Survive by Todd Sprague

outside, entered the warehouse. As they walked over to the open truck, a Zed in a blue coverall ran from the back of the empty trailer right at them, moaning so loudly it sounded like a roar. John raised his MP5 and shot three times. The creature stumbled to the ground, but lurched back to its feet. Harold raised his rifle and put a bullet right between its eyes. Roy screamed.
    “Goddamn it!” Roy yelled as the Zed flopped to the floor. “I pissed myself!”
    Roger laughed as Roy walked past him, one shoe squishing wetly with each step.
    The trailer lay empty, a forklift parked right in front of the bay. The group walked through the warehouse, looking for other undead. Two more Zeds wearing coveralls were found in the back, along with the remains of several other workers. Both Zeds were put down with several shots each. The men stood looking at the remains.
    “How come those guys aren’t zombies too?” Roy asked, pointing to the other bodies.
    “Zeds...we’re calling them Zeds, little Pee Pee.” Roger said to Roy.
    “Look at the bodies. They all have head wounds. Bites through the skulls. Looks like they can’t turn if the brain gets messed up first.” John pointed out. “Alright, place looks clear. Let’s get what we came for and get out of here.”
    They went back to the truck and got the forklift running. The next hour was spent selecting what food items they wanted and pointing them out to Harold who was following them around in the fork lift. They selected pallets of oatmeal, rice, canned vegetables, canned meat, pasta, cooking oil, and other things. Harold picked up each pallet and loaded them into the trailer. As he was loading a pallet of pickles and olives into the truck, Morgan came running in.
    “The fence is buckling!” He shouted. “We need to move.”
    Though the truck was only three quarters full, they decided to go. As Roger pulled the truck out, John ran in to the loading dock office. He grabbed several walkie talkies and a charging stand from the office and ran out to the truck. The fence was just toppling to the ground as John joined the others at the trucks. Zeds began pouring through the breach, running straight for the group.
    John threw a walkie talkie to Roger.
    “Roy, go with Roger. Follow us to exit four!” John yelled, squeezing into the cab of the pickup truck with Harold and Morgan. “Gun it! Go right through them!” he yelled.
    Morgan pointed the pickup right at the oncoming Zeds. He slammed into the first of the creatures, causing it to burst like a meat filled balloon. Roger followed them, more slowly but just as powerfully. They smashed through the crowd of Zeds, running them down like wheat before a scythe. Blood covered the pickup truck from front to back. The big tractor trailer behind mopped up any stragglers. John watched the back of the pickup truck, his MP5 trained out the sliding rear window, but nothing made it that far. Stacks of rifles bounced around in back, crates and boxes of ammunition spilling all over the bed floor.
    Finally they were through the throng of undead, making their way toward the highway. The few Zeds still mobile tried to follow them but were quickly left behind as the trucks turned onto the Interstate.
    The walkie talkie in John’s shirt pocket crackled to life. “Where we headed?” Roger’s voice, though crackly, rang out in the little truck cab.
    “State garage off exit 4.”
    The radio was silent for several minutes. Finally, Roger came back on the radio. “Hot damn, John! Now you’re thinking!”
    * * *
     
    Forty minutes later, John sat in the cab of a big orange dump truck with the words “Highway Department” stenciled on the door, a huge V-shaped snow plow attached to the front. It had taken them almost a half hour to attach the snow plow, but they’d finally managed it. John drove the big dump truck with Morgan and Harold following him in the pickup truck. Roger brought up the rear of the little caravan driving the Volvo