by Mark Lansing
"That could be, but he's gotta be really thirsty and hungry—fuck! How are we gonna lug our supplies into the bakery? They'll slow us down way too much, we can't—"
"You're right," Martin cut in, "we can't. Too big of a risk. We're carrying guns and nothing more. We just have to bank on their good-neighbors policy, right?"
Kelly said nothing.
Martin's breathing quickened. He clenched his jaw. "Here's the alley..."
He coasted as far as possible before hitting the brakes, tires crunching dead leaves, and finally stopped. Kelly did her best to scan all around, but in this dark... "What's the plan, boss?"
A rush of panic chilled Martin—he had to swallow a few deep breaths. "Sorry, sorry... Trying not to flip out."
Kelly squeezed his hand. "You and me, Marty...and Duke. The unholy trinity, baby."
Martin faced her. "Now I know why I used to love you..."
Kelly's heart jumped—she absolutely couldn't deal with feelings. "Marty, let's get this over with."
"Yeah. We sit here much longer we're doomed. I'll get out first. You get a good grip on Duke's lead, and stuff the flashlight into one of your cargo pockets—switched on and pointing up. There're napkins in the glove compartment...shove a wad of 'em down to brace the light. You won't be able to guide Duke, control your gun, and hold the flashlight at the same time."
"I'm fucking scared, Marty!"
"Me too! But I'll need both hands with the rifle, and it's the only weapon that can take out any shooter who goes hostile on us. It's virtually impossible to hit anything with the Browning more than fifty or sixty feet away—especially in the dark. We try and blind anyone with the flashlight, they'll read that as hostile and blast us. We just need them to see it in order to see us."
"I understand." She opened the glove compartment, and pulled out a ragged stack of McDonald's napkins—thanks again, Colin...
Ready now, Martin opened the door, slid the rifle off the dash, and stepped onto the road.
Kelly had the flashlight glowing from her pocket, opened her door and jumped out quickly. In a few seconds she had Duke out too, and the doors shut. "Leave it unlocked," she said.
"You know it—we might end up running back here, depending on our hosts' mood."
"What if they think the infected are smart enough to mimic the living—as in, 'use a flashlight'?
Martin scanned all around, jaw tight with tension. "Kelly, don't ask me a question like that."
"Sorry."
"Follow me. Hopefully Duke will respond to any threat we might miss."
"Yeah. Hopefully."
They moved efficiently, briskly, toward the alley Martin spoke of earlier. A service lane, actually, lined with Dumpsters used by the few cafes, small businesses, and specialty shops on Aspen Street—the main route through town. The alley opened onto the south face of Robinships Bakery, and the employee parking lot. Martin figured this the "safest" approach, as it had the least number of windows where shooters might perch.
A brutal cry stabbed the night.
"Christ," Martin hissed, "that was close—gotta be someone, or some thing, in the parking lot..."
A gunshot.
"I saw muzzle-flash," Kelly whispered. "It came from the bakery roof."
"Yeah—I caught that too. Let's be real fucking careful when we get to the end of the alley. We might be facing a sniper with a night-scope."
"That ain't so good..."
"What is?"
Halfway along now. Kelly trembled, more from fear than the chilly dark. Duke pulled ahead. "Hey!"
A tall figure shambled out from behind a Dumpster.
Martin froze. "Fuck!"
He'd been focused on the bakery roof.
Duke jumped ahead, raging like a wolf. "No!" cried Kelly.
The figure halted, raised its arms as if preparing to tangle with the dog. A wave of rancid rot washed over Martin. "Kelly..."
An instant before Duke collided with the attacker, Kelly fired once—Duke immediately stopped,
tucked his tail submissively between his legs.
"I hit him," Kelly said. "I hit him—just a freakish lucky shot!"
They stepped closer, Martin turning a slow circle with the rifle. The flashlight standing in Kelly's pocket provided a dim glow, and she stepped back. "Shit shit shit! He's not one of them, he's—"
"Shut up...we don't know that."
"Fucking look."
The tall man lay stretched, as if imitating Superman in flight, a black watch cap torn and bloody from the bullet. His unshaven face looked normal, just another guy lurking in a darkened alley during mass chaos and horror...
"Cover us. Get hold of Duke before he takes off."
Automatic weapons-fire raped the quiet—Duke slammed into Kelly. "Hey buddy...hey..."
Martin crouched, laid the rifle down. "He smells awful, like road-kill and cigarette smoke."
Shoveling his hands under the corpse, Martin turned him over. "Keep covering us. Don't worry about this guy...he's got an inflamed, well-defined bite above his right kidney—one of them...or was soon to be."
Gun on point with the alley's end, Kelly simply sighed.
"You did him a favor, Kelly..."
"Good. Hope he stays that way and doesn't track me down to return it."
Martin grabbed the rifle and stood. "From what I'm hearing, whoever's sniping is shooting toward Aspen Street—the bakery's front face. We might have made a good choice going in this way. But that doesn't mean they won't have guards posted all around the perimeter."
"We'll find out..."
"Yeah." Martin stepped closer and embraced her. "You're really something...just wanted you to know that."
"So are you, Marty. Now let's keep it that way."
Kelly wound in Duke's lead, allowing him only three feet of slack. Guns forward, they moved toward the alley's end.
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