Dawn of the Dead

by George A. Romero

  Peter took careful, deliberate aim with his pistol and fired point blank at one of the clawing ghouls. The impact caused it to fly back, and it freed Roger so that he was able to pull himself higher. His face was straining from the agony of exertion. Just as his torso was through the window, another creature grabbed him.

  Peter could no longer get a shot as Roger filled the window, so the big trooper dropped his pistol and pulled Roger’s arms, struggling to haul him through the opening.

  For the second time that day, Roger dangled from the window, his legs kicking. Peter started the truck, and as it began to roll away, one of the clutching zombies was able to get a solid hold on Roger’s leg. The creature opened its cavernous mouth and bit into the calf. Blood gushed out through the material, and the creature bit again, relishing the flavor and coming away with bits of flesh tangled in a bloodstained strip from Roger’s trouser leg.

  A shriek of incredible agony came from Roger, and he whipped his legs around violently. The truck accelerated with a lurch and sped away, the final zombie thrown to the ground from the momentum.

  The creature rolled a little way on the pavement before stopping. Then it sat on the ground, hunched over like a gorilla, the bloody mass of flesh and material still dangling from its mouth. It tried to separate the cloth from the more appetizing morsels.

  A bullet whizzed by, disturbing the thing’s tasty treat, but it continued chomping on its morsels. Another bullet tore through its shoulder, but it was still only concerned with its prize.

  The bullets were coming from Fran’s rifle, and as she fired, she swore through her teeth. The gun roared, and clouds of dust flew up around her. Finally, she hit the seated creature cleanly through the head with her third bullet. She could see it fall, unnoticed by the others that walked by it.

  Up in the sky, the helicopter escorted the big truck back to the warehouse for the third time.

  The truck rumbled along, jostling the two passengers as Roger struggled to tie a tourniquet around his bleeding leg. He used his belt and pulled it tightly.

  “That’s it,” Peter stated as he heard Roger suck air in through his teeth in agony.

  “Bullshit,” Roger said, teeth clenched in pain.

  “We gotta deal with that leg!”

  “I’m dealin’ with it . . . I’m dealin’ with it fine! I won’t be able to walk on this at all if we wait.”

  “Can you walk on it now?” Peter shot back, anger rising in him at Roger’s stubbornness.

  “You’re damn right I can . . . damn right I can!” he shot back just as arrogantly.

  He struggled to wrap the bloody part of his leg with the torn piece of trouser.

  “I stop movin’ this leg . . .” Roger said sharply, with great deep breaths between his words. He could hardly keep from screaming out, the pain was so intense and the gash so deep. “May not ever get it goin’ again . . . there’s a lot to get done before . . . before you can afford to lose . . . me . . .”

  Peter turned and stared at his friend for a second, not believing that Roger could think him so callous. But then he guessed he never really told Roger about his feelings one way or the other. Dismissing it as an emotional outburst, he drove on to the warehouse, escorted by Steve’s chopper.

  9

  An eerie stillness had come over the parking lot. A huge trailer truck now stood in front of each of the four entranceways to the mall. The trucks were remarkably close to the doors, if not completely flush. Some of the glass portals could be opened slightly, but not enough for the zombies inside to pass through.

  After a while, the stillness was shattered by the collecting mob of zombies who were trying to get into the building. They swarmed around the trucks, frustrated and confused. They clawed at the enormous vehicles but to no avail. Some tried to climb up onto the cabs, while others tried to claw at the loading doors on the trailers.

  Some of the creatures had even managed to crawl under the rigs and were pawing at the underside of the trucks. Then they would squirm their way toward the doors but couldn’t stand because there was no room. Creatures inside pushed the doors out so that the zombies under the trucks couldn’t push them in. They were all working at cross-purposes, and so none of them would be successful.

  One creature, who had crawled under a trailer, managed to push open a mall door. It crawled into the building through the milling legs of the other ghouls who were trying to exit. They all buzzed around like a swarm of insects.

  Still, the revolving door offered the best access for the creatures. Although it was complicated and baffling to their empty brains, two creatures did manage to crawl under a truck that blocked one of the doors, and one of the ghouls was able to negotiate the rotating action and enter the concourse.

  “It all depends on how many of them are still inside,” Peter was telling Steve as they huddled over maps of the building. They were safely back up in the crawlspace, the cartons still piled up against the fire stair entrance. “That’s a long haul between those entrances.”

  “Well,” Steve replied. “If we can get some more flares . . . or maybe some of those propane jobs.”

  “The guns are first. Guns and ammunition,” Peter stated bluntly.

  Nearby, Roger moaned with pain. Fran was applying a dressing to his leg. The wound was wrapped with several layers of cloth that Fran had cut in strips from one of the blankets. She had used the disinfectants from the open first aid kit.

  “You sure you’re gonna make it, buddy?” Peter asked, crouching near his friend. He gestured to Fran and took over the wrapping of the wound, tying more strips around it tightly and around the upper thigh.

  “Just hurry up with that!” Roger exploded irritably. He didn’t like to show any weakness around Peter. His wound was really bothering him, and he secretly wished that he could let loose and bawl his eyes out. They didn’t have the proper pain killer. Morphine would have been the most effective. Guess he would just have to “bite the bullet” and carry on. He cringed as another wave of pain shot through him.

  He watched Peter motion Steve over to a corner. The serious expression on Peter’s face showed that they were probably talking about another supply raid. And the fear on Steve’s face showed that Peter was sparing no one. He would go on as before, experienced partner or not.

  Steve scurried over to Fran and tried to talk to her quietly. What do they think, I’m a baby? thought Roger, annoyed at their patronizing attitude toward him.

  Suddenly, Fran exploded.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” she screamed at Steve. She seemed shaken from the day’s exploits. They all were; but she seemed especially changed.

  Steve tried to quiet her, but she merely turned on her heel, and if there had been a room with a door to slam, she would have slammed it. Since they were still in the big, practically empty room, she sulked to a corner.

  A ceiling grid opened, and a tall figure dropped out of it. He landed on the floor of the sporting goods store. It was Peter, with a rifle slung on his shoulder and an empty pack on his back. Several of the maintenance room key rings were strapped into his belt.

  Attracted to the movement, a zombie suddenly charged from across the room. The gate to the mall balcony was open in this particular store. Another creature also tuned in to the noise, joined the first, and they started through the open entrance.

  A few seconds later, Stephen descended into the darkened store. His equipment was also strapped onto his body. Instantly, he noticed the moving creature. Peter was trying to unsling his rifle and was unaware of the danger. In a split second, Steve conquered his fear of heights and let himself fall to the floor. He landed in a heap, rolled into a store exhibit and sent the displayed items flying.

  Peter looked up and quickly untangled his gun and managed to level off a shot at the charging creature. Meanwhile, Steve regained his footing, brushing himself off from the fall. The second creature rushed steadily up the aisle. With quick reflexes, Steve grabbed a powerful crossbow and arrow from
a nearby exhibit. He cocked the simple mechanism and fired it. It gave off a strumming sound. The small shaft ripped cleanly through the creature’s skull and embedded itself in a wall beyond. The zombie staggered forward a few steps before it fell. Steve stared at it in openmouthed astonishment.

  Peter hit him on the shoulder, rousing him from his dazed position. Then they ran toward the entrance arch. Peter jumped up on an adjacent countertop and managed to reach the lip of the roll gate and swing it down fast. Then Stephen caught the cage below and slammed it into place just as another ghoul fell against it moaning and clawing.

  Stephen unslung his gun and was about to level it off on the creatures outside when Peter jumped down from the counter.

  “Don’t try to shoot through those gates,” he commanded. “Openings are too small. Bullet’ll wind up chasin’ us around in here.”

  A zombie crashed against the gate with all his might, startling the already nervous Steve.

  “He can’t get through,” Peter assured him. “Come on.”

  The men crashed back through the store and Peter moved right to the racks of weapons. He pulled down a gorgeous high-powered rifle that was equipped with a sophisticated scope for sighting.

  “Ain’t it a crime!” he ejaculated.

  “What?” Steve asked, confused by the man’s sudden outburst.

  “The only person who could ever miss with this gun,” Peter said, looking through the telescope, “is the sucker with bread enough to buy it.”

  His line of sight was on the cross hairs of the telescope that zeroed in on the enlarged forehead of the same zombie who was thrashing against the roll gate. Peter could sense the superweapon’s lethal accuracy with one glance through the viewer.

  Stephen was busily diving into the ammunition, and he moved behind the counter, where he pulled out boxes of shiny new handguns.

  Peter, meanwhile, found elaborate holsters and ammunition belts. He pulled several other rifles from the rack. The firepower that Steve and Peter were collecting for their own private arsenal was mind-boggling.

  “You just wait out there,” Peter called to the creatures gathering at the gate, trying to break in. “We’re comin’ . . . and we are ready!”

  By the time Peter and Steve had returned to the crawlspace hideout, Fran had informed Roger of the plans, which she thought were ludicrous. But Roger was already excited and raring to go. They all dressed with double holsters containing handguns. Each had a rifle strapped over his or her shoulder and another in hand. Ammo belts were slung around their hips, and they carried packs with other supplies. Ceremoniously, they dumped Roger into the big gardening cart that Peter had used to carry the initial supply load out of the store. The wounded trooper looked pretty comical perched in the cart.

  Peter urged the group on, pushing Roger in the cart before him. When they reached the balcony, they noticed that there were only a few creatures about. The living dead turned in confusion at the sound of the attacking commandoes. Roger, his hands free to shoot, fired his weapon several times at some of the closest creatures.

  The creatures from the main concourse below began to move up the stationary staircase and struggled with the escalators. The rotting, bleeding corpses of the creatures slain in the earlier battles were still cluttering the area.

  Fran and Steve were the first to reach the entrance to Porter’s department store. Immediately, Steve started to work on the gate locks. Peter pulled up, the small rubber wheels of the cart leaving marks on the linoleum floor. He turned the cart a full 180 degrees so that the blond trooper was facing out toward the mall.

  As Steve fumbled with the second lock, Peter faced the few zombies that were converging along the balcony. He lifted his new superweapon and stared through the scope. The gun went off with a stupendous growl, the sound of its power reverberating through the mall. The single shot ripped cleanly through the center forehead of one of the creatures.

  A pleased smirk on his face, Peter took aim again and made another perfect kill. Then a third time—whammo—and another zombie bit the dust. All the while, Roger fired several times, some of his shots going wild, others making the target.

  As Fran stood ready at the roll gate, Steve finished with the final lock. Then she pushed against the cage, and it started up. Now, Steve stood and the two rolled the cage into the ceiling, but Steve was particularly careful not to let the gate roll out of his hands. They had been instructed very carefully by Peter, and they both wanted to make a good impression. This is like the first day of school, Fran thought cynically. They were both afraid to do anything wrong and have Peter’s wrath brought down upon them.

  Fran moved into the store followed by Peter, who pulled the cart behind him. Then, Steve, Peter and Fran pulled the gate shut long before any of the advancing creatures could reach them.

  Once again, the zombies pounded on the locked gates, but the humans were already running through the aisles of the big store, and the pounding was very distant to them.

  “How’s the ride?” Peter asked as he wheeled Roger into the elevator and hit the button for the first floor. The doors closed and the car started down.

  “Kinda bumpy,” Roger said, trying for humor, but Peter could sense that he was in extreme pain. In a movement that was out of character for the stern trooper, Peter put his hand on Roger’s shoulder.

  “Look here . . .” he started, his voice cracking a bit.

  Roger was immediately embarrassed, for himself as well as Peter.

  “I know, I know . . . Shut up,” he said affectionately.

  They had both been through a lot together, and it was something not easily put into words. It was an unspoken truce on the battlefield, something that men in combat would carry about with them forever.

  The elevator doors glided open, and Peter pushed the cart out into the first floor of Porter’s. His expression did not show any of the softness that the conversation with Roger, seconds before, had exhibited. He was ready for action.

  Fran and Steve charged down the store escalator, moving faster than the steps. They ran through the hardware department, where Steve snatched up several propane torches. Fran stuffed a few extra bottles of gas into her backpack.

  Then, as Fran held two torches, Steve lit them. A great hiss exploded, and one of the propane nozzles spat out a white hot flame as it was ignited by one of the new disposable lighters that the foursome had “liberated.”

  Peter wheeled the cart up to the first-floor entrance gate. Several creatures outside the cage flew into a sudden frenzy at seeing the humans, as if they were animals in a zoo. They slammed against the grid but it only swayed, holding up against their weight as usual.

  “Unlock the middle one last,” Peter instructed.

  Steve fell on the right-hand lock with his keys. He could feel Peter’s eyes boring into the back of his head and wanted to do the job properly. His hands shook as he tried the keys in the lock. As he crouched by the gate, the zombies converged, pushing and shoving. He could smell their hot sour breath and feel their insistent pressure against the cage. Fran held one of the lit torches very close to the gate, and the creatures backed away, cringing and shielding their eyes. Finally, Steve found the correct key, and the lock gave way with a solid click.

  Once more Steve crouched. This time he bent over the lock to the extreme left. As if they were trained seals, the zombies followed. Fran stood at attention with the flaming torch. No longer did she shrink away when the creatures approached. She had become almost inured to them.

  “All right,” Peter said to Steve’s back. “The toughest part’ll be gettin’ by these right here . . .”

  The second lock clicked open. The zombies continued to push, and the gate was more pliant with only the middle lock securing it now.

  “It’s a long haul down to the entrance,” Steve replied, moving to the middle and final lock.

  Peter craned his neck to see past the zombies and down the concourse. Attracted to the noise and commotion, several other zombies
started toward Porter’s entrance.

  “We’ll be all right,” Peter told him, looking off toward one of the main entrances, where a truck trailer blocked off the entrance from the outside.

  “It’s too far!” Fran cried out, panic rising in her voice.

  “There’s no backin’ out now,” Peter insisted. “We gotta lock those doors!”

  “We’ll never make all four,” Fran countered, her fear in control and the power of reasoning replacing it. “It’s too risky.”

  “You just stay here and be ready to open up for us,” Steve told her from his crouching position.

  Suddenly her eyes lit up.

  “The car!”

  “What?” a startled Peter asked.

  “The car!”

  She pointed to the slowly spinning exhibit that displayed the new automobile. It was a sleek, sporty Mustang that looked fast and maneuverable.

  Peter immediately grasped the plan forming in Fran’s mind. He looked trepidatiously at Roger, who had been uncharacteristically quiet during the last few hours.

  “You OK to start it?” he asked the other trooper, who cringed with pain but nodded his head affirmatively.

  Despite Roger’s discomfort, he moved quickly and efficiently, reaching for his supply pack.

  The zombies continued to clutch at the gate with renewed strength. At the unlocked ends, the grid gave a little but still managed to hold the ghouls out. Fran approached the gate and waved the torch menacingly. The creatures moaned and moved back. With a flick of the wrist, Steve unlocked the middle and final lock.

  “It’s goin’ up,” he warned.

  With a thunderous roar, the gate swung out of Steve’s fingertips. The zombies charged, but Fran’s torches made them hold back slightly. Steve grabbed one of the propane canisters with one hand and drew a pistol with the other. Fran drew a handgun from her holster too, and they both fired into the pack of zombies. A few fell by the entranceway, knocking over a small perfume display. Others tried to approach but were frightened away by the bright flames.