"This is Sandra Sanderson and I repeat – if you are able please proceed to the fortified Fort Pastor immediately…"
The reporter's voice droned monotonously as the howls of the dead permeated from the Ford's metallic exterior. Patricia Sanchez screamed as she clutched Jimmy to her, her brown eyes scanning the approaching horde with raw and carnal fear.
The group's combined impact was immediate, as the truck shook and screeched, tires scratching forcefully along pavement. With another thunderous roar, the complete right side of the truck was lifted from the ground, and toppled onto its left side. Pat howled again as they tumbled within the containment, glass shattering from the windshield onto Wes and Claire.
"Back here!" Patti yelled to Wes, who in turn grabbed the vegetative Claire in his arms. Wes crawled next to Pat and Jimmy, as Claire's head bobbed against his shoulder. Bloodied arms ripped and twisted inwards, tearing at Pat's robe.
"We've got to get out of here!" Wes cried as another wave forced the truck to rotate again until they were sprawled across the roof of the F-150. With no further hesitation, Wes slammed one bare heel against the glass of the rear window, shattering upon impact. He grimaced as shards lodged in his foot, but forced Patricia forward.
"GO!" he instructed. Pat nodded as she pushed Jimmy forwards. It was tight, but the boy managed to get through. He crawled forward through the bed, his movements erratic and uneven.
"Move Jimmy!" his mother screamed as she too shimmied through the small window, jagged pieces tearing at the fabrics of Pat's robe and nightgown. "Son of a BITCH!" she shrieked as she threw Jimmy out of the bed, landing in a heap upon the concrete beside him. She felt wetness fall upon her back in a sheet, sticky and damp, as she turned, sending her dark tresses flying about her face.
Wes impaled a zombie in the stomach with the poker as he dragged Claire in the crook of his arm. Crimson liquid spurted from the wound, washing Patricia Sanchez in a tangy spray. Yet with all the gore, the dead man's onslaught continued unwaveringly. Spittle dangled from his gaping, bared maw, guttural groans erupted from his tattered throat. A wicked slash ran from his collarbone to his midsection, and one eye was completely removed from its socket.
With a punch, the man's hand dug into Claire's abdomen, ripping more flesh from her already exposed tissue. The faint woman howled as she toppled next to Pat and Jimmy. The boy awoke from his stupor as a scream exploded from his lips. Cold, clammy hands reached out for mother and child, but Patricia fought with a vengeance; she held the emptied pistol in her hand by the barrel, bludgeoning the walking corpses viciously as they lashed outwards. She was petrified, yet it seemed that Mrs. Marco Sanchez was being fueled by something beyond her control. A maternal instinct, perhaps? Regardless, she continued to slam the butt of the weapon into her attackers, the current target being a quite emaciated-looking female… Or what might have once been a female.
"Christ!"
Patti turned, clutching Jimmy to her. They were surrounded by four of these… things. Wes looked quite frazzled, his fire poker dripping with blood as he ripped it from the skull of a freshly-downed cadaver. Claire stood behind him, her hand resting on his shoulder – it seemed to be the only thing that held her up. Unfortunately, that support was insufficient. The dying woman collapsed to her knees, blood oozing from a thousand different wounds.
"Claire!" Wes howled as he rushed to his wife, poker held at the ready. The frightful foursome closed the gap, however, Wes' swats doing little to deter them from their desire.
"GET AWAY FROM HER! GET AWAY, YOU SONS OF BITCHES!"
Patti began to sob as she backed away, pulling her Jimmy along with her. She didn't want to leave her friend, who had probably saved her life, but she couldn't help but distance herself from the growing mob that was closing in on him and Claire. Her hands were shaky as she guided herself along the broken exterior of Wes' pickup. But she soon realized that the majority of the tremor was coming from her toddler.
"Jimmy?" she wheezed with a sniff. He nodded curtly, almost nonchalant; it was as if he didn't have a care in the world… As if the situation was hardly anything different than his usual weekday morning. Yet, his eyelids were heavy, and Patricia could feel the labored breathing against her breast.
"Don't worry, chico – Mommy's got you." She kissed his strangely cool forehead, crying softly. "Mommy won't let anything happen to you."
There was a sickening crunch, and Patti craned her neck to look back in Wes' direction. He was leaning over the lifeless body of Claire Warren and had just splintered one of the zombie's faces with the poker. However, he had plunged the javelin so deeply that he couldn't remove it from its resting place and was effectively unarmed.
"Wes!" Patricia shrieked. She moved forward, standing between Jimmy and the demonic abominations like a shield, slamming her Glock into the bloodied skull of the nearest. She struck him once, twice, and three times until she had broken the hard bone of its cranium and embedded pieces of brain, blood, and gore on the hilt of her weapon. A sickening vapor seeped onto her camisole-style nightgown, the lifeblood warm and sticky, but the being fell all the same.
A quivering hand found her wrist and Pat looked to see Wes inching next to her as a strong arm grasped at her thigh. Patricia looked down and screamed – Claire Warren was no longer dead. Her fingers dug into the silk and her jaw snapped maliciously, harbingering the promise of deadly intentions.
"Jesus, Wes… It's Claire!" Pat Sanchez cried out as Wes gagged. It was in fact Claire Warren who was crawling on her stomach, rising to her feet quickly with all of the agility of a cat, to seize Patricia.
"God, no…" Wes heaved, as Claire's sinewy arms entwined about Pat's legs. The Hispanic woman screamed and bent over, slamming her gun into Claire's face until nothing was left but a bloody mess. The thing that had once been Claire Warren released her hold on Pat and collapsed into a twitching heap. Sanchez wasted no time. She didn't know what had happened to cause Claire's transformation, but she had no intention of staying around to find out. She grasped one of Wes' arms as he stood in a shocked stupor.
"Wes, we have to go!" she stated tersely and impatiently, pulling him along behind her. Claire was on her feet again, flanked by a handful of her new friends who were now starting to jog after the pair. Pat's nightgown billowed out behind her as she scooped Jimmy up into her arms. Wes followed, albeit a bit more reluctantly. Pat understood his reticence – she, too, had just lost her spouse.
But right now, they had to get out of the middle of the street. This main drag ran straight through the commercial area that provided all of the necessities for Patricia and Wes' neighborhood. The familiar building that was Al's Market and Pharmacy stood off to Pat's left in the midst of a strip mall. They could go there – shelter was there… But, to Pat, it didn't really matter where they went; she just wanted to get out of the wide open, where they were sitting ducks.
She could barely breathe, she was running so hard. Jimmy's added weight did little to alleviate the situation. But managing one look behind her, beyond Wes, her fervor was revitalized as she imbibed an image of horror. A horde of the Dead were chasing after them with startling agility and speed.
"Patti!" Wes called to her. "Head behind the buildings!"
She didn't care to listen for his reasoning. Instead she just swerved, stepping onto the sidewalk before the locked doors to Al's Market and Pharmacy. Sprinting down the concrete, she pivoted around a set of bike racks and ran through a small alleyway that separated Al's from the next establishment – a video rental store. Patricia erupted out of the alcove, narrowly avoiding a rough collision with a dumpster. Wes followed, eying the trash vestibule with interest. One look at her male companion, and Pat knew exactly what he had in mind.
Both adults ran to one side of the dumpster and pushed, hard. Closing the exit to the alley, Pat jumped backwards as the first zombie hit.
"Jimmy, come to Mama," Patricia called, extending her hand to her son. Yet he remained stationary, sitting on his haunches as he looked off into nothingness, his head lolling at a precarious angle. Pat stifled a cry of anguish as she stepped forward and picked up the boy. The screams from the zombies on the other side of the dumpster would have frightened most anyone – hell, they terrified Patricia. Yet Jimmy seemed strangely unfazed.
Wes motioned for her to follow, and Pat fell in step behind him. They darted up an incline. Warren's hands went to what appeared to be the back entrance to Al's. The door was locked, and Wes cursed. The shrieks from the Dead were growing gradually louder. Pat looked on in horror as the dumpster shook and quaked beneath the onslaught of the demons. She couldn't help but scream as the dumpster groaned and lifted inch by inch…