“Yeah, we do. I wouldn’t want to give a home to some family that had zombies under the bed.” I swung my carbine to cover an alleyway, but relaxed as a mouse stepped out, looked at us, then rustled into the weeds. Good luck, little one. I thought. I had switched back to my trusted M1 Carbine, figuring we would be in close quarters mode for a while and the M1A wasn’t really suited for that, being a heavier caliber. Mark was armed with Dane Blake’s Mini-14. He wasn’t needing it anymore. We were also armed with our usual weapons, knives and close-in fighting tools. Over the winter I had taken a shine to Sarah’s little pickaxe, but not liking the short handle, I fashioned one a little longer for extended reach. Mark had the crowbar, so he would be opening the doors.

Mark had taken to the training pretty well, and I trusted him to at least remain steady in case we got into a spot, but he had never gone one on one with a real Z yet. This little walk was as much a test of his ability, as it was of how the zombies had weathered the winter.

We came to an intersection and stopped. A small group of six zombies were slowly making their way down the street. When they saw us, it was like a switch had been turned on, and they immediately began shuffling faster, groaning and reaching. They were desperate after their winter freeze, and wanted us badly.

I wasn’t in the mood to accommodate. I tossed Mark the end of a fifteen foot rope I had with me and we spread out, running at the zombies. The rope took them about waist high, and we tumbled the lot of them. As they struggled to get up, I stepped up and crushed the skull of what might have been a teenager, while Mark nailed a guy in a torn up business suit. A second zombie joined the first as I slammed the pickaxe into the skull of a zombie who was getting slowly to his feet. Mark killed another one then retreated as the remaining two came at him in a rush. He ran down the center of the street, then turned to face his attackers.