I stared at the door briefly, zombies on the other side thumping away at it. The blows seemed subdued, almost unintentional at times and the zombies just sort of slid around on the surface of the door. Occasionally however, one would strike it hard and I realized all that was between me and them was the contractor installed deadbolt, which suddenly seemed terribly inadequate for the job of holding back the undead. “I’ve got to secure this door.” With that thought I turned and rushed around the stairs and to the door leading out into the garage.
I grabbed the knob and abruptly stopped, “What if they were in the garage? But if so, how? The garage door was closed right?” I began to slowly turn the knob, bracing my right hand on the door.
My heart raced wildly as I imagined gaunt, hungry faces with outstretched arms waiting to seize me on the other side. I clenched my eyes shut as hard as I could, as if to squeeze the images out of my mind. I raised my head, opened my eyes and slowly and very quietly opened the door, just a few inches. Forcing my gaze passed the door, I peered into the garage. It was very dark inside. The light switch was located on the wall inside the garage. I would have to slip inside to turn it on. The darkness was a good sign, it meant the door was closed, and likely nothing would be inside. Feeling a bit more comfortable, I opened the door all the way and stepped inside. I flipped on the light to reveal the garage interior, thankfully free of zombies and filled with the now seemingly unimportant clutter of our lives. Christmas decor, bicycles, the lawn mower, etc. “Not going to be mowing grass for awhile,” I thought. Behind me I heard the front door shudder again and I was reminded of why I was there. I stepped to the concrete floor ignoring the three small steps below me and quickly sought out what I needed. There, in the far corner was some scrap wood, 2x2s and 2x6s. As I approached the aluminum door I could hear them outside, moaning and coughing those awful rasps. I grabbed several pieces of wood up into my arms and snagged a box of large wood screws from the tool box. I started back toward the steps and realized I needed the power drill. I went back and grabbed it and with my hands full I clumsily walked all of the items up the small stairs, into the kitchen and over to the front door.
I stopped there holding the wood in my arms and looked up to see those gray, drawn faces looking back at me through the glass windows adjacent to the door. The black lifeless, and evil eyes taking in the vision of my flesh with hungry desire. I bent down and dropped the wood and tool items to the hardwood floor and stood upright looking at the zombies as they gazed in at me. They snarled and snapped at the glass, angry that they couldn’t get to me. The best I could tell there were about five of them on the porch now. “Sorry guys, no free meals today, not here anyway and for that matter no free peaking either.” I slapped at the glass in front of one of their faces. It instantly lunged forward and bit at the glass where my hand struck it, teeth scraping against the outer pane leaving a bloody, wet smear. I withdrew my hand and the zombie seemed to follow it visually back into the house with some desperation, angrier and more eager than before. As I stared back at the creature an idea flashed through my mind and I returned to the garage and retrieved a can of black spray paint. I started shaking the can as I walked back to the first panel of glass. I ripped the top free from the can and began spraying the glass black. It was as if I was erasing them, their tortured faces, little by little disappearing from view. I knew they were still out there but once I finished the second panel at least I couldn’t see them and they couldn’t see me. “Maybe if they can’t see me, they’ll leave,” I thought. “Not likely,” I responded aloud, “If I were that lucky I wouldn’t be in the midst of the zombie apocalypse!”
I turned to the wood lying on the floor, and grabbed two 8 inch pieces of 2×2 and continued my thought, “but I guess it’s not all that bad, at least I’m not a zombie!” I picked up the drill and several screws. I started just below the midline of the door and began to screw in the two pieces of 2×2 horizontally leaving about 3 inches in between them. I then picked up a long piece of 2×6 and placed one end in the middle of the two pieces of wood now firmly held to the door. I then picked up another shorter piece of 2×6 and placed it flat on the floor behind the other end of the long board. I pushed the long board hard against the door and slid the shorter 2×6 against the other edge firmly. With one foot securing the whole apparatus I then screwed the flat 2×6 securely into the hardwood floor effectively creating a wedge pressing against the door holding it solid. “The wife’s not going to like this one bit.” I laughed to myself. “That’s assuming she’s ok somewhere out there.” I couldn’t think about that now, not about her, about Mom and Dad. The next shudder came against the door and thankfully it did not give nearly as much this time. I had some more scrap left over and for good measure I screwed it into the frame above, overlapping the door and then secured another large piece at the foot of the door right into the hardwood. “If they come in through the front door, they’re going to have to earn it.” I thought. I stepped back admiring my work, trying not to cough from the spray paint fumes. “It”ll have to do.” I said as I set the drill on the nearby kitchen table.
I looked toward the closed blinds and decided to risk a peek carefully through the slats. I lifted the corner of one of the white slats and peered across the street to where Alan had been. The zombies congregated on his lawn seemed to have finished their meal and one or two had begun to move away in search of new prey. The ones on my porch still moaned and thumped on the front door. I glanced back at the ones in Alan’s yard and it looked like three lone zombies appeared to be seeking the source of the moaning, heads snapping around in the air. “They can still hear?” I murmured under my breath, “They’ll draw others with those moans if they can. I’ve got to get these damn things off my porch. But how?” I let the slat down slowly and quietly and slipped passed the door into the sitting room. I was heading to the far window and caught a glimpse of my shoes laying in the floor. For a moment it was as if I didn’t recognize them. Such an ordinary item suddenly seemed out of place in this new zombiefied world. I looked down to my sock covered feet and back to my shoes and thought, “Might need those.’ I slipped them on quickly and proceeded to the window. I stood back, away from it at first to see if any shadows passed over it. After several minutes of waiting nothing did, and I approached the window and gently lifted a slat to look out onto the porch. The zombies were concentrated at the door, clustered there moaning and clamoring against one another like teenagers trying to get on the stage with their favorite rock star. “How can I get them away from the door? Maybe I could open the window, slit the screen, lean out and shoot the zombies on the porch before they drew anymore in, but damn that’s risky.” I pondered this idea a moment and concluded, “I don’t have any choice.”