#3

“I’m Mara. Thank you for your help.” She looked around the store one last time; satisfied she sighed, nothing to eat once again. Sam hesitated, and Mara looked over her shoulder.

“You going to lead the way, or am I going to have to do all the work?” He shook his head and laughed, pushed through the door and out into the setting sun.

So, now, there they were, Mara sleeping on top of this building and Sam peering down at the street. From this height, he couldn’t see much of anything. Though he didn’t really need to see anything to know what was going on. With the checkered pattern of the street lights, he could see figures walking in slow lurching gates. No direction to them at all. He had seen a single zombie tear into a man and leave nothing but a red mark on the street with pieces of flesh here and there. There was no leader to the pack; he had seen them work alone and in groups. No communication other then groans. Those groans haunted his sleep. That’s why most of his hiding spots were so high. He had to escape the echoing sounds of those condemned souls, if there was even a soul left. Even up in the clouds though, the vibrations of a mob could resonate in his chest. He looked down at Mara, as she lay there in the darkness sleeping. He wondered how she had survived so long on her own. She was definitely not your average woman. The way she held that crowbar, there was no doubt in his mind, she had brought many a crushing blow to the skull of those zombies. She must have had seen this coming. She must have had a plan ready to be set in motion at a moment’s notice. But then again, Sam hoped that about everyone. Someone had to be as paranoid as him. Someone had to have seen the signs other than him.


Sam bolted up suddenly. The alarm was going off. He jumped out of bed and ran towards the pole. No sooner then he reached it, he was half way down it. It was a three alarm fire. Sam knew he had to be quick; lives were at stake no doubt. He ran to his locker, threw on his pants and boots, and grabbed his jacket, shoving his arms into the holes, his hands snatching his gloves off the shelf, the moment they had come out of the sleeves. Running to the truck as it was starting out of the bay he jumped for his seat and they headed out.

The fire was intense. It was one of those labs down town in the developmental complex. The whole building was engulfed in flames. Sam and the rest of his crew were told of a few survivors not so deep in the flames. His captain asked if they felt the fire was too great, and the chance of the team making it out was no greater than them making it to those trapped inside. Sam didn’t even have to say a word, his brother in law handed him his mask and axe, and the team headed into the flames. It wasn’t long before they made it to the area the trapped victims were supposed to be. The flames were dancing all around them, darting at him every chance they got. There was a lab door, half off its hinges, and Sam saw two people fighting in the room. As he ran over to the door, his foot caught the door in its center and sent it off its hinges. One of the people was covered in flames, the other, clutching something in her hand seemed to be fighting off the other. That was the first time he heard that groan. He thought the man was delirious with pain and anguish and was attacking the woman. Sam’s training kicked in and tackled the man, trying to roll him on the floor, beat at the flames with his hands, anything to douse the flames. The woman screamed, telling Sam to run, get away from him. The flames were out and Sam turned the man on his back.