Survival by Rhonda Hopkins Page B

of
brightness against the darkness.
    She found the street she was looking for,
although it was difficult to distinguish one house from another.
The electricity still functioned here, but many of the street lamps
had been broken with only a few to illuminate the affluent
community. However, the pretentiousness of the home she sought
stood out, even in the dark. She slowed to a stop and checked the
surrounding area before turning off the Expedition. Upon exiting
the vehicle, she let the door close with a barely audible
click.
    Within seconds she was soaked; her blonde
hair plastered against her scalp. The rain washed the blood down
her face as she made a dash for the cover of the front porch.
    Noise could create a problem, so she tried
the door first, but of course found it locked. Holding her breath,
she knocked softly.
    Just as she lifted her hand, a sound carried
through the rain and she whipped around, ready to flee. An old man
shuffled alongside the house across the street, seemingly oblivious
to the pounding rain. He had knocked over a trash can. Could be
just the unsteady gait of a senior citizen. It wasn't discernible
at first. But then the wind changed and she picked up the smell of
blood and decaying flesh.
    Oh, God, no. Please. Not now. Adrenaline surged through her body.
    Turning back, she knocked a little louder.
Almost immediately she heard something on the other side of the
door as if whoever was there had been waiting for her to leave.
    "Meredith. It's Sarah. Open the door.
Hurry!"
    "Sarah. Go away. It's not a good time." The
haughty tone of the woman was mixed with fear and something Sarah
could not identify.
    She would have laughed if she hadn't been so
afraid. "Of course it's not a good time, Meredith. It's hell out
here. Let me in . . . please." Meredith liked when people groveled.
So she would grovel if she had to.
    "No. Get away from the door!"
    Sarah half turned to see where the old man
had gone and found him at the edge of the street as if listening.
She didn't know how the dead could hear, but then again, she didn't
know how they walked around either. Fortunately, with the rain and
wind, it was unlikely he had heard her. So far. Rage filled
her.
    "Meredith, if you don't open up this door in
the next three seconds, I swear I'm going to break every one of
your damn windows. Now let me in!"
    So much for groveling.
    Sarah wasted no time when she heard the
deadbolt disengage. She grabbed the knob and turned, pushing in at
the same time.
    Meredith gasped and stepped back. "What do
you think you're doing?"
    "I need your phone. Where is it?" She walked
through the foyer into a dark living room.
    "You're getting my floors all dirty. Wait
here." Meredith started to turn around, but stopped at the low
menace in Sarah's voice.
    "What the hell is wrong with you? We're in
the middle of a zombie apocalypse and you're worried about your
floors? That's appalling even for you." Sarah was incredulous.
    Meredith sat on the sofa and flipped on the
lamp on the end table. "What are you talking about? Have you
finally gone completely over the edge to insanity?"
    "Oh my God. Are you trying to get us
killed?" Sarah jumped for the light, nearly toppling it in her
haste. She righted it and turned it off. "Just tell me where the
phone is, I need to call the police. A couple of thugs are holding
my sister hostage."
    "Your sis . . . I . . . I've no idea if
you're crazy, or what's going on, but the phones are out. I've been
asleep all day and tried to call Rudy just before you got here. I
guess the storm took them out. I just checked. I forgot to charge
my cellphone. You interrupted before I could plug it in." Her voice
sounded weary.
    Sarah found the small flashlight on her key
ring and turned the light on Meredith. She looked frail and gray,
her hand pressed against her stomach. She had obviously been sick.
Normally put together impeccably, she now looked unkempt; her
pajamas wrinkled and sweat-stained, a scarf covered her