He dropped the end of the hose in, let it fall as far as it would go, and climbed back down.
    I looked back toward the road. The first couple of creeps were slogging along it now.
    “Is that tank about empty?”
    “Almost,” he said. He took the air rifle off, handed it to me. “Use this if they get close enough. It won’t attract the others as fast.”
    “Attracting the others is what we want.”
    “Yeah, but not for another five minutes.”
    So we sat there, watching the creeps shuffling closer, watching Reynolds inch closer to death and the horror that awaited him on the other side of it, and waiting for the damn irrigation tank to drain. I wondered if they still had souls, those creepers, or if they were just animated flesh without anything left inside of the person they’d once been. I didn’t suppose there was any way I’d ever know the answer to that.
    One of them got close enough to make me bring the rifle to my shoulder, aim and shoot. The framing nail hit him in the shoulder. He jerked sideways, but then kept on coming.
    Jeeze. I took aim and fired again. Got him in the head that time. He went down, but there were more coming. A woman. A couple of kids. I couldn’t shoot kids. Zombies or not, I couldn’t.
    “We’re out of time, Chuck.”
    He glanced back at me, then at the road, then he nodded. “It’s close enough.” He closed off the valve. The water flow stopped. I ran back to the truck, and opened the tanker’s valve, turning the wheel until it wouldn’t turn any more. “Is it working?” I asked, because from where I stood, it seemed nothing was happening.
    Chuck climbed back up the tank