Chris could hear a group of schoolgirls in his head mentally taunting him chanting, butterfingers, butterfingers, butterfingers as he held the door closed with his tender stump and his left leg while he scraped at the ground for the keys. He peered through the spaces between the boards on the inside of the door and could see the hungry mobs shambling closer.
His middle finger hooked the key ring and he snatched the keys off the ground.
“GOT ‘EM!”
Chris’ hand was shaking uncontrollably as he looked through the boards and slid the keys across his palm hunting for the lobby door key. He could see the first dead heads were about five feet from the door and he started stabbing keys into the keyhole. The door budged. Chris leaned into the door trying to keep it shut. The door throbbed inconsistently as the bodies piled against it. The smell of rotting meat permeated through the door jamb.
It seemed like he had tried all the keys five times by now and frustrated him. He stuck the next key in the lock, twisted and *click!* He heard the angels singing just to him, “Hallelujah, hallelujah!”
He backed away from the door and turned to leave when he saw eight more standing motionless outside of the large canopied circle driveway. The Houston horizon between the buildings and smoke plumes were turning from black to a violet-lavender hue.
“Okay, good. Its morning-around five-thirty or six o’ clock. So, while I’m out and about, I drop by the store and pick up a watch. Ha-ha. Okay, Chris. We need to find a car or a truck; preferably one with keys in it. I’ve gotta get to Sarah. I’ve gotta get to the freeway!”
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