trapped in there." He rounded a corner, the pseudo-elementary school a block away came into view. By now Warren was rasping and down to a slow jog; he heard them howling not far behind. He couldn't get enough air: his lungs and nasal passages burned, he became light-headed. None were in sight as he staggered to the four-foot high cherry bush hedge surrounding the school grounds, pushed through it and collapsed to his knees in the soft grass. Head bent over, hands on his thighs, he sucked in deep, painful breaths. After a few moments, he parted the hedge and peeked through. Warren saw a crazed, scattered mob a block away shuffling parallel to his hiding place. They were moving northward, up the avenue and would be gone in a few minutes.
No such luck, a large male - not disabled, ambled at a quick, even jaunt across the school grounds. This monster remained quiet as he closed in - he wanted Ironsmith all to himself. Warren saw him coming. "Oh, no!" and pulled his forty-five from his waistband. His hands shook. The creature ran with an open chop-step like an NFL lineman and seemed to be just as large. Warren was too tired to flee and realized he probably couldn't outrun this one anyway. "He's almost here!"
"Take aim! Take aim!" he coaxed himself. 'Blam!' the shot hit the attacker in the groin. The Zombie doubled over and came flying forward on momentum. He landed with his face buried in the grass, but wasn't dead and began crawling on all fours toward Warren. It craned its neck and issued series of wild, guttural growls. 'Blam!' Ironsmith put the second bullet into its forehead. The monster dropped flat on the ground, had a series of involuntary muscle spasms and lay still. The President then peered over the hedge top; the mob had turned upon hearing the shots. They saw his head and shoulders bob up and collectively issued a blood-thirsty roar.
"Crap!" Warren's mind raced, "I've got to trick them. I can't outrun all of them; the damn things don't tire." He walked at a brisk pace, remaining in sight, behind the hedge for forty feet then ducked down. The mob adjusted to his new course and continued their relentless pursuit. Ironsmith, bent over at the waist, turned around and trotted in the opposite direction toward the helicopter landing pad next to the school building. Sweat poured off him as he arrived at the pad and dove behind the chopper's wheel assembly. Lying prone, moving nary a muscle, he waited to see if the ruse had worked. If it didn't he knew he'd be dead meat shortly, and in a most horrible manner.
The madmen tore through the hedge as if it didn't exist. Once on the other side and finding the fellow dead Zombie instead of the President they became confused, then enraged. They hopped up and down and scooted aimlessly in little circles. Then it became really ugly - gruesome. The mob pounced on the dead Zombie, tore him to shreds and began devouring him. A few of them ripped off bloody chunks and started off in the direction Warren had faked going toward; they were carrying bits of their fallen comrade to feed upon as they continued their search. Ironsmith felt appalled and sickened, but reminded logical. The important thing was that his trick had worked, not even one had glanced at the chopper which had brought him or the school building. "Safe!" Warren figured the rest would follow their leaders once they had finished off the meal he had so graciously provided them. "All I have to do is sit tight and wait them out. Humph, be my luck they'd come back to polish the bones." Bones? Speaking of which, he began to notice there were quite a few scattered about the landing pad. And a flashlight. "I guess that explains why this particular scout, whoever he was, didn't return, as well as the rest of them. It was disturbingly clear to see all the earlier staff personnel sent had been attacked, killed and eaten.
He reached out, grabbed the flashlight, held it up and 'clicked' it twice to test if the device was still operational. It passed. It came on both times, not full strength but serviceable. He rested a few more minutes and thought, "Good, this may come in handy later." Cold sweat broke anew on his brow. He lowered the flashlight to his chest and rolled a tad to his left. A premonition told him to peek around the helicopter's mid-tire. To his horror, he found a dozen pair of crazed eyes staring back at him! Warren's blood went cold. The Zombies who hadn't left yet didn't hear the flashlight clicks, but they sure as hell saw it flashing!
"Oh, no. Not again!" Warren sprang to his feet, as a demented howl rose from the hunters. They struggled to rise; their leaders not far away heard the roar and turned about.
Panic. Where could he go? These monsters were fresh and close. Their outcry had alerted even more Zombies hiding on both sides. "Where were they coming from?" The school blocked his retreat to the rear. "Wait. Is that an open doorway?" Ironsmith raced toward it. "Damn it! This is the exit from the maintenance shop, the very same one we came through this morning. It doesn't matter now!" He flew through the entranceway as the ever hungry killers hobbled in hot pursuit from three directions - they were close enough to smell him, and his fear.
"Where can I hide? How can I escape?" his mind screamed. If I exit the other side of the building they'll be waiting for me and be trapped on all four sides. They'll tear me to pieces!
How did I ever get into this mess? I'll... I'll just have to out-smart them again. I know; I'll climb down inside the elevator shaft. They'll never think of that! I'll be safe there until I can collect my thoughts and regroup." He ran to the open first floor elevator doorway, quickly descended the workman's ladder rungs and soon stood on the top of the elevator cabin - being very careful not to disturb Jackson's body this time.
Being indoors, Ironsmith's fresh (food) human scent lay heavy in the air everywhere he had passed: he couldn't have left a clearer trail.
The President waited, watching the open doorway eight floors above. One Zombie peeked over the edge, then two, then three... then a cluster: they jammed the entranceway. "Oh, no," Warren grabbed his pistol and pointed it toward the first floor landing. 'Blam!' The bullet ricocheted off the shaft wall and struck one of them in the neck. The monster fell forward and down the shaft; Ironsmith saw him coming and pressed himself against the wall. A heavy, 'Thump' the dead creature landed right in front of him. The Zombie's head and shoulders went into the cabin's open trap door; his legs prevented him from falling completely through. As Warren's luck would have it, one of his feet struck Jackson's roach filled carcass and as before, the disturbed insects poured out. Warren hopped up and down to no avail; there was no way to escape them this time. He looked up to observe several of the Zombies had started climbing down the rungs - they were slow but persistent and had no fear of falling or Ironsmith's gun. Warren wasn't sure of how many bullets he had left in his seven-round magazine clip but knew for sure he didn't have enough ammo to shoot all of them even with his two spare clips. Spares? He then remembered his extra clips were in the satchel. "Sonnavabitch!" He thrust his weapon in his front waistband, grabbed the stinking, naked zombie by the thighs and attempted to wrestle him out of the opening. His stench made him vomit. By now the roaches were everywhere... up Warren's arms, legs... on his head. He finally dislodged the dead body by pulling on the ankles. Ironsmith swatted the pests from his face and jumped feet-first through the opening, collapsing the ladder - he tumbled and landed hard on his right shoulder, dislocating it. "Ow!" White spots of pain flashed before his eyes.
Dazed, lying at the bottom of the compartment, he pulled the salvaged flashlight out of his front pocket, trained it on the trap door opening and beheld a line of grunting sub-humans descending the shaft wall. They reminded him of a trail of those venomous red ant columns on a food mission. Had he momentarily lost consciousness from the fall? He didn't know for sure but his pursuers seemed a lot closer now. Suddenly, a hideous face blocked his view. A roach covered creature kneeled on top of the compartment, pawing down at him! Its drool dripped on his leg. Warren crawled out of the elevator doorway and shakily tried to rise to his feet. His injured shoulder screamed with pain. He took a step - more pain, he had twisted his ankle also. Several Zombies were on the elevator rooftop now - they all were pushing and fighting to get through the narrow opening. Ironsmith leaned on the wall for support and limped along the corridor, grimacing with each tort
urous step to the sealed bunker. 'Thump,' the first pursuer fell to the bottom of the elevator compartment. More wailing and snorting as the others fought to squeeze through the hole. 'Thump,' a second one. The two got their arms and legs tangled together, snarled and clawed at each other as they struggled to disengage.
Warren arrived at the vault door and lamented, "Oh, no. Why did I bother to close it this morning?" He frantically punched in the combination 5*7#44, a green light flashed on, accompanied by an audible 'click'. He turned the manual lock wheel and pushed inward - it seemed heavier than before as his shoulder seared and his ankle began to throb. He checked the corridor - two monsters were hobbling out of the elevator doorway, their eyes aflame with the anticipated kill. The bunker's steel door cracked open a foot... a little more. Warren forced his debilitated body through the fissure then started pushing to close it... six inches, three, one. 'Whump, whump,' the two leading Zombies smashed into the other side of the vault door. Warren grunted and pushed harder - it didn't budge. One of the creatures slipped its finger