"Hey! Anyone in there? Hey!"

  Bang! Bang! Bang!

  Outside the Walmart, Old Mike pounded on the glass doors, shouting into the void. He was certain that if anyone was inside, they'd have heard the car and gunfire. The others fought their way back to Mike, the street now swarming with zombies drawn by the noise. If they could get inside and up to the second floor quickly, the zombies would lose interest, their frenzy subsiding, sparing the glass from a relentless assault.

  They could, of course, shoot their way in—the tempered glass, though sturdy, wasn't bulletproof. But that would be folly; shattered glass would invite the horde inside, rendering the supermarket unsafe. No, they needed a smarter approach.

  The street's initial zombie population was manageable, but time was running out. They needed inside, now.

  "Hey! Anyone there? Open up!"

  "Please, help us! Open the door!"

  They banged on the glass, peering inside to see the door handles chained and padlocked—a clear sign of human activity within. The growing zombie numbers demanded swift action. If no one answered, they'd have to leave, but their Ford was nearly out of fuel. Alternatively, they could search for another entrance, though it was likely secured as well.

  As Vincent hesitated, footsteps echoed from within. A young black man, clad in a blood-spattered Walmart uniform and a cap, emerged from a side corridor, a revolver in hand.

  If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

  "Stop banging! You're drawing them here! Go away!" he yelled, visibly shaken.

  "Open the door, please!" Mannila pleaded, her body pressed against the glass.

  The man hesitated, then turned and fled back down the corridor.

  "Hey!" Vincent grabbed Mike's shotgun, aiming it at the glass. "Open up, or I'll blow the door! Three... two..."

  "Coming, coming!" The man scrambled back, discarding his revolver and fumbling with a key ring. "Don't shoot! I'm coming!"

  The zombies' growls grew louder, their numbers swelling. The group watched anxiously as the man struggled with the locks, each second feeling like an eternity.

  Finally, the door creaked open, and they surged inside.

  "You almost got us killed!" Jason, usually laid-back but now furious, shoved his gun into the man's face.

  The man raised his hands, stammering apologies as Vincent and Mannila carried the unconscious Robbie deeper into the store. Laura and Mike secured the door behind them, the reinforced glass holding—for now.

  Jason, still seething, reluctantly lowered his gun at Laura's urging. He picked up the discarded revolver, shooting the man a final glare before following the others.

  Robbie awoke with a start, disoriented, his body aching. He found himself in a vast supermarket, the Walmart logo confirming his location. Nearby, Jason lounged on a checkout counter, munching on chocolate.

  "Hi, I'm Jason," he greeted Robbie with unexpected cheer, offering a hand.

  Robbie, still dazed, shook it weakly. Before he could speak, Jason called out, "Vincent, he's awake!"

  Vincent, who had been reluctantly dragged on a shopping spree by Mannila and Christine, hurried over. "Hey, doc," Robbie managed, gratitude in his voice.

  "Don't mention it. Stay still," Vincent replied, checking Robbie for signs of infection. Satisfied, he handed Robbie two pistols. "Take these."

  Robbie accepted them, still processing everything. "Doc..."

  "Meet everyone first. We'll talk later," Vincent said, clapping Robbie on the shoulder. The group had found temporary refuge, but their survival was far from assured.