Risk

The first thing that happened was a ten second flash of cold panic, and a string of profanity. The next, my coffee hit the floor, and my legs were pumping beneath me as I headed for the Barnes & Noble.
Okay, so the ‘They can climb’ theory had just been proven. My problem? How do fix it. Barricading the front doors had been simple enough; I could do that from the inside. Unfortunately, the tallest ladder in the mall’s hardware store was six foot three, and the shattered sunroof was at least thirteen feet above the floor. I measure up to five four. I’m strong, but I knew there was no way I could heave the wood paneling above my head and be able to keep my balance while I nailed it in place. I would have to go to the roof.
Outside.
There’s a reason my name is Risk.
I skidded around the corner into the bookstore. A hammer and a box of nails sat on top of a stack of books by the entrance. Without stopping I snatched them up. I shoved the box in the back pocket of my jeans and adjusted my grip on the hammer.
The remaining bookshelves were on the second floor. I blasted up the stairs like my life depended on it. (Mainly because it did.) As soon as I reached the top I turned left and screamed.
One of Them was there. This one looked sort of like the other did: young-ish once upon a time, probably about early twenties college age, and dressed like a proper tool in a Hollister shirt. All, of course, covered in a thick layer of blood and guts and filth.
Sure, it made me jump to see the It so suddenly, but after a few seconds I was… almost happy, I guess. Because I’d just found a kickable ass.
And I. Was. Pissed.
“So,” I said to It, catching my breath, “I’m guessing you came in here with your pal, huh?”
It answered me with a lion’s snarl.
“Thought so. Well dude, you caught me at exactly the wrong time. I’m a little busy, so if you could just step aside and not eat me, I’d like to go about my business. Sound fair?”
It growled, then threw back It’s head and roared. Yeah, roared. They do that.
“Okay. Guess not.” I sighed. “Well, you leave me with no other option. Which I don’t mind. I’m in a bad mood and you seem like the perfect outlet to release some serious aggression.” I grabbed the strap of my gun and took it off my shoulder, laying it down on the floor. A very important thing to remember about hell is that bullets are precious. Plus, I was going to do this the fun way.
I spun the hammer once I my hand. I was fucking Clint Eastwood. “Alright you rotted bastard--” I coaxed the It forward with my hand “--come at me.”
It roared again and started to charge. I pulled the hammer back behind my head like a baseball bat, and when It was close enough, I swung. The head connected with the It’s cheekbone and a loud crack echoed through the bookstore. My blood pumped satisfaction.
The It staggered back but did not fall. Within a few moments It straightened up and charged at me again, It’s teeth bared. (If I had ever seem one of Them that needed to floss, it was this guy.) I started to laugh, sadistically entertained. It lunged and tried to get a bite of my arm, but I lifted my knee and smashed It’s nose. When It’s head bounced up I slammed my elbow down on It’s neck, swinging my foot forward and nailing It in It’s undead gonads. This time the It did fall to the floor on it’s back. When It pushed up on It’s arms and tried to stand I roundhouse kicked it in the face, a war cry breaking from my throat.
This time I did not pray.
Like I said, I was pissed; this was the second one of Them I had to deal with today. They had smashed through the ceiling and broken into my home. My safe island in a sea of terrors. How the fuck dare they invade it! I wasn’t sorry this time. I just wasn’t.
The It fell back, dazed. I jumped on top of It, a leg on either side. I pulled my fist back, ready to punch, but the It grabbed my fist and threw me on my back, pinning my shoulders to the floor. It opened It’s jaws and prepared to take a nice big munch out of my jugular. I thrust my head up and collided my forehead with the It’s brow, tugging my wrists free and jabbing the It in the eyes with two fingers. It cried out and I kicked It off. I pulled myself up and grabbed my hammer again, swinging it once more into the It’s face. Its nose cracked and bent to the right, remaining there. It howled in pain and anger. My response was to use the curve of the hammer head: I stuck it in the It’s mouth, the teeth against the roof, and yanked back hard. After a good tug the It’s jaw broke, the bottom coming off the hinges.
“HA! BITE ME NOW YOU BASTARD!” The It was on It’s back now, roaring with agony. I was too full of fury to give a fuck. I flipped the hammer back, lifted my arms, and smashed the head into the It’s face. Again. Again. Again. I screamed and shouted and slammed the hammer. The skull shattered and blood was everywhere, on my face, my hands, staining the olive carpet. I smashed until my body hurt. Then I smashed some more.
Once I reached the point where I could no longer lift my arms I finally dropped the hammer and fell back off my knees. The It no longer had a humanlike face. Scratch that-- the It no longer had a face at all. One of the eyes was dangling from the socket. I stared, and gasped for air. The anger had left me, now filled with guilt. The It had once been human… had been a ‘he’ instead of an ‘It.’ He had a family, a life, maybe a girlfriend. Then he became a creature, dead yet not dead.
Once this idea filled me--an idea I always tried to block out when I killed Them-- I got back on my knees and said my Hail Mary, for the poor soul that once resided in the creature I had just bashed into oblivion with a Black & Decker.

My shoulders had deep nail marks from where the It had pinned me down. Blood flowed down my biceps. But I didn’t have time to deal with that just then. That was a task that would have to wait, because I’d been set back enough by my fight (or murder, whatever you want to call it) with (of) the It.
Instead of clearing the bookshelf by taking the books off and stacking them I simply pushed the shelf onto the floor and began disassembling as fast as I could. Once in pieces I headed back to the entrance and grabbed the heavy-duty dolly cart, pulled it up the ramp, and piled the boards on top. I jumped on the front and held onto the bar, pushing off the ground with my leg.
I sped down the ramp and steered myself out the entrance. I used my weight to turn, throwing my leg over the side and pushing, headed toward the elevator at the other end of the second floor. The doors were wide open like they always were. I used my heel to slowly break the cart as it rolled in, then hopped off just outside the doors. I went to the power box in the wall and pulled the switch, watching as the cables yanked the lift up to the roof. I stuck my head in the shaft to watch the elevator rise. When I heard a metallic clang I knew the lift had reached the top. I flipped the switch back off and closed the power box.
I headed for the emergency exit, opened the padlock, and stopped right before I went out. Outside this door was a flight of stairs up to another door. Outside that door was the mall roof. I would smell fresh air, feel sunlight, the breeze would dance over my skin. And any moment one of Them could jump out and rip me to pieces.
Heart racing, I shoved the door open and dashed up the stairs, plowing through the second door before I lost my nerve.
Oh God, it was wonderful.
I don’t think you could even conceive how it felt to be outside. I hadn’t been outside for almost two months, since the last time I’d gone out to try and find food. And it was even better than I’d fantasized moments before. It was mid spring, and it had rained the night before, making the world smell clean and alive and fresh, despite the fact that it was completely inhabited by the walking dead. I can’t be so cliché as to say the birds were singing because I hadn’t heard birdsong for a year and a half; while They prefer cannibalism, when They get hungry enough They’ll eat anything-- birds are like Their granola bars: quick bite that’s filling enough.
Even though there weren’t birds to hear I closed my eyes and listened anyways. I could hear the breeze through the grass three flights below me. I could hear the clouds move. I could hear the sun rising. I could hear footsteps.
My eyes snapped open.
Footsteps?
I spun around. There, just climbing up over the edge of the roof was one of Them. This one was more of a Real Housewives of Orange County type: bleach blond hair, orange skin, velvety pink warm up suit set. Christ, three in one day? I hadn’t even had time for my coffee to kick in, I was already running on pure adrenaline. I sighed and reached for my AK--
The strap wasn’t on my shoulder. Because my gun was still on the floor of the bookstore by the It I’d killed before. All I was armed with as Living Dead Barbie charged me was a hammer and a “Self Defense For Beginners” course from when I was ten.
I was, in a word, fucked.
The It stared at me, assessing whether or not I was a proper meal. Apparently It decided yes, and It came barreling toward me at full speed, snarling and roaring all the way. I held up my hammer; the It would win, I pretty much knew that already, but I wasn’t going to go down without a fight.
I inhaled, ready to pray and hopefully ready to die, when the back of the It’s skull exploded. It fell on It’s bloody-and-botoxed face a few feet in front of me.
Obviously I was stunned. I had to take a few moments to fully register what had happened, how it happened. I looked up to see what could’ve caused it and nearly had an aneurysm from the shock.
A man-- a living, breathing man-- stood at the edge of the roof. In his hand was a pistol, still held up and smoking from the shot he’d just fired at the It. He wore a long leather coat and heavy-duty jackboots. He had stubble, but it was clumsy… like he hadn’t shaven but just cut it as short as possible with a pair of scissors. His dirty brown hair had the same awkward choppiness. His face was sweaty and he was gasping for air.
His arm finally dropped to his side. He was staring at Living Dead Barbie, and started lightly chuckling and said, “Gotcha.”
His eyes refocused on me. I must have looked like a complete ass, my jaw hanging open, only a wussy hammer in my hand compared to the gun in his. But he smiled and started to walk toward me. Well… I guess a better word would be “stumble.” He looked like he was about to tip over.
“Hello,” he said to me. “Who are you?”
I just stared at him. He was alive. A living person. Standing right in front of me. Two years of being alone in the mall and I hadn’t seen another face that wasn’t covered with human innards. But his face was normal. And he was speaking. Like, words. To me. Another live human was talking to me. ‘All this time I thought I was the last living person, and then this bastard turns up out of the blue…’
“It’s easier to talk,” he said patiently, tucking his gun back into his belt, “if you put your jaw back in place and form words.”
I snapped my mouth shut, embarrassed. “Uhm.. I’m Risk.”
He raised his eyebrows. “ ‘Risk’ ? Is that your real name?”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “I’m Risk,” I repeated.
He held up his hands. “Alright, fair enough.”
“Who are you?”
He put his hands on his hips and gave this some thought. “Well, if you’re going to go by ‘Risk,’ might as well call me…” He tapped his chin, then grinned and walked closer to me. “Call me Van Helsing!” he laughed.
I gave him a sideways look. This guy seemed to be missing a few marbles.
As if reading my mind he said, “Now: I’d just like to ask, Risk, why exactly the ground is moving?”
I opened my mouth to tell him it wasn’t when his eyes rolled back in his head and his body started to go limp.
I dashed forward, terrified, worried he might have been bitten by one of Them. ‘No, dear God, please no, not yet--’
Van Helsing tipped, and smashed through the sunroof of the mall.
I looked down through the broken glass. Van Helsing lay amongst the shards of broken glass. I didn’t see mass amounts of blood from the vicinity of his skull, but I didn’t believe anyone could’ve survived that fall.
I completely forgot repairing the roof. I ran back to the door and down the stairs. I didn’t lock the emergency exit behind me. All I could think of was the Van Helsing was there, potentially alive, and needing to help him. I ran across the mall until I eventually came to where he lay, dropping to my knees amongst the shards. He had landed on his left side; his arm was at a funny bend, no doubt broken, but he seemed alive. His leather coat was so goddamn thick that even the glass didn’t get him. His neck wasn’t broken and he had a bit of a gash on his head. But he was alive.
Alive.