Free Taking It Back by Joseph Talluto Page A

packages lasted nearly forever. Not as long as Twinkies, but close.
    Charlie and I decided to take a walk to secure the area and see if there was anything we could salvage for our trip or set aside to retrieve later. We moved down the pier and listened to the water from the river lap quietly against the supports. There were no other boats at the marina and I could only assume people used them to escape to who knew where. In the back of my mind I wished them luck.
    Charlie and I approached a long building that seemed to be a maintenance shed for the marina. There were two boats in unusable condition outside the shed and scattered debris around the cleared area. We were surrounded by woods and I could see Charlie weighing in his mind what the possibilities of game animals in the area might be.
    On the south side of the shed there was a pull-behind camper and a quick look revealed nothing of interest. In all likelihood this was just where it was stored until needed. Too bad the roads were pretty much unusable, this thing would have been valuable.
    Charlie approached a large tank by the side of the building and tapped on it, starting high up and then moving lower. By sound, we figured there was about half of the tank left, about fifty gallons. We might need to figure a way to take that with us.
    I approached the door of the shed and tried it out. It was locked. I moved over to one of the big garage doors and tried that. The door moved up about a foot and I stopped it there. I grabbed my flashlight, backed away and looked under the door. Seeing nothing, I opened the door all the way.
    Inside there was a lawn mower, a small two person boat with a largish motor on it and a cluttered workbench along the far wall. I moved towards the workbench while Charlie went to the office door. A small row of lockers was next to the workbench and a cursory look into each one revealed several work shirts, a couple of towels, and decent supply of porn magazines. I smiled and turned towards the office as Charlie opened the door.
    A huge zombie crashed into Charlie and bore him to the floor. The zombie had to be at least three hundred pounds and was dressed in a stained coverall with the name ‘Pete’ stitched on it. Charlie had his hand under the man’s chin, trying to keep the snapping jaws away from him, but I could see his hand slipping. I grabbed an old, wooden handled hammer from the bench and ran over to help. Charlie managed to get the zombie off of him and the two of them were lying side by side, struggling.
    I stepped up to the zombie’s head and swung the hammer down, hard. The head of the hammer decided at that moment to slip off and it hurled across the garage to clang against the wall and floor. All I managed to do was bonk the zombie’s head with a piece of wood.
    “Play the damn drums some other time!” Charlie forced out through gritted teeth.
    I reversed my grip on the handle and shoved it in the zombie’s gaping mouth, barely getting my hand out of the way of the brown teeth. Charlie shoved the Z away from him and scrambled to his feet, followed by the huge zombie slowly getting up and coming at us. The handle of the hammer stuck out its mouth like the stick of a putrid candy apple.
    Charlie whipped out a tomahawk and, snarling, jumped forward, burying the entire head of the ‘hawk in the Z’s skull. Charlie ripped out the blade as the zombie fell forward and it hit the ground with such force the hammer handle poked out the back of its head.
    Charlie didn’t say a word, he just went to the bench and cleaned off the blade of his weapon with a greasy rag. Coming back to the front of the garage he said, “I’d thank you, but I’m not sure what for.”
    I tried to look hurt. “I distracted him, didn’t I?”
    Charlie stepped outside and sloshed a little gas on his tomahawk then produced a lighter to set it aflame. The gas burned red off the blade, a curious side-effect of burning the virus. When the red died away, Charlie