“Shall we seal this date by breaching the door?” she pecked him on the lips, then released him. He reluctantly let his fingers slide from her waist. They both got their weapons back out and in their hands.
“I thought you’d never ask,” he replied while touching the emergency push bar.
“On three?”
“Yep,” he said.
“One, two, three.”
Together they pushed through the door and took a few tentative steps beyond.
Blue light went right into their faces.
“Well, shit,” he said in a beat-down voice. “I guess they followed us, after all.”
“Run or shoot?” she asked urgently.
The floating disc was thirty feet above, just far enough they couldn’t hear the quiet whir of the fans. White running lights came on, like it was no longer afraid of being seen, and two black gun barrels projected from underneath. He might have chosen to fight it out if they weren’t already zeroed in on them.
“Neither,” he replied. “It has guns.”
“We give up,” he said in its direction, feeling exactly like he imagined all those teen kids he’d busted.
The drone descended until it was only a few feet above them. The wash of the blades felt like the beginnings of a strong storm.
They set down their guns at the same time, but he grabbed Melissa’s hands instead of raising his arms in surrender.
“It was a great first date,” he declared.
“I was looking forward to making you even more uncomfortable on our second,” she said with a futile laugh.
“You might still get your chance,” he replied. “At least we know they aren’t aliens.” He pointed to the faint words painted on the underside of the hull. “United States Air Force.”
She squeezed his hand while they stood together to await their fate.
About E.E. Isherwood
E.E. Isherwood is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of the Sirens of the Zombie Apocalypse series. He has designs for many other dystopian and post-apocalyptic science fiction and fantasy novels. His long-time fascination with the end of the world blossomed decades ago after reading the 1949 classic Earth Abides. Zombies are just a handy vehicle allowing him to observe how society breaks down in the face of such withering calamity.
Isherwood lives in St. Louis, Missouri with his wife and family. He stays deep in a bunker with steepled fingers, always awaiting the arrival of the first wave of zombies.
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