“How do you wanna do this?” he asks. “Kill who we can through the gate? Open it up and try to shove them back into the street? Let them start coming up the stairs and pick ‘em off one, maybe two at a time?”

“If we had a gun, I’d say kill ‘em through the gate.”

“But we don’t.”

I shake my head sharply. “Nope, we don’t. So that’s out. I don’t like the idea of getting out in the open with them where they can surround us.”

“Right, going into the street is sketchy. We’d also have to push them back which means close contact in close quarters.” He looks at me with a grimace. “I sort of hate that.”

“Me too.” I agree heartily. “But opening the gate and letting them come at us means close quarters too and we both have melee weapons. Can’t really get a good swing in this stairwell. Especially not side by side. We might accidentally hit each other.”

He smirks. “Tell me how much that idea bothers you.”

“At the moment, you’re more inconvenient to me unconscious or dead than alive.”

“I’m glad you’re warming up to me.”

I snort derisively.

“So…” he says slowly. “What do you want to do?”

I sigh and rub my hand over my eyes, feeling tired. “Go back upstairs, eat dinner and watch another movie.”

Beside me I feel his chuckle as much as I hear it. We’re pressed in tight together standing in front of this door with sixteen pair, wait, no an odd fifteen (someone’s missing one) opaque eyes staring at us.

“What are we having for dinner?” Ryan asks.

“Homemade waffles, hot off the skillet.”

“With fresh strawberries?”

“And whipped cream.”

“Scrambled eggs.”

“And bacon.”

“Lots of bacon.” he says emphatically.

My mouth is watering. I regret playing this game. My cold carrots and potatoes are going to taste especially bland now.

“Let’s get this over with.” I glance at him questioningly. “Shove them back? Get the range to beat their heads in?”

He nods once. “Sounds good. On my count?”

“Go.”

“Three… two… one!”

I unlatch the gate and we kick it out toward them. It connects with the two that were pressed against it and shoves them back into the throng. They all jostle loosely, one falling down completely. I’d rather he’d stayed vertical because now we’ve got a potential ankle biter to worry about.

“Crawler on my side!” I shout to Ryan in warning. “Watch the floor.”

“Got it! I’ll cover you while you take him out.”

As we push the horde back, avoiding snapping jaws and clawing fingers as best we can, I keep an eye on the floor. The group tramples over their fallen buddy, reluctantly giving up ground to us as we push them back with weapons held out against their chests. I have to let my mind go blank as we get this close to them, as we intentionally touch them. I can feel the texture of their skin beneath the remnants of their clothes. It’s waxy and disturbing in its cold malleability. I worry my fingers or knuckles are going to sink into their flesh, tearing through the skin and driving right down to the bone. And they wouldn’t even flinch.

They’re hideous and strong, stronger than you would believe, but they’re also clumsy as hell. They push back against us hard but all it takes is a swift kick to the knee and they stumble, making it easier to push them. You have to be careful not to get overzealous though, or you end up with more crawlers.

I have nightmares about crawlers.

When this one’s head is in sight and the horde is almost out the second doorway and into the street, I step quickly to the side, leaving Ryan exposed on his left. I don’t like doing it, to him or myself, but this guy on the floor has got to go. I lift the ASP and line up the shot like a golfer. When I swing the steel ball at the end toward his temple, I know it’ll do its job. People I can’t count on, but steel is a faithful friend. The resounding crack! that echoes through the entryway and reverberates all the way up my arms tells me this Risen is no more.

I quickly fall in line beside Ryan again to help him push the remainders outside. Once we’re clear of the doorway we spread out slightly to give each other room but we keep our backs to the wall. You learn that real quick, alone or with an army. Keep your back defended.

The dead heavily favor Ryan, probably drawn in by his injured hand and the blood readily available at the surface of his skin. Five of them move to surround him while only two stick with me.

“Hell.” I mutter, not liking his odds.

It shouldn’t bother me, but it does. I shouldn’t care if he makes it or not, but I do.

For the second time today I play the reluctant hero.

I step away from the wall and take a huge swing at the zombie closest to me. He goes down quickly, the side of his face soundly bashed in and turned quickly to gray mush. I ignore the other one who’s on me and I hurry to Ryan. My back is exposed and I feel naked in the cold night air, rain falling over me, matting my hair to my face. I take a quick, hard swing at the kneecap on one of Ryan’s zombies. It drops to the ground, unable to hold its weight on the badly broken leg. They don’t feel pain, but a broken leg is still a problem for them. It’s like chopping off a hand. Whether they feel it or not, that limb is now useless.

I do the same to another zombie, a young boy, only this time I take out his leg at the shin. The bone pops out through his skin, spraying his black tar blood over the sidewalk. He topples over. I want to say it bothers me brutalizing a child, but it doesn’t. Live in this world long enough and the dead are just that – dead. It doesn’t walk like a child or talk like a child so it’s pretty easy to accept that it’s no longer a child. Moral qualms put to rest. If you’re uncomfortable with that, go join the Colonies.

“Joss, your six!” Ryan calls out as he stabs the sharp end of the iron straight into a Risen’s eye. It slides in smoothly and the zombie crumples, slipping slowly off the steel.

“I know.” I growl.

I’m aware of it, have been the whole time. It’s about three paces behind me and closing. I spin quickly, bringing up the ASP and making contact on its face. I make sure to close my eyes and mouth when I hit it because sometimes you get exploders. Like a rotten pumpkin that blows up when you toss it against the pavement or kick it in. Dead and dusty as it may look, sometimes it retains some of its juices. This one sure does. I feel the spray hit me in the face and I immediately use the inside of my coat to wipe it clear. I’m not worried about infection, not really. Mostly it’s just gross.

When I turn around, Ryan has taken out the crawlers I created and is working on the last of the standing. He rears back, then slams the sharp end of the tire iron into the Risen’s mouth. It crunches when it hits bone in the back of the skull and Ryan immediately jerks down hard on his end, letting out an angry shout. It pries the zombies jaw off the hinges and I’m pretty sure it snaps the spinal cord. Either way, the dead get deader.

“You okay?” Ryan asks, breathing heavy.

His hair is soaked by the rain like mine and he runs his hand through it, spiking it up off his forehead. His eyes are big and excited from the adrenaline of the kill. I imagine that despite my bad attitude I probably look about the same. You never learn to like it, this life, but eventually you do learn to enjoy the highs. Being outnumbered by Risen and coming out unscathed, that’s a high. A big one.

“Yeah, I’m great.” I say, almost meaning it.

He glances around at our handiwork. “Let’s pull them into the building, stow them in an empty room.”

“Why bother?”

“Because that way no one will see them, not unless they’re already in the building. The rain will wash away most of this.” He gestures to the pooling black mess pouring out of the zombies onto the pavement.

“I’m leaving anyway.”