Free Fallback by Lori Whitwam Page A

through the large kitchen, checking doorways and remaining alert for anything that needed killing.
    As we completed our inspection of the back of the house and proceeded into the dining room, a scuffle and brief sounds of combat met us. We arrived to discover Marcus and Patrick had already dispatched the three zombies they’d found gathered at the stairs, unable to ascend due to a small armchair wedged between the railing and the wall near the bottom, evidently shoved down from above as a makeshift barricade.
    “Report quick,” Marcus said in a terse whisper. “We still have at least one person upstairs we gotta deal with.”
    “Kitchen and back of the house are clear,” Theo informed him. “We didn’t open what I figure is the basement door. It’s locked from the kitchen side, so we can check it out after we see what’s up there.”
    Marcus’ shoulders relaxed slightly. “Supplies?”
    I shook my head. “Lots of dirt, but no supplies, unless they’re in the basement.”
    “Eh, I didn’t think so,” Marcus said. “Front knob was busted off, and judging by the weathered wood around the break, not recently. Looks like whoever’s upstairs pulled that coffee table in front of it to try to buy a few seconds.” He indicated the heavy pine table and the scratches it had left in the plank floors when it failed to hold back the combined weight of the zombies currently leaking ichor in the entryway. “Let’s get a few more people in here and see what we’ve got upstairs.”
    Theo stepped to the open front door, pointed a few times, and motioned with his arm for them to come into the house. Rebecca, Anton Lindahl, and Javier Alvarado joined us in the increasingly crowded foyer after dragging the zombies outside. I was glad to see Javier and Anton both carried rifles. We didn’t know what we were facing, and there was the old adage about bringing a knife to a gunfight to consider.
    Marcus and Patrick approached the bottom of the stairs and maneuvered the armchair free, levering it to the side.
    “Hello,” Marcus called. “It’s all clear down here.” He paused, awaiting a reply, but was met with only silence. “Hey, how many up there?”
    After a few seconds, a hoarse, male voice answered, “One. Just me. No dead.”
    I thought the person was probably telling the truth, since if there were more than one or two, they most likely could have taken out the zombies. The three inside the house for sure, and enough of the ones gathered outside to make an escape. But we wouldn’t take anything for granted.
    “Where are you?” Marcus asked, putting one booted foot on the bottom stair.
    “Big bedroom on the right, facing the front, where I hung out the sheet.”
    Marcus looked at us and nodded. “Open the door and place your weapons on the floor in the hall, then go stand in the middle of the room, hands where I can see ’em. We’re coming up.”
    “I’m not putting down my weapons,” the man called back. “I don’t know you. You people could be more of the bastards who raided my village.”
    Marcus moved up one more stair. “You don’t know us, we don’t know you. We don’t mean you any harm, but we aren’t stupid, either, and we won’t take any shit. Do what I said, and we’ll get this sorted out real quick.”
    A moment of silence was followed by the sound of footsteps and some heavy thuds as items were placed on the floor somewhere near the top of the stairs. “C’mon up,” the voice said.
    Marcus pointed to me and Anton, and we followed him up the stairs, placing our feet carefully on the worn floral runner. Outside the first door on the right, I saw a handgun, a five-foot long spear which appeared custom-made, and a long-handled hammer. One side of the hammer head was cylindrical and ended in a flat surface, while the other side tapered to a blunt tip resembling a chisel. I’d seen something like it before, but couldn’t think where.
    Darting to the other side of the door, Marcus motioned