Max moved as silently as he could up to the large wooden deck that surrounded the back of the mansion. No zombies could be seen and he wanted to keep it that way. A wide set of screen doors separated him from to potential safety the large house could offer.
As he tried the door, and found it locked, the darkness of the forest pressed in on him like a tangible enemy. Each creaking branch sent shivers running through him. He imagined cold unseen hands gripping him from behind or hordes of zombies moaning out their hunger for him would appear at any moment.
He didn’t have much in the way of tools, just his leatherman and his old sword. Besides he wasn’t too keen on the idea of breaking the lock. Who knew how smart these things were? They might be able to slide the door open after he was inside. So instead, he crept toward a kitchen window. As he pried it open with the tip of his sword, he heard moaning coming from the house.
At first he cursed his luck, but then he realized that this was moaning of a different sort-the type lovers made. Even though the window had been opened, he considered leaving and finding a different place, until he heard the stumbling footfalls of what had to be a large mob of undead approaching his position through the woods. He couldn’t be sure if this was a group following him or random bad luck, but in the end it didn’t matter.
Deciding to take his chances, Max crawled through the window. He upsetted a potted plant on the way and it fell off the sill. Fingers fumbled for it as the plant toppled to the floor. They caught the side, but he couldn’t keep his grip. It didn’t shatter, but it hit the floor with a dull thud. He could only hope that it wasn’t loud enough to alert the flesh-eaters outside.
Once he got his feet under him, Max started to head toward the more human moaning, letting the point of his sword lead the way.
Almost at once, he realized he had been wrong about the cadence of the moans. Yes, they were the moans a man would make while screwing, but the female’s were cries of pain and anguish. She has to be getting raped, he thought. What should I do?
Before he could even formulate a pain, the icy barrel of a gun was being pressed against his ear. “Hold it right there, punk. Denny, someone’s in here!” the man yelled.
Despite the danger of the gun being pressed against his head, all Max could think about was how loud the man had shouted.
He heard, “Stay here, bitch or I’ll make it real hard on you.” But before he could see who either of these men were, the sounds of meaty slaps hitting the plate glass windows could be heard.
I’m in some serious trouble!