Free K. T. Swartz by Zombie Bowl Page B

the probability of her sneaking up on every zombie without being detected was also slim. The building had few exits and few places to hide. The darkness alone was her greatest enemy. Coupled with the building’s layout and she was almost ready to pick another store.
    Movement attracted her attention. She adjusted the binoculars. A lone zombie shuffled to a stop between a truck and a toppled motorcycle. He stood there, jaw agape, shoulders sagging. His head turned to his left. She shifted her focus, followed his line of sight. Another zombie – a female in daisy dukes and a torn camisole – stood in the middle of the crosswalk just like an irritating pedestrian trying to piss off drivers. She even had a plastic bag in the crook of her arm. One of her heeled shoes hung around her ankle; the other had somehow managed to stay on.
    May turned the binoculars to the rest of the parking lot. In such a wide space, there had to be more than two zombies. But she saw no more. She climbed out of the truck for a quick run-through of Morrow’s. 2x4s, metal fencing, more drill battery packs, extra blowtorches. She stuck the bags in the front seat and drove slowly to All-Mart. The sound of the engine had both zombies looking her way. Her foot pressed against the accelerator. The female zombie limped right toward her. The truck slammed into her; the zombie rolled and bumped under the carriage, sliding to a stop behind her. Black streaks trailed from the tires.
    She backed up. Bone crunched as she braked. Looked around for the other one. Rotting hands slapped her window. She hissed, floored it in reverse, far enough away to leave the zombie stumbling after her. A corner of her lips twitched. She put the truck in gear, this time angling it better. The driver-side tires rolled right over him, hitting torso, chest, and skull. When she looked back; black gore followed. Flattened up the middle, the corpse was one big stain on blacktop.
    She braked, looked to All-Mart’s front entrance. Zombies pawed at the interior glass doors. For an instant the idea of ramming the truck through both sets of doors flickered through her mind, but their metal frames would only damage the vehicle too badly for it to be of any use. And she needed this truck. Shaking her head, she looked around the parking lot. No other zombies shuffled toward her.
    She slid across the passenger seat; opened the door. Crowbar in hand, she watched the zombies, could barely see them through the smears of black fluid they left behind. Fingers trailed through the gore. Their moans rolled over her, sent a shiver up her spine. She dug the claw end of the crowbar into the seam of the first set of doors and pushed them wide apart. The zombies beat against the second set, made them wobble. She took a deep breath, squeezed the crowbar in her hands.
    And slammed it into the thin barrier between her and the undead; glass splintered. Like the ravenous, mindless monsters they were, the zombies pushed their fingers through the cracks, leaving behind chunks of flesh. She ran for the truck. Fingers raked her shoulder, grabbed her arm. She swung without looking, felt the vibration of metal against bone. The zombie stumbled back, dragged at her sleeve. Behind her, glass shattered. She swung again, as hard as she could. Bone caved in, forced blood out of the zombie’s nose and ears. The monster sagged against the wall as loud moans suddenly grew so much louder. She ran. Dove into the truck and slammed the door.
    Dozens of arms clawed at the air, pealed the glass from the doorframes. They climbed over and around the waist-high frame. Like rats they poured into the parking lot. She put the truck in gear and floored it. Tires squealed, as the first shambling dead crossed the threshold. Arms waved for the truck; with dragging feet and cloudy eyes, they surged into the light. She drove all the way down to the far end of the store and pointed the grill at them. One foot on the brake, the other on the gas,