by Sean Thomas Fisher
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Dan began hooking the siphon up to the minivan’s gas tank and turned back to see how his cover was looking. Wendy stood ready with her gun drawn and pointed at the ground. Zero kills. Paul had sunglasses on and could barely stand.
“Maybe we should clear the van first,” Dan said.
“Go for it,” Paul replied, leaning against the other side of the cop car and spitting.
He stared at Paul. “Alone?”
Paul released an annoyed sigh, spit into the dirt again and stepped around to the van, bringing the butt of the gun into his shoulder as he went. Maybe blowing the head off of something would make him feel better.
Dan pulled on the large double doors on the van’s side. They were locked. All of them were so they stuck their faces to the glass for a better look, but couldn’t see anything inside. Cupping their hands around their faces to block the sunlight, they could make out some kind of tinting or drapes or some...
“Oh no!” Wendy said behind them.
They peeled themselves off the van and sprinted back around it, ready for unwanted company. Paul saw three maggots leisurely slumbering out from inside a beat up camper parked next to the inoperable pumps. A man, a woman and a fourteen or fifteen year old boy wearing tattered board shorts stumbled down the camper’s short flight of rickety steps, now on the eternal family vacation. Missing ears and fingers, they growled at Paul with decaying lips that exposed yellow teeth nesting in wet black gums.
Paul took aim. His shot missed.
“Paul!” Dan said, looking from Paul to the old rusty camper.
Paul unleashed two more booming reports, blowing out the camper’s front windshield and missing the things again.
“Paul!” Dan yelled again, running over and forcing Paul’s shotgun down. “What are you doing?”
Paul stopped firing and blinked. He removed his shades and wiped the sweat from his dirty face and looked up. The family was gone. He gazed at the small camper in utter disbelief.
A scared look stole across Dan’s face. “Why don’t you get back in the car and relax. Wendy and I can get this.”
“No, I got it. Just get the damn gas!” he barked, still staring at the deserted camper.
Dan bowed his head and exhaled.
The side doors to the mini-van burst open with a startling bang as a heavy set Mexican lady rolled out and hit the dirt lot running. Paul snapped his head around, unsure if his mind was playing tricks on him again or not.
~end
Guest post created for September Zombies event by Sean Thomas Fisher, author of Cold Faith and Zombies
© 2011. All rights reserved.
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