Bloody Knuckles and Shotgun Shells

Allison's POV:

I am outside Target, in the parking lot. Not a car can be seen. The sky is dark and the air is cold, though it’s the middle of a September day.

I’ve already dragged the bomb out the front doors and am now setting up what we call the “distraction site”, consisting of children’s toys, men’s clothes and quite a bit of food. I’m not sure if it will hold the undead’s attention long enough to set off the bomb.

And then I get an idea.

Simultaneously, I pick up a few articles of clothing from the ground and pull the knife out of my jeans pocket. Making a small cut on my left arm, I allow the blood to run freely onto the clothes, and then place them back in the distraction area. I am hopeful that the blood will keep the shitheads busy for a while.

I then make my way up to the roof of the building to meet up with Ashton and Alex. The two are busy preparing the bomb’s detonation mechanism , along with the fireworks and flares whose purpose is to get the attention of the zombies and get them to come over our way.

“Jesus!” Alex jumps. “You scared the shit out of me!”

“What the fuck did you do to your arm? Are you okay?” Ashton demands.

“Calm down, doctor. I’m fine. I just needed some blood for the shirts.”

“Hey, just because I'm Jewish doesn't mean I'm a doctor, bitch.”

I laugh. "Oh for Heaven's sake, Ashton. Can we not bring that up right now?" I joke.

"Why?" Alex interrupts.

"Why what, Alex?" we both ask in unison, the same level of irritation is present in our voices.

"Why did you need blood for the fucking shirts?"

“Oh. Duh. The blood’s intent was to attract them and should keep them busy long enough to blow them up.”

“And the bright, flashing toys and burst of flame wouldn’t have done enough of that?”

“Not for long enough.” They both shrug.

“You ready for the light show?” Alex asks.

“Fuck yeah!” I reply fervently. Alex lights the wicks on all of the fireworks and sets off all the flares. The lights are a stark contrast to the black sky. Watching them is beautiful and for just a few precious seconds I feel safe and young; like a child again.

Reality comes crashing back on me when I hear the groans and painful sounds of death coming from the parking lot below. I turn around and look down at the mass. Hundreds of them are crowding the area, trying to get to the bloodied clothes and pretty lights. I hold out my hand and Alex places the detonator in my palm. It’s a television remote. My brother is a genius. Pure and simple.

When I press the power button, the entire parking lot erupts in an explosion of flame and sound. Alex and Ashton duck behind the air shaft protruding from the top of the building, but I stand along the edge. As I watch the former human corpus burn, a sense of satisfaction passes through me. The orange and yellow lights dance across my vision.

A tear rolls down my cheek. My family is gone, and I may never see them again. I need to let out this emotion now before it gets the better of me. It’s essential for me to have a clear mind if I want to survive this hot mess of a situation.

A hand touches my arm. It’s Ashton. I turn around and put my head on her shoulder, hugging her. I don’t know what I’d do without my best friend.

“Fuck, some of them are inside!” I hear Alex yell. He opens the hatch to get back inside and we all run down the stairs. Fuck, fuck, fuck; we forgot to close the doors!

I unholster my Glock and am ready. Alex is holding a metal bat and Ashton has her Benelli drawn. We all run for the open front doors. Ashton and I cover Alex with our pistols as he pulls at the doors, trying to close them.

A dark, bloody hand grabs his arm. “No!” I scream as my finger hits the trigger. The zombie attacker falls to the ground. Alex kicks his limp body outside and breathes a sigh of relief as he finally closes the doors all the way.

I hear shuffling behind me and both Ashton and I turn, guns raised. A reanimated, once-dead man hobbles slowly over towards us.

“I got this one,” I tell her calmly, not taking my eyes from the thing. I begin to walk toward him, matching his pathetically slow pace. Looking him over, I see that one arm is missing (torn off, I presume) and his leg is nearly hanging off of his hip. This one will be easy. But I want to enjoy it a bit.

I kick the bad leg and the flesh tears. His leg hits the ground first, the rest soon to follow.

“Give me the bat,” I say to my brother. “Please.” He puts the hunk of shaped metal into my right hand and backs away, a worried look clear on his face. The zombified leg-less and arm-less man is attempting to crawl to me. He still thinks he can get me. Blood stains the white tile.

I place the bat lightly on top of his head and ready myself. This is how I am going to do it. This is how I will rid myself of the sickening guilt and grief.

The bat is swung with all the force I have in my body. When it collides with the crawling piece of filth beneath me, the head explodes in a substantial spray of blood, flesh and brain matter. I hear Ashton scream, but it’s far away. The bat drops from my hand with a loud clang. The body lying on the floor is still.

I turn around and face them, saying simply,”We’re going to be okay.”