"s.h.i.t, I'm bleeding," BT cursed.

"You alright?" Gary asked, alarmed that BT may have been bitten.

"Got hung up on thorns," BT answered.

"Really not the time to stop and smell the flowers," Deneaux chortled.

"Are the roses orange or pink?" Gary asked, his back to BT as he scanned the area. The sound of so many moving feet was unsettling.

"Who gives a s.h.i.t! This is one time I agree with Deneaux."

"If they're orange, they are grandiflora, if they're pink they are climbers," Gary said, "Gary...come on, man, am I losing you?" BT asked.

"No, the orange ones were on the left side of the house and the garage was right beyond it, the climbers were on the other side."

"I'm not going to ask right now about how you knew the names of the roses, but we'll talk later that's for sure. They're the orange ones by the way," BT said as he skirted around the bush and towards the garage.

"Gary, just start firing," Mrs. Deneaux said to him.

"I can't see anything clear enough," Gary told her.

"Doesn't matter you won't miss," she told him calmly.

Zombies were nearly within reach of grabbing Gary's rifle barrel as he fired. BT had him by the waist and was steering him in the right direction as Gary watched their retreating back. "I'm out!" Gary yelled, thinking that their end had finally broken through and found them.

It was then that Deneaux began to fire. She had strategically waited for him to expend his ammo so that she could keep them alive while he reloaded. Gary realized quickly her tactic and began to throw rounds into his magazine. Her shots were more measured than his, but even so, he only had about fifteen seconds before she was out. The signal from his brain to his fingers was getting fouled through the panic of nerves. He dropped at least three of the precious rounds, foregoing precision for haste.

"Gary?" Mrs. Deneaux asked as she was pulling the hammer back on her final shot.

"We're at the garage!" BT said triumphantly.

Deneaux's last shot punctuated the momentous occasion. Phantom zombies raced by in the shadows, some drawn to the sound of the gunfire others heading to unknown destinations. Gary finally drove the full cartridge home as a zombie came out of the murkiness into Mrs. Deneaux's blindside.

He tried to pull the trigger, but it was frozen in place he had yet to chamber a round.

"Duck down!" BT bellowed as he brought his arm up. He shot the heavy caliber hunting rifle one-armed, the weapon not even braced against his shoulder. Even in the desperation of the moment Gary was able to appreciate the strength of the man as the recoil did little more than ripple his shirt.

"Get in!" BT yelled as he physically picked up Deneaux with his free hand and put her in the side door of the garage. Gary was quick to follow along with BT after two more shots.

"Twit," Deneaux said to Gary, her hands shaking as she placed another cigarette to her mouth.

BT propped up a small step ladder against the door as zombies began to run into it.

"I'm sorry," Gary said. "I thought I was ready to shoot."

"You could have got me killed," she spat.

"Would that have been so bad for us?" BT said, making sure his makeshift barricade was going to hold.

Mrs. Deneaux was silent for a moment before she began to cackle.

"Oh no." BT turned around, confident the door would hold. It appeared that the nearby zombies had already departed for greener pastures. Why hunt when a buffet was laid out? Somewhere there were people in much more dire straits than themselves.

"What's the matter?" Gary asked, fearful that something had found another way in or was already laying in wait.

BT pointed towards the car. "Besides the flat tire, it's a lime green Pinto."

"I had a servant that drove one of these," Mrs. Deneaux said.

"Should we see if it starts before we change the tire?" Gary asked. He was afraid the engine noise would attract more zombies.

BT was thinking along the same lines. "Let's change the tire first. It's not like we can go anywhere if it doesn't work, and those zombies will come back if they hear this piece of s.h.i.t. I bet it idles as loud as a howler monkey."

Gary noticed that the dome light was very dim as he opened the driver side door and popped the hatch to the rear so that he could get to the jack.

"What do you think?" BT asked as Gary placed the jack on the frame of the body.

"Well if this thing isn't so rusted out that it could support its own weight I'll be able to put on that spare tire that is barely better than the one I'm replacing. And once I drop the car back down and the tire seems to have some air pressure, we have to contend with a battery that may or may not give us three engine cranks before it c.r.a.ps out. We might need more than that because of any condensation that may or may not have got into the gas tank," Gary told him.

"And if all of that goes our way?" BT asked further.

"Well, then at that point, the worst of all possible scenarios happens."

"And what's that?" BT asked, thoroughly concerned.

"We find ourselves in a lime green Pinto."

"Should have known I was being set up, you are a Talbot. Do what you can. I'm going to see if there is anything in here that we can potentially use," BT said, clapping him on the shoulder.

Mrs. Deneaux had found a small stool and was flicking her ashes within inches of a red gas can.

"You know that's gas right?" BT asked grabbing the small container.

"A dehydrated ant could p.i.s.s more than is in that can," she answered as she took a pull from her smoke.

BT unscrewed the top. She was mostly right, there was at most a half gallon of fuel; and by the look and smell of it, it had some motor oil mixed in. "Must be for a weed whacker," he said aloud, Mrs. Deneaux paid him no attention.

"Twit," she said again looking in Gary's direction.

Gary had just tightened the last lug nut and was setting the car down when the shed shook. Even the slumbering Deneaux looked up.

"What the h.e.l.l was that?" BT asked, looking up from the hatch where he was placing anything that could be used as a melee weapon.

Gary quickly dropped the car, and when he was confident the tire would hold, he threw the jack in the back just as the shed again shook. He would have sworn it moved on its slab foundation. Dust and debris began to rain down from the rafters.

"s.h.i.t," BT said looking up. Flimsy sheets of plywood held up storage boxes; some labeled, Christmas, Halloween and even one ominously named Bowling. BT didn't want to be anywhere in this garage when those boxes began to fall.

"Get in the car!" BT urged them as the wooden garage door splintered from another a.s.sault.

"What's going on?" Gary asked as he stared in horror at the large bay door that was beginning to buckle.

"Pretty sure it's not the cavalry, Gary," BT said pushing him into the car.

"Get that piece of s.h.i.t started. I'll hold off whatever it is," BT said. His words held more conviction than the tremor in his voice.

Deneaux was already seated in the back of the car.

Gary turned the ignition and was rewarded with-at first-nothing. Then came the slow wind of an under-powered starter, then three loud clicks before Gary turned the key back to off.

"Gary?" BT asked tremulously as the garage door was rapidly becoming wood sc.r.a.ps.

"Trying," Gary said as he pumped the gas and turned the ignition...this time only receiving the loud clicking noise.

"Oh, G.o.d," BT said softly as he began to back up.

Gary looked up from the dashboard. "Oh s.h.i.t," he said as he began to furiously pump the gas in a fervent hope that the friction from the action would somehow send power to the dying battery.

"Shoot it!" the usually reserved Mrs. Deneaux shouted.

The beast struck again, the only thing holding it back now was the thin strips of metal that had been part of the door's support. BT had seemingly forgotten about the firearm in his hands.

"Shoot it!" Deneaux screamed again.

Her shrill voice seemed to awaken something in BT. He raised his rifle and pulled the trigger and the behemoth on the other side barely moved as its head rocked back an inch or two. White bone shone through on its forehead for a moment before it was covered in a brackish black goop.

"Get in the car, BT!" Gary screamed, not even caring that his voice was at least three octaves higher than it normally should be.

"It'll kill us," BT said, not willing to look back at Gary. The beast was pulling the metal strips apart with a dexterity that the zombies had not shown previously.

The car settled down appreciably as BT got in quickly closing his door to the nightmare beyond the too thin gla.s.s windshield.

"Please, G.o.d, I've always tried to live my life as best I could," Gary said as he again turned the key in the ignition. For a moment there wasn't anything, not even the dead clicking, merely dead silence-that and the grunts and groans of the beast trying to get at them...and then the engine roared to life. Although to say that a four-cylinder Ford Pinto engine was roaring to life would be like saying that Paris Hilton was a fantastic actress (although if you count her night vision adventures she was alright).

The giant zombie was in the garage, it brought its honey-glazed-ham-sized fists down on the hood of the small car. Giant imprints were left behind as it raised its hands up to do more damage. Gary was afraid the monster would drive the hood into the fan blades, then their escape would be over before it ever even started. Gary threw the transmission into drive, and for one long, heart-stopping second, the engine sputtered and threatened to die before the car lurched forward and was immediately stopped as it ran into the zombie's tree trunk-like legs.

"Go, Gary, go!" BT yelled.

"Sounds like Dr. Seuss," Gary said. "Through the zombie, then we're free. Go, Gary, go." Gary pressed gently down on the gas pedal, trying to find a balance between more engine thrust and the car's ability to take the influx of gas without flooding and stalling.

A deep moan came out of the zombie's mouth. Gary had initially thought the vibrations he felt in his chest were coming from the car until he saw the zombie's throat warbling.

"Gary?" BT pleaded.

"I've got the gas halfway down, we're not moving!" Gary replied excitedly. Smoke was billowing all around the garage from the effort.

"Maybe you should put it all the way to the floor," Mrs. Deneaux said, leaning forward.

"I think I agree with her on this one," BT said, leaning as far back as he could-which wasn't far considering the confines of the small car.

A stiff wind had kicked up, and the roadway was surprisingly clear. Gary was able to notice that more zombies of the traditional variety began to make their way over towards them.

"Now or never bud," BT said noticing the same thing.

The engine popped and sputtered as Gary pressed his foot into the nearly rusted out floor board. The giant zombie had bent down and was now trying to lift the front end of the car off the ground. It appeared to be having some success.

BT quickly, and against his better judgment, rolled down his window and fired twice; one bullet tearing through the right side of the zombie's jowl. Gnashing teeth shown through like a doctor's examination room diorama. The second shot caught it in the forehead an inch or two from the previous wound. The zombie did not fall; but at least it dropped the car and staggered back.

The zombie was still moving backwards when the engine finally had enough thrust to get the transmission moving. The car shot out like a turtle wading through mola.s.ses. Gary did his best to avoid the behemoth, but with limited room and the size of the beast, it was easier said than done. The car was rocked to its rivets as it struck the zombie.

BT's head almost made contact with the dashboard. The only thing preventing it was that he was wedged in tighter than a tick on a moose's a.s.s. Gary took a hard left away from the majority of the zombies, but it was still no easy feat avoiding them. He knew the Pinto could not sustain any more damage than it already had; a factory-new Pinto was suspect, and this had seen its best days decades earlier. Gary wouldn't swear to it, but he thought he heard a maniacal laughter emanating from Mary's house as they pa.s.sed on by.

"Roll up your window," Gary asked BT as he shivered.

CHAPTER FIVE.

Mike Journal Entry 2 The sound of a small engine car racing past the house awoke me from my daze, that and the crazy, long-haired b.a.s.t.a.r.d that was looking down at me.

"Are you real?" he asked.

"Where the f.u.c.k am I?" I asked as I was peering around the room that was covered from floor to ceiling and the ceiling itself in tin foil.

"Hey...hey...hey!" he started. "I'm asking the hyperboles!"

So I know my grasp of the English language is suspect at best, but even I knew that was an incorrect sentence.

"Ask away," I said weakly. I felt marginally better than I had when I fell into the house, but how much better was still in question. If crazy-eyed, long-haired, bearded man attacked right now with more than a plastic spoon I would be done for.

"I'm asking the questions here," he said, trying to establish his authority.

"You said you were asking the hyperboles?"

"Why the f.u.c.k would I say that? That makes absolutely no sense," he said, scratching his head. "Why you here? Did they send you?"

"Can I get a drink first?" I asked, my throat felt like it was on fire, which I guess wasn't too far removed from the truth.

"I dance on my bed."

How do these people find me? It's like I have a heavy dose of crazy attractant sprayed all over me. "That's nice," was all I could think to say in return.

"Scotch okay? I don't drink water since the government started putting fluoride in it. It makes you dumb," he said, tapping his finger against his head.