Kody Boye - Sunrise

“But it’s not as bright in here as it is out there.”

“I’m not staying trapped in this house.”

“You don’t have to be trapped. I just don’t want you going with them.”

Erik stopped strumming his fingers, his arms fell at his side and his eyes narrowed. At that moment, Dakota thought he could’ve been a snake, a wicked viper with its fangs extended and venom coursing through its veins.

Uh oh.

“It’s nothing personal, Erik. I just don’t want you getting hurt.”

“ Fuck you, Jamie. Seriously— fuck you.”

Erik turned, made his way into the hall, and slammed the door to Jamie’s old room behind him.

“Someone’s in a mood,” Steve chuckled.

“He’s still sick,” Jamie sighed. “Give him a day or two. He’ll come around.”

Dakota sure hoped so.

They made their way down the road with their guns drawn and their eyes set ahead. Spaced five feet apart, both to afford themselves two distinct viewpoints and to protect each other from any possible threats, Dakota raised his hand to suppress a sneeze, then pointed at a house near the very end of the road.

“See that?” he asked.

“I see it,” Steve said, fingering the safety on his gun. “Why do you ask?”

“I have a weird feeling.”

“Bad, or just weird?”

“Just weird…for now.”

Great, now I’m getting the heebie-jeebies. Get a hold of yourself, Dakota thought, shaking his head and steeling his nerves. Now look what you’ve done—you’ve freaked yourself out.

“Not my fault,” he mumbled aloud.

“What did you say?” Steve asked.

“Nothing,” he said. “Just thinking.”

“About what?”

About the molehill that’s just become a mountain.

Choosing not to reply, Dakota stepped up onto the sidewalk and continued to make his way toward the house that held the storage shed, taking extra care not to linger too close to the houses or the picket fences that separated them. To think that you would ever have to worry about getting too close to a harmless picket fence was impossible, comparable to a queen crossing the road in only her hosiery and sneakers. But the blood that tipped the perfect little spikes of the fences spelled fear like jagged nails on a chalkboard.

Blood used to be nothing more than a driving source that fueled the human body. In this day and age, touching it meant a fate worse than death.

His morbid thoughts having entertained him for the last ten minutes, Dakota barely realized they had crossed the street until Steve reached out and grabbed the back of his shirt. When he did, Dakota took a moment to shake his nerves off before looking up at the shed before them.

“This is where we’ll run into trouble,” Steve said.

“How come?”

“There’s blood on the door. See?”

The rusty smear needed little explanation, much less to be pointed out. “You think whoever did that is still here?” Dakota asked.

“Yep. Probably in the shed,” Steve nodded. “There’s fingerprints on the edge.”

“What do we do then?”

“It wouldn’t be locked from the inside…unless someone rigged it up, but I highly doubt that.”

“Why?”

“If something were chasing him, you’d think there’d be more blood on the door.”

“Unless the blood on the zombies was dry.”

Steve reached up to scratch the stubble on his chin before grabbing the door handle. “Ready?”

“Whenever you are,” Dakota said, raising his gun.

The door opened.

A wave of sawdust pooled out.

“Fuck,” Steve gasped, waving the air before him in a fit of coughs. “I didn’t—”

He stopped. Something moved inside the shed.

Dakota kicked his foot out toward the door just in time to trap the corpse between the shed and its door.

“Motherfucker!” Steve gasped, driving the butt of his pistol onto its head. He hit the creature again, slammed his foot into the base of its spine, then lowered his gun to its head, preparing to fire before Dakota lashed out and grabbed his hand.

“Don’t!”

“Dakota!”

“If there’s more, they’ll hear us.”

Nodding, Steve slid his revolver into its holster and gestured Dakota forward, applying extra weight to the corpse’s back in order to keep it from moving. Though decayed nearly to the point of being skin over bones, Steve obviously knew better than to relinquish his hold on it, as it continued to flail and hiss beneath him.

Dakota took a shovel from the corner of the shed and passed it to his friend.

“Batter up,” Steve said.

He drove the blade into the creature’s neck.

“You said you got it?” Erik asked over the CB.

“We’ve got it,” Steve said, glancing up at Dakota. “We had to deal with a corpse, but we got her taken care of.”

“Is the street clear?”

“It’s clear.”

“Good. I’ll send Ian up in the truck to help you load it up. Can you take the hinges out from there?”

“There’s no ladder.”

“I’ll have him load that up too. Hold tight. Over and out.”

“Guess that solves our problem,” Steve said, handing the radio over to Dakota.

“I’m just glad I kicked the door in time.”

“I shouldn’t have let my guard down. Stupid mistake on my part.”

“It could’ve gotten you killed.”

“I know. Which was why I said it was stupid.”

Dakota stepped forward, pressed a hand to Steve’s arm, then leaned into the shed, clucking at the lack of useful equipment inside. “Pretty shitty storage shed if you ask me.”

“What’s in there?”

“Nothing, really. Grain, hose, tools…probably nothing we could use.”

“We can always come back if we need it. Jamie’ll probably want it anyway. Always good to have extra stuff on hand, even if you don’t think you’ll need it.”

“You’ve got a point there.”

“Don’t I always?”

Dakota slapped Steve’s arm when he received a stupid grin in response. Down the road, the truck started up, slid out from between the gap in the wall, then started toward them, its progress slow and with hardly any sound. “At least Ian knows how to keep the truck quiet.”

“You’d think people would be smart enough not to make noise.”

“Good old machismo,” Dakota snorted, at which Steve chuckled.

They leaned back against the shed and waited for Ian to make his way up the road.

“Knock knock,” Jamie said.

“Go away,” Erik grumbled.

“You’re in my room, you know?”

“Fuck you.”

“What if I need to get something?”

“Get it later.”

“Let me in, Erik.”

“And if I don’t?”

“I’ll kick the door down.”

With a flurry of swears, the bedsprings creaked and the chain on the door clicked and slid out of place. Shortly thereafter, the door opened, revealing Erik in all his pissed-off glory. “Hurry up.”

“Why are you in such a bad mood?” Jamie asked, pushing into the room without waiting for Erik to move.

“Maybe because you’re treating me like a kid. You ever think of that?”

“You’re sick, Erik. This is the first time you’ve been out of bed the whole week.”

“And now you’re treating me like a dick. Thanks, Jamie, it’s much appreciated.”

“Erik,” Jamie sighed. “Please don’t.”

“Don’t what? Argue? Fight? Act like an asshole?”

“I never said that.”

“You didn’t, but you were thinking it. I can tell.”

“And how is that?”

“Because every time you talk to me like this, it’s because I’m—”

“Being an asshole?”

Erik’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t speak. Jamie smirked at his friend’s lack of a comeback. “Look,” he said, crossing the short distance to the desk, “I’m just worried about you. You haven’t had problems with your headaches since Iraq.”