And what about electricity? A small burg like this probably had its own power supply, but it would have to be maintained. Maintenance took manpower, and manpower was one shortage White Rock shared with the rest of the dead world.
I stayed close to the small buildings and houses as I approached, weapon at the ready. The place looked deserted, but old habits died hard. Things didn’t feel right, and I’d be damned before I get zombified because of sloppiness.
As I moved forward, toward the school, I noticed something else that had escaped my observance.
Every town we’d came across either crawled with zombies or was cluttered with the monster’s waste. But they all had one thing in common, the stink.
I should have smelled decay, rotting flesh, either walking or ripening in the sunlight. But the air’s fragrance was clean, completely natural; completely wrong.
I entered the stadium. An overwhelming chill slithered down my spine. I’d never stood in a place so deserted that had been meant for so many. It seemed as if my thoughts would echo off the aluminum rafters if I thought hard enough.
“Colonel?” I recognized the voice. It came from the snack stand behind me. I saw the barrel of an M-16 protruding from an open serving window.
“Max,” I felt relief wash through me. If she spoke, she was alive—much better proof than if I’d simply seen her move.
She motioned me to her. I hurried, something about her huddled inside the snack booth bothered me.
Max held the door open and I slid inside.
“Glad to see you too, sir,” she smiled.
The expression looked foreign and rehearsed on her face. Her eyes were bloodshot. Had she been crying? I pushed the thought aside. If something was bad enough to make Max cry, we were dead already. No sense in wasting good brain energy on it, if that be the case.
“What happened, where’s Majowski?”
She pointed out the window to the far end of the football field. She must have seen the shock in my eyes when I saw the zombie.
“He’s been there since I killed the other one.” She pointed to a couple of undistinguishable lumps a few yards away from the standing zombie.
“What’s he doing?” My voice sounded small. The creature looked—no, peered—directly at us. I could feel the weight of its rotting stare. But it didn’t move. The stillness was probably why I didn’t see it when I entered the stadium. A zombie behaved like a shark, always moving, always eating. But this one just stood there, watching. Waiting. Zombies didn’t do shit like this.
But there it was, watching us with dead eyes. I shivered again as I wondered what it was thinking. Zombies didn’t think; I knew better. But it was doing something out there.
1 2 3 4 5 6 7