Dead Sea

    We ran. Seconds later, the grenade went off behind us. There was a brief flash and a muffled thump. 1 heard debris rain down, clattering on the pavement. Something hot zipped by my ear. When we reached the fence, the four of us turned around. Smoke and flames poured out of the machine shop, but no more zombies exited the building. But that didn't matter. Malik may have destroyed the zombies inside the building, but there were plenty more. At least four dozen were in the street now, and coming for us in that slow, determined way.

    "Shit," Mitch said, grabbing another grenade off his belt. "Somebody rang the dinner bell."

    "What are you doing?" Tasha asked.

    "What we should have done in the first place. I'm going to blow that lock off. You three get back."

    We stepped back out into the street, but the zombies swarmed toward us. Their stench grew with every faltering step. More and more of them kept coming: humans, dogs, cats, rats, and something that had been skinned-something so pink and glistening that I couldn't tell what it used to be. Whatever its origin, now it was just one of them- an eating machine.

    "Forget it," 1 said. "Another minute and they'll be on us."

    "Bullshit," Mitch argued. "They're slow. I'm gonna blow the gate and then we'll be home free."

    "Mitch. Look behind us. We can't get out of the grenade's range without running into them. There's no time!"

    "Please, Mr. Bollinger," Tasha pleaded. "Let's just go-"

    Malik stuck close to Mitch. He watched the approaching hordes with wide eyes. "Yo, give me another grenade. I'll take care of them."

    Mitch looked at the locked gate; then at the zombies, and then turned to me.

    "Goddamn it. You're right. Let's go."

    "Stick close to the fence," I told the kids. "Don't let them box you in. They may be slower than us, but if enough of them fill the street, we'll be trapped."

    "Where are we going?" Tasha shouted as we ran.

    "The harbor," I choked. "Maybe we can hole up inside the aquarium for a while."

    I knew how stupid that sounded. How hopeless and futile. The National Aquarium was the centerpiece in Baltimore's busiest tourist area. No way was it free of zombies. But I didn't know what else to do, and Mitch wasn't offering up any alternatives.

    "What about a paddleboat?" Tasha suggested. "We rode on one last year when we took a field trip to the Inner Harbor. They hold four people."

    I nodded, gasping for breath. "Good idea."

    The undead followed after us with single-minded determination. Their feet echoed on the street and sidewalks. Their stench went before them like a cloud.

    "Give me your guns," Mitch said. He still had my useless shotgun. It was wedged between his backpack and his shoulder blades. I raced along beside him, watching as he ejected my magazine and loaded in a fresh one that he pulled from the backpack. I was impressed. He did it without pausing, found the bullets without having to search through the pack. Mitch tossed the rifle back to me and then did the same for Tasha.

    My lungs burned, and my legs were starting to feel like rubber. It felt like I'd been running for hours, and in truth, I had. Since leaving the kids' apartment, we'd been on the run, chased by one zombie after another without a chance to catch our breath. I was amazed the kids were holding up as well as they were. Personally, I felt like dropping. Mitch was panting, too. He'd seemed like he was in good shape. I wondered just how heavy his backpack was and what he had inside of it.

    Tasha turned around and raised her pistol. I guess she'd wanted to take a shot, lessen the pursuit. But instead of doing that, she froze, staring at the onrushing corpses.

    "There's so many. Look at them all."

    She didn't sound afraid; just stunned.

    I nudged her. "Keep running, Tasha. Don't look back anymore. Just run."

    Three mangled corpses lunged out of the shrubs in front of the Sylvan Learning Center building. Mitch snapped off three shots, dropping them before they could cut us off.

    Three down, 1 thought. How far can we get before the rest of them catch us?

    I had four bullets left-one for each of us, if it came to that.

    Mitch darted down an alley between a travel agency and a Whole Foods grocery store.

    "This way," he called.

    "No," I insisted. "We have to head for the harbor. That way takes us back into the ghetto."

    "Hope you're right." He paused. "I'll lay down some cover fire."

    Mitch changed course and followed us, now bringing up our rear. His heavy biker boots pounded the pavement, his footfalls punctuated with pistol fire as he chose targets over his shoulder. It was like pouring a glass of water into the ocean. The creatures continued their slow-moving charge.