OUTNUMBERED volume 3: A Zombie Apocalypse Series by Robert Schobernd Page B
Authors: Robert Schobernd
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lead."
The black F-250 diesel crew-cab pickup passed us and we fell in behind the orange and white trailer it pulled. We were in an identical rig with a white truck. As we circled back to the building we were looking for, more zombies emerged from wherever they'd been loitering. Minutes later, we stopped in front of the gates at the biggest damn warehouse I'd ever seen. I couldn't even guess how many acres of ground it and the asphalt parking lot covered. Inside the fence, I counted four parked semitrailers with the Walmart logo painted on their sides.
A dull brass bodied padlock and heavy length of chromed chain held the double gate frames where they met. Our security guy, Martin Radcliff, removed a step ladder from the top of the trailer and sat it at the gate. He'd put his coat on to work outside in the cold February breeze and pulled a pick set from a pocket. Silently he concentrated on picking the industrial grade lock, so we could relock it when we left. Ed stayed in our truck while Elsie, Kira and I moved outside to stretch and stand guard duty.
We slipped into our winter jackets and thin leather gloves as Kira glanced around the area. She said, "Oh no. Zombies coming."
Down the industrial parkway, a string of undead headed our way, at least forty or fifty stretched out down the block. As we watched, more joined the mob. We glanced in the opposite direction along the fence line and saw a similar sight. I called out, "Martin, get a move on if you can. Two bunches of zombies are coming to welcome us to the neighborhood, and it's their meal time. Get us inside as fast as possible."
Vince Gonzales, and Marilyn Deutsch, joined us with their weapons. They fired at the advancing horde on the left, and our truck's passengers took on the other group. We had each gone through one extended magazine and started on a second when Martin yelled, "Got it. One of you, give me a hand disconnecting the operator on this section." The women continued laying down deadly fire as Martin and I spent precious minutes freeing the chain drive from the gate. The twelve foot wide section moved in sporadic jerks with both of us shoving and grunting until it opened fully.
Both trucks entered the yard, and we frantically closed the gate behind them and relocked it.
Our gunfire had only stopped for a minute or so as we rushed inside. That was long enough for the noisy zombies remaining to cover the ground and reach us. They stood outside clawing at the fence; some forced fingers or small hands through the wire links. The breeze shifted direction indiscriminately and the stench of the rotting undead dropped on us like having our heads shoved down a toiler.
We walked along the mesh barrier firing at the deadheads. More undead continued to ramble toward us. Apparently the steady gunfire drew them like kids to fireworks. We'd learned to prefer the cold weather attacks by zombies simply because it eliminated the huge swarms of flies in warm weather that accompanied the rotting, maggot infested hulks like hovering dark clouds. For some time we'd watched the original zombies deteriorate to piles of walking bones as the flesh and organs finally rotted completely away. That was good as far as dealing with the smell was concerned, but it eliminated their skunky odor as a warning signal.
We turned away from our enemies and hoped they would wander off if we ignored them and went inside.
Fifty and sixty foot long box trailers were spotted at many of the loading docks or staged in two areas against the perimeter fence. Three yard tractors were parked at the fence line beside the empty trailers, and four newer over-the-road tractors were parked near the warehouse.
Martin worked his magic on an entrance door while I surveyed the yard. More undead lined up at the fence to moan and shriek at us. Standing on top of the catatonic zombies we'd shot didn't faze them one bit. Shane and Vince Gonzales pulled their truck up to an overhead door leading into the
The black F-250 diesel crew-cab pickup passed us and we fell in behind the orange and white trailer it pulled. We were in an identical rig with a white truck. As we circled back to the building we were looking for, more zombies emerged from wherever they'd been loitering. Minutes later, we stopped in front of the gates at the biggest damn warehouse I'd ever seen. I couldn't even guess how many acres of ground it and the asphalt parking lot covered. Inside the fence, I counted four parked semitrailers with the Walmart logo painted on their sides.
A dull brass bodied padlock and heavy length of chromed chain held the double gate frames where they met. Our security guy, Martin Radcliff, removed a step ladder from the top of the trailer and sat it at the gate. He'd put his coat on to work outside in the cold February breeze and pulled a pick set from a pocket. Silently he concentrated on picking the industrial grade lock, so we could relock it when we left. Ed stayed in our truck while Elsie, Kira and I moved outside to stretch and stand guard duty.
We slipped into our winter jackets and thin leather gloves as Kira glanced around the area. She said, "Oh no. Zombies coming."
Down the industrial parkway, a string of undead headed our way, at least forty or fifty stretched out down the block. As we watched, more joined the mob. We glanced in the opposite direction along the fence line and saw a similar sight. I called out, "Martin, get a move on if you can. Two bunches of zombies are coming to welcome us to the neighborhood, and it's their meal time. Get us inside as fast as possible."
Vince Gonzales, and Marilyn Deutsch, joined us with their weapons. They fired at the advancing horde on the left, and our truck's passengers took on the other group. We had each gone through one extended magazine and started on a second when Martin yelled, "Got it. One of you, give me a hand disconnecting the operator on this section." The women continued laying down deadly fire as Martin and I spent precious minutes freeing the chain drive from the gate. The twelve foot wide section moved in sporadic jerks with both of us shoving and grunting until it opened fully.
Both trucks entered the yard, and we frantically closed the gate behind them and relocked it.
Our gunfire had only stopped for a minute or so as we rushed inside. That was long enough for the noisy zombies remaining to cover the ground and reach us. They stood outside clawing at the fence; some forced fingers or small hands through the wire links. The breeze shifted direction indiscriminately and the stench of the rotting undead dropped on us like having our heads shoved down a toiler.
We walked along the mesh barrier firing at the deadheads. More undead continued to ramble toward us. Apparently the steady gunfire drew them like kids to fireworks. We'd learned to prefer the cold weather attacks by zombies simply because it eliminated the huge swarms of flies in warm weather that accompanied the rotting, maggot infested hulks like hovering dark clouds. For some time we'd watched the original zombies deteriorate to piles of walking bones as the flesh and organs finally rotted completely away. That was good as far as dealing with the smell was concerned, but it eliminated their skunky odor as a warning signal.
We turned away from our enemies and hoped they would wander off if we ignored them and went inside.
Fifty and sixty foot long box trailers were spotted at many of the loading docks or staged in two areas against the perimeter fence. Three yard tractors were parked at the fence line beside the empty trailers, and four newer over-the-road tractors were parked near the warehouse.
Martin worked his magic on an entrance door while I surveyed the yard. More undead lined up at the fence to moan and shriek at us. Standing on top of the catatonic zombies we'd shot didn't faze them one bit. Shane and Vince Gonzales pulled their truck up to an overhead door leading into the
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