“Hail Mary, full of grace, thy followers are with thee–”

“Shut up.”

To spite Cort, Sandra rubbed a rosary bead between her fingers.  “Thou art first among women–”

Cort slammed a rusty lug wrench against a pipe in the body shop’s wall.  “I said, shut up!”

“You shut up!  You want to bring them in here?”

“Let’s all settle down,” said Hall, prying the lug wrench from Cort’s fist.

Cort snorted.  He scratched the back of his head so his hair stuck out below his Peterbilt cap.  “Listen to Captain America.  Don’t you tell me to settle down, bub.  I saw what’s out there!”

“Peter’s out there.”  Christine rocked back and forth on the floor.  Sandra went to sit with her.  The stench of motor oil made her head throb.

Only an hour ago, Sandra had never met any of them.  Before she left her office.  Before her tire blew.  Before the dead rose.  Sandra squeezed her rosary until the beads felt like fingers wrapped around her own.

Christine whimpered.  Sandra rubbed her arm.  “Shh, you’ll make yourself sick.  Maybe they won’t attack children.  How old is he?”

“Oh, they’ll attack ’em, all right,” said Cort.  “I saw a bunch of kindergarteners out there.  Took down a guy at the truck stop like they was a pack of wolves.”

“Shut up, Cort,” said Sandra.  Hall waved a hand.

“That’s enough, everyone.”  He smiled.  With his white sweater and expensive deck shoes, he looked like a young city councilman, or maybe a high-priced lawyer on vacation.  He glanced at the broken hydraulic table, the few rusty tools scattered about the shop, the old steel garage door with the shining new lock from Cort’s rig.  “If we’re going to get out of here, we need to take stock of our provisions.  Do we have any food?”

“You see a bag from the Piggly Wiggly?” said Cort.

Hall gave him a look like a patient teacher and set to pacing, one easy step at a time.  “All right, no food.”

“I’ve got some cigarettes,” Sandra said.

“I made sure Peter remembered his lunch this morning.”  Christine wriggled her shoulders as though electricity had flooded through her.  “He forgot it yesterday.  His teacher had to pay for him to eat in the cafeteria.”

“You’re a good mom,” Sandra said.  “He’ll be glad to see you.”  She glared at Cort.  Cort only rolled his eyes.

“All right.”  Hall ran his fingers down one of the PVC pipes on the wall.  “Any water?”

“The head’s out back,” Cort said.

“I’m sure we’ll be perfectly safe getting to it, then.  Cort, would you please see if there’s a faucet in here?”

Sandra patted Christine’s shoulder and got up.  “I can look for it–”

“Thank you, Sandra, but I asked Cort to do it.”  Hall gave her his city councilman’s smile.  Sandra sat down, wondering if she should have stayed at her office.

Outside, the wind moaned.  At least, she hoped it was the wind.  Cort’s battery lantern cast a yellow pool across the concrete floor and threw the walls into shadow.  Sandra should have stayed at work.  The power might be out, but there was food and water and a thick set of doors, and she would have been among friends.  But, no, she was a responsible pet owner.  She snorted; Chubby Cat could have stood to skip a meal anyway.

And then her car blew a tire.  And she thought she could change it.  And Cort turned up just in time to put a shotgun round through a zombie’s head.

Sandra lit a cigarette.  Her lighter’s orange flare dulled the lantern’s glow.  Cort’s footsteps–steel-toed boots–echoed in the depths of the shop.  A few moments later, he returned.

“We got plenty of spiders and a locked back door, but the tap’s busted.  I’d say we’re S. O. L.”

“So, no food and no water,” Hall said.  “Sandra, would you please put that cigarette out?  There are laws.”

Sandra took the cigarette from between her lips.  “There are zombies.”

“And I’m sure they were law-abiding citizens before this began.  Please?”

“She can smoke if she wants to,” said Cort as Sandra crushed her cigarette against the floor.  “Not much else to do in here.”

“We’ll discuss it later.”  Hall flicked a speck of dust from his sleeve.  “Do we have any weapons?”

Cort slapped a pistol on the hydraulic table.  “Glock nine-mil.  Got two shotguns and a hunting rifle my boss don’t know about in my rig.  With ammo.”

“Peter’s father gave him a toy gun,” said Christine.  “I took it away.”

“Now, Cort.”  Hall reached for the pistol.  Cort whipped it into the shoulder holster beneath his denim jacket.  Hall folded his hands.  “I don’t see how having weapons outside will do us any good in here.”

“Got any bullets?” said Sandra.

“Six.”

“Only six?”

“Had seventeen.  Got eight dead zombies now.”

Hall gave Cort a blank, mild look.  “Why not eleven dead?”

“You ever try to get a moving target in the head?”

Christine whimpered.  Sandra put her hands over Christine’s ears.  “Could you two be a little quieter?  She’s upset enough without you talking about blowing people’s brains out.”

“Well, whoop-de-shit!”  Cort slapped the hydraulic table.  “Why don’t we just invite the zombies in and ask ’em to stop eating people while we’re at it?”

“Cort!”

Sandra froze.  Even Cort looked up at Hall’s shout.  Sandra wrapped her rosary around her hand.

“We need a plan,” said Hall.

“I got a plan,” Cort said.  Hall lifted his eyebrows.  “I say we camp here for the night, then pile into my rig once we don’t need headlights.  The less light we gotta use,” and Cort glowered at the broken fluorescent bulbs overhead, “the less chance we got of being seen.”

Hall looked around, his lips parted.  His eyes were glassy in the yellow light.  “No, I don’t think that would work.  We should get out of here as soon as possible.  We’re a stationary target.  If they figure out we’re here, we’re only as safe as a door.”

“Now, that is just bullshit!  That back door’s got chains from here to Sunday, and my lock ain’t going nowhere.”  Cort ran to the wall and hoisted himself up by the bars covering a small, high window.  He shook them.  “Safe as Fort Knox!”

“He’s got a point,” said Sandra.  “Those bars’ll hold ’til Armageddon.”

“And this could very well be it,” said Hall.

Cort dropped from the window.  He stopped nose-to-nose with Hall.  “You listen up, bub.  I told the lady here to shut up ’cause I know my Hail Mary.  I don’t wanna hear nothin’ about the hour of anyone’s death.”

“I told Peter to stand up to bullies,” Christine said.  Sandra shushed her.

“Cort, we need to keep our heads–” said Hall.

Cort slammed a fist on the hydraulic table.  “And I’ll be damned if I’m gonna listen to you say this is the end of the world!”

“And what proof do you have that it isn’t?”

“I got proof.”  Cort took out his Glock.  “I got all the proof I need right here.”

Hall smashed Cort’s nose with his forehead.  Cort staggered.  Hall took the Glock.

“I don’t think you’re responsible enough to have this, Cort,” Hall said as Cort stared, gripping his nose with one hand so blood poured between his fingers.  “Now, let’s gather ourselves so we can get out of here–”

“You slimy faggot, you give me back my–”

The gunshot echoed against Christine’s scream.  Sandra crushed her rosary as Cort sank to the floor, a neat hole in his forehead and a larger one in back.  She had the vague sensation of fresh gore soaking through her slacks.

Hall tucked the gun into the waist of his trousers and crouched next to Cort.  With two fingers, he took the keys from Cort’s pocket.

“If one of you ladies could drive?”

“No,” said Christine, staring at the pool of blood spreading on the oil-stained floor.  She hurried to her feet as it crept closer.  “I told Peter not to ride with strangers.”

“We’ll find Peter,” said Hall.

Christine looked from the floor to Hall.  “You’re not touching him!”

The metal door boomed as she rammed her shoulder into it.  The squeal of her fingernails on its surface echoed through the shop.  Sandra fought to twist Christine’s arms behind her back, but Christine pulled free.  She screamed like a caged beast, a vicious, inhuman sound rising from the depths of her throat.

“Christine, stop,” said Hall.  He aimed the gun.  Christine fell to her knees and scrabbled with the lock.  A bullet tore through the metal next to her shoulder.  Sandra jumped back just as Christine’s head burst across the door.

Sandra sank to the floor and hugged her knees.  She should have stayed at work.  She should have stayed in Cort’s rig.  She should have called in sick and spent the day with Chubby Cat.  Her face felt wet; whether it were blood or tears or sheer panic seemed beyond the point.

“Sandra,” said Hall.  Sandra shivered.  “Sandra, please take the keys.  We’re leaving.”

Using the wall for support, Sandra pushed herself to her feet.  The wind moaned.  The moan carried.  The metal door at the front of the shop rattled.  Large shadows crossed the bullet holes in the steel.

Hall flexed his wrist, the Glock in hand.  “Sandra, would you please go and find the back door?”

“The truck’s out front.”

“Yes, I understand this.  Would you please look for the back door?”  He lifted the gun.  “I don’t want to have to ask you again.”

Gripping her rosary, Sandra backed away.  In a filthy, shadowy corner of the shop, she found the door, chained shut from the inside.  She knocked twice, only for the door to rattle and the horrible, windy moan to rise.

Hall’s footsteps stopped behind her.  Sandra rested her head against the door.  “In the hour of our death,” she mouthed.  “In the hour of our death.”

“We’re surrounded, then?” said Hall.

“This is your fault.”

“I fail to see your logic.”

Sandra glared back over her shoulder.  Hall’s white sweater had tiny spots of blood all over it.  Cort’s blood.  Christine’s blood.  Sandra faced the door.  She should have taken her chances with the zombie.

“What now?” she said.

“We get out.”

“There is no way out.”

Sandra tensed at the mouth of the Glock on her neck.  Hall said, “No, there’s always a way out.”