I stand here and watch this young boy running and am curious as to how HIS nightmare began today. Who was the first to get it in his household? Parents? Siblings? A waylaid neighbor? How did HE first discover that people were dying and then getting back up and killing other people? The more I think about it, the sadder it makes me. Yeah, I’m a pretty cynical prick. As a general rule, I hate people. I am not a people person in the least. This shit though? This shit is crazy and if we hope to survive it, we’ve gotta work together somehow. I’ve gotta become SOME sort of “people-person”. I stare at this boy and continue to drift into my own thoughts.
The CRACK of the rifle draws me out of my lethargy. I see one of the seething crowd drop to the ground, only to be trampled by those immediately following. The girls are screaming and shrieking, while Steve stands with Roger next to me, watching in morbid curiosity as this child keeps running as hard as he can. I’m pleasantly surprised to see that he’s created a decent gap between the advancing crowd, but he still has about a hundred feet until he gets to the bank doors.
No one says a word, other than the girls screeching at the top of their lungs. Finally, one of the girls gathers her wits enough to yell at the boy to head to the back entrance. I volunteer to meet him down there, grab a rifle, and race down the stairs.
The closer I get to the bottom of the stairwell, the stronger the moaning gets. I’m nervous now. The sounds have grown so loud that I’m not sure what is going to be facing me when that door opens. I grip the rifle tighter, and pat the bullets in my pocket.
Reassured by the metal clinking in my pocket, I reach the end of the stairwell. I can hear the moans and the sounds just make me cringe.
With no communication between the kids on the roof and I, I’ve gotta open the door and see how big of a problem this little operation is going to be. I open the door and am happy to see that the several shitheads that were back here have left this back area and are headed around front. I step out the back door, prop it open with a rock sitting on the ground, and take a few steps forward. Before I have a chance to react, the boy races past me and thru the open door.
I turn to follow him in but he’s bumped the rock I had used to prop open the door. Oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit. It slams shut and I’m left in this back alley with a crowd that just realized our little sham.