Chapter 20
Shane jammed the phone into his pocket, snatched up the gun with his other hand, and ran to the lounge door.
He opened the door, looked out into the hallway: nothing but white walls and harsh lights, the shining linoleum floor.
He stepped through, hurried to the end of the hall, opened that door and looked out. The alley looked empty.
He slipped through the alley door, shut it quietly behind him.
He looked to his left, toward the alley's dead end, and then to his right toward the street. There was no one there. He was safe, and he was outside.
It had only been a few hours since he’d entered the ZapPow! building, but being out in the open air felt very strange. There wasn’t anything different about the alley than normal, at least nothing he could put his finger on. But it felt different. He felt different.
A cool breeze drifted up the alley. Shane filled his lungs with fresh air. His level of anxiety dropped a bit farther from total panic. Just getting out of the building was a relief.
He lifted his eyes to glance at the thin ribbon of sky between the ZapPow! building and its neighbor, saw a blanket of thick grey clouds, no blue sky or sun visible—a typical San Francisco summer day. He looked back down the alley, toward the street.
There was a man there now, lurching along in the middle of the street. He wore a tight white tee-shirt, and the front of it was covered with a red wash of blood.
"Shit," Shane said quietly. His hand tightened on the gun’s handle, but he didn’t raise the gun yet, didn’t move at all. “Keep walking, just keep walking,” he whispered.
But the man didn’t keep walking. Instead he stopped abruptly, lifted his head as though he were listening to something. His mouth hung open loosely, a long cord of drool dangled from his lower lip.
“Just keep walking,” Shane whispered, gripping the gun. “Come on.”
The man swiveled his head toward Shane. He let out a long moan.
“Fuck,” Shane said.
Shane raised the gun, holding his arm out straight, aiming for the man’s face.
The man took a lurching step toward the alley, and Shane pulled the trigger.
There was a loud POP that bounced off the walls with a harsh sound like the air itself was ripping. The gun jerked in Shane’s hand, its muzzle twitching upward.
But nothing else happened. The man kept lurching forward as if he hadn’t heard, or didn’t care about, the sound of the gun. Shane saw no sign that a bullet had hit him or anything else.
“What the fuck?” Shane said, incredulous.
The man was almost at the edge of the asphalt, about fifteen yards away. The rope of drool hanging from his lip swung back and forth like a pendulum.
Shane turned sideways, squeezed his left eye shut, looking along the length of his outstretched arm—and the end of the gun’s muzzle beyond that—with his right eye. He aimed the gun’s muzzle at the man’s nose. He pulled the trigger again.
Another pop, and a sign above the entrance of a café on the other side of the street abruptly shattered.
“Seriously?” Shane said. “Am I that bad of a shot?”
By this time the man had stepped up onto the wide sidewalk. His dead eyes were trained on Shane. Both his arms were stretched out straight, eager to grab hold. He was no more than a dozen yards away.
Shane dropped his aim to the center of the man’s chest. He sighted along the length of his arm with his right eye. He pulled in a breath and held it. He squeezed the trigger instead of pulling it, and he squeezed off two shots instead of one.
The first shot hit the man in the upper left shoulder, jolting him as if he’d been shoved, twisting him at the waist. The second shot missed the man entirely. The man stumbled a step to the side, found his balance, and continued toward Shane, a bloody mark blooming on his white tee-shirt.
“Fuck!” Shane said, dropping his arm.
He lifted his arm again to aim, pulled in another quick breath, and squeezed off two more shots.
Both shots caught the man in the lower abdomen; Shane could tell because of the fresh blood that started darkening the stain over the man’s belly. But the bullets seemed to pass right through, not even slowing him down. He’d reached the mouth of the alley.
“How many shots is that?” Shane said, thinking. “Six. Plus the bullet in the company lounge. Seven shots.” He shook his head, angry. “I’ve already used more than half of the bullets, and the guy’s still coming.”
Shane lifted the gun again, trained it on the man’s mouth. But he didn’t pull the trigger yet.
The man took one lurching step after another, his pace never changing. His eyes showed no concern, no sense that he recognized any danger from Shane or the gun. The blood flowing from his wounds had soaked the bottom of the front of his shirt, had begun to wet his thighs, but his face showed no indication that he felt any pain from the wounds.
Shane held the gun out, arm straight. He waited until the man’s hands had almost reached his own, until the muzzle of the gun was less than a yard from the man’s yawning mouth. And then he pulled the trigger.
The man’s head snapped back, his knees buckled, and he fell to the ground like a marionette with its strings cut. His left arm sprawled across the floor of the alley, fingers coming to rest less than four inches from Shane’s right foot. A mist of blood hung in the air just behind where his head had been.
“Fuck,” Shane muttered, stepping back from the body and the settling mist. He took another step back as the man’s blood began to flow across the alley floor.
And then another pair of lurchers came around the corner of the alley from the sidewalk.
“Fuck!” Shane said.
He stepped around the fallen man, raised the gun and started walking toward the mouth of the alley.
“Five bullets left,” he said, aiming for the nearest lurcher.
And then another came around the corner.
Shane stopped. He took a step backward.
Another came around the corner. The first two trained their eyes on him, lifted their arms, started advancing.
A fifth lurcher came around the corner. And then a sixth.
“What the fuck!” Shane said. “Did they hear the gunshots or what?”
He started backing up. He passed the fallen man, stopped at the door back into the ZapPow! building. He kept his eyes on the nearest of the shuffling group, and reached for the door handle.
It was locked.
TO BE CONTINUED
in Zombie City: Episode 2
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