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ZOMBIES
A third place contest entry by Jason Malpass
When you kill a man, he stays dead. No one ever tells you that because it's a given. At least it was.
I gently press my ear to the cold, steel door. Nothing. Nothing except the echo of my own pulse in my ears. It would be fifty paces, at a run, to the supply depot once I got to the other side of the door. I close my eyes to visualize.
Immediately outside the door might be several vehicles, cars mostly, maybe a jeep. A gazebo sits midway on the left, between the depot and me. Some of those things might be there or behind it on their way from the Post Exchange. I might be able to use it to my advantage as an intermediary shelter if things get chaotic.
I check my clip. Two bullets and one in the chamber. Three shots. Three shots! Even a skilled shooter had odds against him if any number of walking corpses were waiting outside.
Something moves in the darkness behind me. Carlos, his throat torn open before I could shoot the creatures that attacked him, raises himself in a macabre push-up. Red-black ooze seeps from both corners of his mouth.
I fling the door open and tear thru the courtyard. Shapes shamble in my peripheral vision. Eight... ten... more than a dozen. I'm screwed.
I trip, tangled in the strap of an M16 held in the death grip of a severed hand. Maybe not screwed. I scramble up, casting the hand aside.
No time to check for rounds, I squeeze the trigger at the closest target. Crack! Right through it's skull. I pivot to the right, another crack shot.
The gazebo is covered in undead.
Suddenly, a flash. A huge gout of flame engulfs the gazebo, corpses dance like marionettes. I'm not the only survivor.
A woman in fatigues, flame-thrower strapped to her back, nods toward me in acknowledgement, then she's off to the supply depot. I continue my run, capping shuffling cadavers as I go.
Before I reach the depot, I hear a truck. It comes around the corner fast, nearly rising sideways on two wheels. I skid to avoid being in its path. I recognize the driver. He's one of the geek types from over at Research and Development. He gapes at me as he passes and careens right into a cement barricade. The truck flips end over end, then miraculously lands upright. The truck rolls to a stop against a tree. The horn blares with nerd boy slumped over the steering wheel.
I'm equal distance from the truck, a means of escape and the supply depot, possibly more weapons to get me the hell out of here.
From the supply depot, I hear a scream...
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