Mark Tufo - The End Has Come and Gone

She nodded tersely.

"Dammit!" MJ yelled, his sweat soaked back to the trio.

"You alright?" Alex asked.

MJ turned towards them and held up a circuit board with a soldering iron clearly infused with the green plastic.

"Can you fix it?" Paul was concerned. The sound box had saved them once and there was no reason to think it couldn’t do it again if MJ could get it to work.

"I can’t fix this,” MJ said in disgust, pulling the iron away from the plastic casing. “I can rebuild it but I lost all that time.” "Then why are you wasting more time talking about it?" Joann asked.

"You know, not everyone likes a New York attitude,” MJ said to her as he sat back down and began to get the pieces he needed out of his Radio Shack bags.

"I can help,” April told MJ.

"I'd rather you watch the door with Mouth over there,” MJ said peevishly.

April stomped away and Joann laughed. “I think I got under his skin,” she said to Paul and Alex.

"Whatever gets him working,” Paul said. “We'll be right back. Grab a gun, if we hear a shot we'll stop whatever we're doing and be here as quick as we can.” Mrs. Deneaux walked up the main passageway, cigarette in hand as if she were on stroll through the streets of Paris, grabbing a small revolver as she walked past the weapons Alex had deposited on the couch in his haste to help rearrange the furniture.

"You know how to use that thing?" Joann asked her.

"Don’t be silly, I was the State Champion in 1964,” Mrs. Deneaux replied, yellow tobacco stained teeth showing in her attempt at a smile. It looked more like a dog getting ready to strike with her teeth clenched that tightly together.

"That smile looks kind of painful,” Alex remarked.

"Go and find us a way out of here.” She motioned them off with the wave of the gun.

"Got another cigarette?" Joann asked.

"Oh honey, of course I do, but I'm not sharing,” Mrs. Deneaux said as she took another long drag, making sure that the majority of exhaled smoke went in Joann's direction.

A narrow cement staircase led to a locked door which ultimately led to the roof. Paul lined up his gun to remove the lock.

"Crazy one, what the hell are you doing?" Alex asked his friend in alarm.

"I'm opening the door,” Paul answered with a look to match Alex’s for the question asked.

"You're shooting at a metal lock attached to a metal door encased within a narrow landing surrounded by cement, but you don’t see anything wrong with what you’re doing?"

"Dude, I'm just trying to open the door, I've seen this done a hundred times.”

"Those were movies Paul, make-believe stuff.”

"Do you want me to get MJ?" Paul asked, a little hurt that his try was being rebuffed.

"First things first,” Alex said as he turned the lock.

"Wouldn’t have thought to do that,” Paul said as he stepped out into the muted sunshine. Black ominous clouds hung overhead and the stench of the dead wafted up from below. “Shaping up to be a wonderful day it is,” he joked in a fake Irish brogue.

"Damn,” Alex said, looking up at the sky while simultaneously holding his nose.

"Come on, let's see what we're dealing with,” Paul motioned as he stepped away from the doorway.

Alex placed a small piece of slate between the door and the jamb, just in case.

"Good call,” Paul said looking back at his friend.

Alex gave him a thumbs up with his free hand, not yet willing to take in any more breaths than he had to. They were still a good twenty yards from the edge when they began to see the outer fringes of the enemy below, with still more making their late entry into the fray. And yet they kept marching forward, like lemmings to the abyss.

"Wow,” Alex stated. “Zombies don’t really care so much about personal space, do they?"

Paul doubted that if it began to rain any of the water around the zombies would touch ground. Zombies were packed tighter than Legos snapped together. This brought ‘close' to a whole other level. “Do you think they might just crush themselves to death?” "That would be great, but it would be better to heed the advice of my Mee-Maw.”

"I'm waiting,” Paul said as Alex got lost looking at the wall of moving death below them.

"Oh she used to say, ‘If the shit hits the fan, unplug it before it gets all over the place.’” Paul thought about it for a moment. It had a ring of truth to it but he couldn’t see how it fit the present situation, “Any chance you could elaborate?"

"I never knew what it meant either; it's just something she used to say. How many you think there are?" Alex asked looking back down.

"Five, six hundred, probably be a thousand in another hour.”

"Escape?"

"Not by the truck that brought us here,” Paul pointed. It was nearly consumed by the sea of zombanity that surrounded it. “Let's go see what's going on at the back of the store.” "Who parked it that far away?" Alex asked a little miffed.

"MJ parked it, but I should have known better,” Paul said.

Alex shook his head. "No sense in slipping in spilled milk.”

"Another Mee-Mawism?" Paul asked.

"What's wrong with that one?"

"Nothing. Come on, let's see if there’s still a way to get out of here which doesn't involve sleeping on the roof.” "Yeah, especially since it looks like the heavens are going to open up.”

Shots rang out from the front of the store. Paul and Alex ran for the doorway and made a quick descent down the stairs. Had they waited a few moments more and gone to the far edge they would have noticed that it was still clear of zombies and they could have made a hasty retreat. That fact would radically change over the next few hours.

Joann was firing blindly into the stacked furniture, wood splintering as bullets crashed into table legs and hutch casings. Mrs. Deneaux sat idly by smoking another cigarette.

"What's going on?" Paul shouted as he ran up the aisle way.

Joann was firing blanks by the time he got up to her. He placed his hand on hers to remove the empty weapon.

"Joann?" Alex asked, catching up.

Her eyes were stretched wide in fear. “The… the furniture is moving,” she cried.

"Yes,” Mrs. Deneaux said between puffs. “So she thought it worthwhile to kill the divan.”

Paul and Alex both looked at Mrs. Deneaux harshly. She didn’t care. “I think she may have gravely wounded the lounger also ,” she went on with a dry coated rasp.

The movement was almost imperceptible; the strewn furniture pile vibrated slightly as if a semi passed close by. Paul's attention was drawn back to the front when a couch cushion landed at his feet.

"MJ, how much longer on your wonder machine?" Paul asked.

MJ hadn’t even looked up at the sound of the shots being fired less than fifty feet away.

"MJ!" Paul shouted.

"What! Can't you see I'm working!" he shouted back, still not looking up.

Paul walked over towards his work station. “Listen, I understand dedication, I really do. But we've got a situation here. How much longer do you think this is going to take?"

MJ finally looked up and noted the concern in Paul's features. MJ's face sagged as he spoke. “Possibly forever with what I have here. I fried some vital components that I don’t have replacements for. Is there a chance we could make another run out to Radio Shack?" he asked hopefully.

Paul shook his head, leaving no doubt in his answer.

"Alright, there's still an outside shot I can do it with what I've got, but it's not going to be as powerful.” "Fifteen foot gap between us and them?" Paul asked optimistically.

MJ shook his head.

"Ten maybe?" Paul asked, grasping at straws.

MJ's head hadn’t stopped moving from the previous question.

"Dude, how much then?" Paul asked in alarm.