“It was a fucking decoy,” I said, feeling confused.
The other zombies charged towards me. I grabbed a metal pan and chucked it at the charging zombie’s head. It didn’t kill him, but it bought me a second to think of a better plan.
I dropped my flashlight on the counter and dove across a stainless steel island, sending pans flying as I slid out of reach of another zombie’s grasp. I slammed into the stove across from it, knocking a spoon, a salt shaker, and box of matches down onto my lap when I fell to the floor.
A zombie dove across the island, and I dropped to my belly, sliding in the gap underneath it. I barely fit. The zombie crashed onto its head, falling onto the floor next to where I lay hidden under the island.
The box of matches was within my reach, so I grabbed for it. As the zombie struggled to get up, its foot slid under the island, almost kicking me in the face, and I struck a match. I pressed the flame against his pants.
Unfortunately, zombies aren’t very flammable, and it went out instantly. It still seemed like a brilliant idea, and I slid out the other side of the island.
Two of the zombies were on the opposite side of the kitchen from me. The third one, a very fat balding man who looked disturbingly like Paul Giamatti, crouched down to eat the carcass of the zombie I’d just killed. The meat thermometer was still in its eyes as the Paul Giamatti zombie ate its face.
“God, you’re gross,” I grimaced as I stood up. He looked up at me, excited over fresh meat, and I was already grabbing a bottle of tequila off the counter.
He stood up, and I hit the bottle over his head. While it did smash, breaking a bottle over someone’s head requires a lot more force than movies had led me to believe. My wrist screamed painfully as shards of glass and alcohol splattered everywhere.
Zombie Paul Giamatti howled as blood and tequila dripped into his eyes. I tried to strike another match, which didn’t work, and he reached for me.
I stepped backward, nearly running right into the arms of one of his infected comrades, but I ducked down just before he grabbed me. I leaned back, rolling into the zombie’s legs and knocking him down, and then somersaulted back onto my feet.
I finally lit a stupid match, and I flicked it onto the alcohol-drenched Paul Giamatti zombie. This time, he caught on fire, and it quickly spread. He even managed to light the zombie next to him on fire.
This was good, except that now I had two crazed, burning zombies standing between me and the exit, plus another one that wasn’t on fire. I had not thought this plan through at all.
The flaming zombies stood on one side of the kitchen, and they seemed too preoccupied by the fact that they were on fire to really care about me. The other one blocked the only open aisle, and I figured that I had a better chance of getting by him.
I grabbed my garbage bag with one hand, and with the other, I picked up a ladle. Holding onto the spoon end, I waited until the zombie stepped towards me, then I swiped it across his neck.
This ladle had a hook at the end of the handle so it could be hung up, and the hook caught his throat, tearing it completely open. His blood was too thick to spray out, but it startled gurgling. He put his hands over the wound and leaned onto the counter.
I slid past him, moving as quickly as I could. I thought once I got out of the kitchen, I would be home free, but since I was running, the burning zombies decided to give chase.
Carrying a bag filled with heavy water bottles and jars, I found myself jumping and diving over tables as fast balls of fire tore after me. If I tripped on a single fallen chair, I was totally screwed.
Because they were on fire, they at least provided me with enough light to see about a foot in front of me. That was good since I had left the flashlight in the kitchen.
I had a gun, but by the time I got it out and tried to aim, it would be too late. In retrospect, I should’ve pulled it out in the kitchen, but I’m always conserving ammunition. If there were other weapons available, I wanted to use them first.
One of the zombies got tripped up on something or simply just gave up. When I looked back over my shoulder, he was lying on the ground, burning to death the way he was meant to.
That damn Paul Giamatti was persistent, and he should’ve been dead by now, but he only seemed to be gaining speed.
When I rounded a corner and leapt over a slot machine, I saw sunlight shining in, meaning I was getting close to the doorway. That also meant that I was probably getting closer to innocent bystanders, and I didn’t have a plan on how to stop the burning zombie when I got there.
“Run!” I shouted, in case anyone was standing in the entrance.
“Remy?” Harlow asked. I was close enough to where I could see her, and she wasn’t running. She just stood there, staring at me.
“Run, god dammit!” I growled, and she finally darted towards the door.
Lazlo appeared out of nowhere, seemingly stepping from the shadows. He looked surprised, but instead of running, he raised a bulky looking gun, pointing it right at me.
“Wait to get down until I tell you!” Lazlo said, and I didn’t know why, except he was a bad shot and needed us to get really close. I was nearly to him, when he yelled, “Get down!”
I complied, diving at the ground and landing almost at his feet. I heard a weird clacking sound, but it wasn’t like a gun going off.
I closed my eyes tightly, waiting to feel the burning death grip from a zombie, but it never came. Finally, I lifted my head and looked around. The zombie lay a few feet behind me, writhing on the floor and groaning. I got up and watched as he stopped moving.