Mark Tufo - The End ....

I pulled my head out. There was nothing in there I wanted to retrieve. I walked around the house and was rewarded for my efforts with a small green and white striped metal Tuff Shed, its door still closed. That boded well for what I was looking for. The door slid open with only a minimal amount of effort. My eyes had nearly adjusted to the dimly lit interior when the first gunshot rang out back from the direction where I'd left my family. I grabbed what I needed to and ran full tilt back to the roadway. I had not made it even that far before another three shots rang out. At this pace they would be out of ammo before I made it another hundred yards.

I could see my family making what haste they could towards me, being followed entirely too closely by zombies. "Shit!" I started to sprint.

Travis was down to five shots when I got to them. It looked like there were maybe another dozen or so zombies left to continue on after us. Now I'm no mathematician, but even I knew that unless they lined up real nice like, with head against head so we could kill more than one per shot, we were screwed.

"Someone call a cab?" I asked as I pulled the toboggans up.

Carol looked relieved, if a little dubious. Tracy helped her down; Henry watched raptly and then, realizing what this new fangled contraption was for, plopped down in front of her, nearly asleep before Justin and Tracy grabbed the ropes.

"Let's go BT." I said. Looking at him and to our approaching party crashers.

BT's pride was taking a huge hit. I know he wanted to argue that he could do it on his own, but even he knew his limitations. He laid down heavily on the un-cushioned slab of wood with a grunt. I pulled the rope over my head and laid it against my chest. "You ready?" I asked him. "I feel like that dog that pulls the Grinch's sleigh when it's all full from stealing everybody's stuff in Whoville."

"Max," BT answered.

"Huh?" I asked turning back around.

"The dog's name was Max … and mush! "

For a fleeting moment I didn't think I was going to be able to get enough traction to get this train moving. I was feeling like the little engine that could. My feet were moving faster than they had a right to but I was making damn little headway. It was the roar of Travis' shotgun that got me going. My first half-dozen steps had worn a smooth spot through the ice and snow and I took off, not like a rocket, more like a snail late for a hot date.

For an hour and a half we were in stalemate mode. We were making better time with the sleds, but not enough to outpace the zombies. We had traveled maybe three miles. Travis had taken over the other sled for his mother. Nicole intermittently got on and off depending on her fatigue level, and how bad she felt for those laboring to usher her along. My legs were screaming in protest. All higher thought had been replaced with the plodding effort of putting the next foot in front of the other and outpacing the deaders. Strain oozed into pain, pain stumbled into numbness, numbness dispersed leaving behind pain. Ever faster I cycled through those stages, stopping always longer in the depths of misery.

Night quickly descended. It seemed to happen in between steps. I was lost in a state of fugue, fatigue and torment. Occasionally Tracy would come up beside me and pull, sometimes it was Tommy, once or twice Brendon actually came to help, but he mostly pulled the other sled when Nicole was on it. I sometimes saw Jen up ahead, never speaking but always waving us forward. I would have raised my hand to wave back but the effort was beyond my capability. My chest was rubbed raw and bleeding from the contact with the old hemp rope. I heard distant gunshots but they did not hold any significance for me.

The smell of rotten meat was the only thing that kept me moving, that and the desire to be away from it. No matter how far I traversed it always seemed to be creeping right up behind me. I couldn't even tell if my legs were still moving; I had lost control of my extremities.

"Mike!" someone screamed. Cognitively, I barely registered the fact that someone was talking to me.

The sensation of falling was capped off by my knees painfully striking the ground. My legs shook uncontrollably. I was done for and unfortunately so was the poor bastard I think that I had been pulling. I fell off to the side, my face making a loud slapping sound as it also found its way to the cold, icy surface.

The lights of God blinded my eyes. This was not the ethereal, pleasant, loving lights I had encountered previously. These were harsh and glaring. Promised Land, ready or not, here I come. My labored breathing was overshadowed by the eruption of firearms coming to life around me. 'God has a fifty cal? Fucken sweet.' That was what actually went through my mind. Something swung passed my line of sight. The bright lights illuminated a flying spider man. I would have sworn I heard a battle cry just as this figure slammed into a tree on the far side of the clearing, making my fall to the ground seem like a tender caress in comparison. The figure stood up, wobbling a bit and brought his gun to bear. My vision blurred as gore splatter from above rained down on me. Spider-man had disposed of at least four or five zombies that had come within biting distance of me.

'Spidey is an awesome shot.' I thought right before I passed out.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR - JOURNAL ENTRY 27 -

I had no idea what time it was when I finally came to. Whenever it was, it wasn't long enough. My legs were still throbbing and more irritably still, they were twitching randomly. I looked like I was trying to do River Dance. It took me moments longer for the fog to lift.

"Zombies!" I yelled, hopping out of the cot I was in, my legs giving out as fast as I tried to stand. The resulting heap I made on the floor was not a flattering sight.

BT had not left my side since I had collapsed from exhaustion. I was to later learn it was more to do with the company we were keeping than any outright concern he had for me. "Mike, Mike," BT said, standing from the chair next to my bed that I had not noticed previously.

"Zombies, BT. We gotta get out of here." My lips were pulled back in fear, my eyes so wide the whites were showing all around. "Where is everyone else?"

"Mike," BT said grabbing me by the shoulders to help me back onto my cot. "We're okay," he said, gently placing me down with no more difficulty than a child would have putting their favorite toy away. My legs were still flailing. I was more than a little self-conscious about it and placed my arms on them, trying to slow them down. "They've been doing that since we got here," BT said pointing to my legs. "Was freaken the shit out of me for the first couple of hours. Kind of used to it now, can damn near tell time to their rhythm."

"I'm glad I can be a source of entertainment for you."

BT got grave seriously quick. "Mike, I know we've been through a lot and I count you up there with some of my best friends but what you did back there…." BT sniffed. "Man, I don't know that anyone I've ever known my entire life would have done that for me except maybe my mom."

"She as big as you?"

He laughed. "No, she might have been 110 after Thanksgiving dinner but she was tough as nails. Mike, I don't know that I can ever repay you."

"BT, this isn't about keeping score. It was just my turn. Next time though it's on you." BT did something very uncharacteristic for him and leaned down and gave me a hug. I accepted mostly because I was too tired to do anything else.

"I'm gonna go get your wife," he said, standing up. My shoulder was suspiciously wet from where his cheek had rested.

"One thing, BT."

"Yeah." He stopped.