By Michael J. Shanley
Copyright 2012 Michael J. Shanley
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Hal pushed the last dresser down the stairs of the abandoned hotel. It crashed down still full of clothes. He wondered what happened to the owners of those clothes when the zombies attacked. Hal pushed that out of his mind. It was thoughts like that which could make you crazy. He pushed the now broken dresser against the others he had thrown, and the last way into the building on the ground floor was blocked. He looked at the sunlight from the second floor landing. It was getting late in the afternoon and he didn’t have much time. The undead were out in the day, but they were slow. They got quick and dangerous at night. The living learned that early on.
He was sweating. The desert heat had taken a lot out of him and his car. He had hoped to get past this little town near Vegas and into the mountains. But his car wouldn’t make it. Hal climbed to the top of the stairs and looked outside. He could see a crowd of the undead standing across the street and staring at the hotel.
“Damned Zombies.” He muttered. “I’m just passing through. You aren’t going to get me here in this hole. I’ll get to Montana where the living still have a chance.” Hal adjusted the sling of the rifle and hefted the double barreled shotgun. His watch had stopped working, but he figured that it must have been around five o’clock. He had time to barricade the end of the hallway and rig explosives all along the railing up to the room he had chosen for his final barricade. He pulled the case he had lugged up from his conked out car. In the morning at first light he would make a break for it, snag a new car and get up into the mountains. There the undead wouldn’t follow him and he would be clear all the way. Nature didn’t like zombies and they didn’t last in the rugged outdoors. You had to have the quick reactions and fear of death the living had to make it in nature.