I rounded the corner and stamped on the brakes. The street ahead of me was littered with the walking dead. Zombies shambled aimlessly from one side of the street to the other, not really avoiding each other but keeping an even distance. If I was some sort of anthropologist I might be fascinated by this behavior and have a desire to study their movements, understand their culture... I was not a scientist.
I slammed on the gas and felt the van pull forward. The sudden jolt sent tools crashing from the shelves and into the back of the van. I pushed the accelerator to the floor, aiming directly for a group of three walkers standing right in front of the gate. One was a short woman wearing a white blouse. Her face was scorched and blistered, probably from standing out in the sun for days. Her hair was short and ruffled, as though she had been changed while taking a nap on the couch. Her blank face held no expression as the hood of the van plowed through her torso, and I watched as her body sloughed off to the side like a rag doll.
I veered a bit to the right to catch the second of the three, a tall tanned man with spiky jet black hair. He wore a flat brimmed cap and an expression of dull surprise, which didn't seem to change even as the bumper crunched his knees and sent his skull crashing onto the hood. His thick congealed blood popped out of him like a squashed bug and I watched as one hand instinctively grasped one of the wiper blades. He lifted his head and snarled, his blank expression now replaced with one of rage and hunger, and used a free hand to pound furiously on the windshield.
I swerved away from the third in an attempt to strip my attacker off my hood, but he held fast, relentlessly attacking the glass. I glanced in my side view mirror and saw the rest of the infected walkers eagerly pursuing me. I would need to lose them all before attempting to gain entrance to the facility. I slammed on the brakes and saw the monster on my hood slip downward, the wiper blade bending under his weight. I spun the wheel to the left, swinging the bottom side of his body toward the right corner of the van, and pushed on the gas. I felt his leg catch under the wheel and I pushed hard on the gas. His body was pulled downward, under the van and I felt the sickening crunch of bones and rotten flesh. Glancing in the rear view I saw a leg roll out from underneath the van, thick black liquid oozing from where it had been severed. The rest of him was probably still under the vehicle, either stuck like a plastic bag under a semi truck on the freeway, or purposefully clinging to some mechanical part in the hopes that an opportunity will present itself to grab my ankles.
I shook my head, desperately trying to concentrate. My stomach was rumbling almost uncontrollably, and my body felt weak from dehydration. I was tired and hot and had to figure some way to rid myself of the walker under my van, ditch the small horde eagerly following me, and make it back to the front gate. I tried to calculate the time I needed. The last time I came it took almost a full minute for the gate to open, and with the power off I would need to figure out if it could even be opened manually. I would need time to get the van inside, and more time to close the gate securely behind me. Based on the speed of the group hobbling after me, I would need to lead them at least two blocks away from me. The tricky part was not knowing what dangers lie in the distance. One wrong turn and I could drive myself right back into the horde I'd seen earlier at the gas station. I opted to make circles around the block. If I could get them into a single group I could ditch them on the opposite side of the facility, giving me the time I needed to get inside without being discovered.
I turned to the right and saw another three walkers shambling in the street. The sound of my van immediately attracted them, and I swerved around them with ease. All three were dressed in painter's coveralls, their grey skin spattered with bright yellow paint. As they turned to follow me I saw the rest of the pack round the corner, and as they converged the painters blended seamlessly into their ranks. I wondered if this was how the mega-horde had formed, and if I would one day regret making this train of walking death.
I continued down the street toward the end of the block. I turned the corner again and found another walker, this one alone. It was an old man wearing dingy brown pants with no shirt on. I passed by him he swung his arms out weakly. It was almost sad to see the sunken yellow eyes staring out of the grisly gaunt face. His thin grey hair hung across almost transparent skin, and he stared upward into the sky, head cocked to one side to determine my location. I looked in my mirror and saw him move resolutely to follow me.
By now I had quite the pack gathered behind me. Each of these creatures had a similar speed, though some naturally went faster, so it was tricky finding the right speed. I found that if I went too too slow the walking dead would grab onto my van, too fast and I would catch up to the slowest in the pack, causing them to change direction and pin me between them. I was now on my third lap, working feverishly to get them all into a single group on the opposite side of the facility.
As I drove I used the time to inspect the fence for breaks or damage. So far the fence seemed intact and the storage facility was untouched, at least from the outside. I looked in the rear view mirror at the growing train of undead monsters. It was no where near as large as the pack that had me pinned on the rooftop, but there were at at least a dozen ghouls limping and lurching behind me. It was almost comical the way they were furiously trying to keep up, but unable to move their legs fast enough.
I rounded the corner on my fourth lap. As I headed down the southernmost street I saw a familiar sight: a fat zombie in a blue velour running suit and a small one in a red hat dragging its legs behind it. They had continued to make their way here, slowly but resolutely, from several blocks away. I had made a few turns to get here, how did they know where I was? Could they hear the van? Were they sniffing me out like some undead bloodhound? Could others be doing the same? Would I turn the corner to find that mega-horde bearing down on me like a wall of infection and death? I heard a chime and looked down at the little yellow icon next to the fuel gauge. The needle sat on the letter "E" and I felt a sputter as the engine coughed thirstily. Panic surged in my throat. I needed food, water and rest, and fuel, all of which were on the other side of that fence, but I had no way to get inside safely, and time was running out.
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