The Turning: A Tale of the Living Dead by Kelly M. Hudson Page A

yelled.
    He sat up and grabbed the van’s
doors and swung them to him, knocking several zombies out of the way as he did
so.  He pushed and kicked and got some clear space and slammed the door shut,
banging them together on the head of a little boy zombie who wore a Little
League baseball uniform.  It looked up at him and moaned, its ragged lips
declaring its hunger for his flesh.  Jeff opened the doors and slammed them
shut, over and over again, smashing the Little Boy’s head until its brains
popped like a zit from the front of its face, shooting out its ears, eyes,
nose, and mouth.
    Other dead hands found the doors
and yanked them open.  There was too many of them and they poured into the van
after him.  Jeff scrambled towards the front of the van, his hands digging in
his pockets. 
    Jeff glanced back and met Jenny’s
eyes as she closed the loading bay doors, her eyes wide with fear.  He was
afraid it would be the last time he’d ever see her again.
    He crawled to the front of the van
and slid into the driver’s seat.  The zombies behind him were clogging the back
of the van, clawing forward and knocking out some of the boxes.  There were six
in the van, creeping over the boxes and each other, digging their fingers into
the solid steel floor as he jammed the key into the ignition and turned it.
    The van sputtered, caught, and
died.
    Jeff screamed and looked in the
rearview mirror.  They were closer now, just four feet away, moaning and
stretching forward, their greedy hands reaching and their hungry mouths
snapping open and shut. 
    He turned the key.  The van
revved, sputtered, and died again.
    Jeff punched the dashboard.  The
zombies were two feet away now, crawling, slowly but surely, like a scene from
a nightmare.
    He turned the key and jammed on
the gas.  The closest zombie’s fingertips scraped the back of his neck.  The
van roared to life.  He threw it into drive and slammed on the pedal.  The rear
tires smoked and spun and the van lurched forward and shot off, careening
across the small parking space behind the Food Bank and crashing through a set
of wooden fences, waist tall, spurting out into the street.
    The zombies behind him rolled away
with the momentum.  Three of them grabbed at the stacked boxes and pulled them
after them as they tumbled from the back of the van.  Two of the remaining
zombies slapped against the sides of the van and toppled from the open doors as
Jeff weaved the van violently, jerking the wheel to the right and to the left,
attempting to shake them free like a dog with fleas. 
    One zombie was left inside, the
one who'd touched the back of his neck.  It was a woman, dressed in a business
suit, with her hair pulled back into a tight ponytail, the flesh of her face
greasy and gray.  Her left arm was wound in the seatbelt and she flopped along
with every jerk of the van, moaning and looking up at Jeff, teeth clattering.
    He hit the brakes and skidded to a
stop.  He looked out the windows and saw his actions had gotten him noticed, as
up and down Constitution Street, dozens of zombies all lurched onto the road,
spilling out from the shopping center across the way and other apartment
buildings.  He had maybe minutes before they swarmed the van.
    Jeff spun in his seat to face the
zombie behind him.  It had regained its balance and was reaching for him again,
her other arm still tangled in the seat belt.
    He batted her free arm away,
risking a glance outside.  The zombies were getting closer by the second, the
ones from the Food Bank and from the neighborhoods.  For a second, he caught a
glimpse of Jenny’s face in the window, watching him.  He raised his  hand to
wave but dropped it, feeling foolish.   
    The Woman Zombie moaned and lunged
forward, her teeth snapping and grazing the front of his shirt.  He screamed
and jumped back.  He grabbed her by the ponytail and yanked her head back,
keeping her jaws away from him.  He shoved her onto the floor and