gatekeeper, now a haven: Homer’s Grocery.
“They’re coming from the farm house!”
I turned right, and we were in shadows, blowing into the Homer’s Grocery drive-thru. “Everyone out!”
Anthony Barnhart
36 Hours
64
“What?” Hannah screamed. “What’re you doing!”
“Trust me,” I said, and jumped out of the Jeep. The front desk was empty. Hannah and Les got out. Les ran to the entrance. “Better have a plan!”
I grabbed the glass door that said Homer’s Grocery Employees Only on it in bold red lettering. It was locked. No. I banged my fists hard on the glass, turned to see Hannah staring at me. A shadow against the wall, and a good friend of mine rushed after her. Lennie, who ran the drive-thru on Fridays. Her eyes had sunken down, turned grossly yellow, as blanched as her bared teeth. She swiped her hands to grab Hannah. I screamed, “Hannah! Down!” She did as I told, probably because of the fear, and Lennie stumbled over her. Then she came at me. My hand fell down instinctively. There was always a bar next to the door to prop it open when ferrying big orders. She snarled. My fingers grabbed the cold steel of the bar, and I swung it up; she jumped up to fall atop of me; I collapsed against the door and drove the sharp end of the pole up into the soft part under her chin; she shrieked as the pole bloodily tore through her chin, mouth and eyes, finally exploding from the top of her skull. Blood sprayed all over the neck of my shirt as her body crumpled down, going into seizures, wracking against several crates of sodas.
Les ran towards me. “We’re screwed, they’re-“
Hannah ran up to the door. “Let us in!”
I turned and saw George and Diane against the glass. Cashiers. They saw me, and their faces lit up. Hannah pleaded, “Let me in! Please!”
They opened the door and we rushed inside. Les was the last one in. Diane calmly shut the door and slid the bolt back over it, just as an infected threw himself against the door, growling, clawing. The woman on the floor writhed in a bath of blood. I watched in horror as the infected turned from the door and jumped upon the woman, tearing her flesh and biting her neck. More infected ran around the Jeep and dove atop the woman, hungrily tearing her apart. George said, “They eat their own dead. And if the dead aren’t eaten, they return from the dead.” His voice was eerily placid. “You see,” he told us, “you have to get them in the head. You have to pierce the brain. Blunt trauma doesn’t work. We tried that.” He just stared at the feast in the Drive-thru. Weakness took over me, and I sat down atop some wooden crates containing raspberry clutches. “Thanks, George. Diane. How you guys doing?”
Diane saw the blood on my shirt. My weakness. The cut on my forehead.
“Better than you, I imagine.”
Anthony Barnhart
36 Hours
65
Hannah demanded, “Is this place safe?”
George glared at her. “Safer than out there, Missus.”
“She didn’t mean anything by it,” I told him. “Back off. She’s just scared. We’re all scared.”
She polished my words, telling George, “Thank you for letting us in.”
He nodded his you’re welcome .
Les stared out at the infected eating their comrade alive. “Can they get through the glass?”
Diane laughed. “They’ve tried. But ol’ Homer was a stickler. Everything is plate-glass. Bullet-proof.”
“Yeah,” I said, as if my words meant anything. To Diane, “Is it just you guys?”
“No. We have some customers upstairs. In the lounge. We’ve barricaded the doors leading down here. Those darned diseased swept into our store like a strong south wind. Tore down shelves and turned the deli into a madhouse. Dairy was taken over. A lot of our guys were infected. I think it’s in the bites. A lot of customers fell, too. We were able to round up the customers who weren’t infected, and we lobbied them back here. Boarded up the doors to the store with boards, nail gun and lots
“They’re coming from the farm house!”
I turned right, and we were in shadows, blowing into the Homer’s Grocery drive-thru. “Everyone out!”
Anthony Barnhart
36 Hours
64
“What?” Hannah screamed. “What’re you doing!”
“Trust me,” I said, and jumped out of the Jeep. The front desk was empty. Hannah and Les got out. Les ran to the entrance. “Better have a plan!”
I grabbed the glass door that said Homer’s Grocery Employees Only on it in bold red lettering. It was locked. No. I banged my fists hard on the glass, turned to see Hannah staring at me. A shadow against the wall, and a good friend of mine rushed after her. Lennie, who ran the drive-thru on Fridays. Her eyes had sunken down, turned grossly yellow, as blanched as her bared teeth. She swiped her hands to grab Hannah. I screamed, “Hannah! Down!” She did as I told, probably because of the fear, and Lennie stumbled over her. Then she came at me. My hand fell down instinctively. There was always a bar next to the door to prop it open when ferrying big orders. She snarled. My fingers grabbed the cold steel of the bar, and I swung it up; she jumped up to fall atop of me; I collapsed against the door and drove the sharp end of the pole up into the soft part under her chin; she shrieked as the pole bloodily tore through her chin, mouth and eyes, finally exploding from the top of her skull. Blood sprayed all over the neck of my shirt as her body crumpled down, going into seizures, wracking against several crates of sodas.
Les ran towards me. “We’re screwed, they’re-“
Hannah ran up to the door. “Let us in!”
I turned and saw George and Diane against the glass. Cashiers. They saw me, and their faces lit up. Hannah pleaded, “Let me in! Please!”
They opened the door and we rushed inside. Les was the last one in. Diane calmly shut the door and slid the bolt back over it, just as an infected threw himself against the door, growling, clawing. The woman on the floor writhed in a bath of blood. I watched in horror as the infected turned from the door and jumped upon the woman, tearing her flesh and biting her neck. More infected ran around the Jeep and dove atop the woman, hungrily tearing her apart. George said, “They eat their own dead. And if the dead aren’t eaten, they return from the dead.” His voice was eerily placid. “You see,” he told us, “you have to get them in the head. You have to pierce the brain. Blunt trauma doesn’t work. We tried that.” He just stared at the feast in the Drive-thru. Weakness took over me, and I sat down atop some wooden crates containing raspberry clutches. “Thanks, George. Diane. How you guys doing?”
Diane saw the blood on my shirt. My weakness. The cut on my forehead.
“Better than you, I imagine.”
Anthony Barnhart
36 Hours
65
Hannah demanded, “Is this place safe?”
George glared at her. “Safer than out there, Missus.”
“She didn’t mean anything by it,” I told him. “Back off. She’s just scared. We’re all scared.”
She polished my words, telling George, “Thank you for letting us in.”
He nodded his you’re welcome .
Les stared out at the infected eating their comrade alive. “Can they get through the glass?”
Diane laughed. “They’ve tried. But ol’ Homer was a stickler. Everything is plate-glass. Bullet-proof.”
“Yeah,” I said, as if my words meant anything. To Diane, “Is it just you guys?”
“No. We have some customers upstairs. In the lounge. We’ve barricaded the doors leading down here. Those darned diseased swept into our store like a strong south wind. Tore down shelves and turned the deli into a madhouse. Dairy was taken over. A lot of our guys were infected. I think it’s in the bites. A lot of customers fell, too. We were able to round up the customers who weren’t infected, and we lobbied them back here. Boarded up the doors to the store with boards, nail gun and lots
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