Surviving the Day by Matt Hart Read Free Book Online Page A

around.
     
    “Mark!” I whispered.
     
    “Yeah?”
     
    “Are those people going to turn into zombies?” I asked, pointing at the victims on the ground. He looked at me, shining his headlamp just above me. His face scrunched up in thought.
     
    “I don't know,” he said. “Maybe?” He took out his machete and gave each of the victims a good couple of whacks on the head. “Mongo's mom,” he said, bashing the skull of a short, fat woman in an ugly jumpsuit. The machete stuck, and he had to put his boot on her face to pull it out. I turned my head, hating to think what I’d gotten used to seeing and doing. I turned back.
     
    “Mongo?” I asked.
     
    “Richard and his family. I called them the Mongo's.”
     
    I looked at him like he'd lost his mind. He looked at me like I’d lost mine. “You know, from ‘Blazing Saddles’.”
     
    I still had no idea what he was talking about. “A movie my dad liked,” he added.
     
    “Oookayyy,” I said.
     
    “Never mind. Richard's mom, or wife, or whatever she was.”
     
    “Right, I got that part,” I said.
     
    “Can you check that old truck you were in, see if it still starts?”
     
    I turned and shined the flashlight into the truck; luckily, there wasn't anyone in it—zombie or human. I reached in and turned the key. It only turned a little bit and made a grinding noise. You know, the regular noise a car makes when it's starting? I don't know what it's called.
     
    “It was still turned on,” I told him. “I think it must have ran out of gas since we stopped.”
     
    Mark sighed and his shoulders slumped. “Damn. Okay. Turn it off and take the keys.”
     
    “We could stay inside of it for the night,” I suggested. Mark shook his head.
     
    “Too risky, I think. The zombies in the store might know we were there if they're able to break out. And Richard might come back for the truck.”
     
    “Yikes, good point.” I pocketed the keys from the truck and followed Mark as we went across the street. He checked every truck, bulldozer and front-end loader, but all of them were locked.
     
    “We can't break into them,” he said. “That would just give the zombies an easy way to get to us.” He turned in a circle. “Dammit!” he said, a bit loudly. He looked at me, but I didn't have any bright ideas.
     
    “Alright,” said Mark, “this way.” We walked around the side and up to a chain-link fence. He shined the light around, checking out the fenced-in area, then pulled at the bottom of the fence and it lifted up. “Inside,” he said, holding it for me. I crawled under and he followed me. “I took this apart before you got here. I was going to try and take one of these mowers, gas it up and ride it home,” he said.
     
    “If you've ever ridden a lawn mower to the gas station, youuuu might be a redneck,” I said.
     
    Mark laughed. I smiled. He took off the backpack and opened it and dug around a bit. He pulled out a package and handed it to me. It was a roll of thin rope. “Tie off that fence so it can't be pulled up without untying or cutting the cord,” he told me.
     
    I took the cord to the fence and spooled out a few feet. “Mark, I need a knife.”
     
    “Oh yeah,” he said, and took one from a pocket. “Swiss Army,” he said. “It's what I used to unscrew the fence bolts in the first place,” he added.
     
    “Thanks,” I said. I looked at the knife, trying to figure out how to open it. I started to ask Mark for help, but stopped myself.
     
    Forget that... I'll figure it out.
     
    I turned it over in my hand, shining the flashlight on it. Then I pulled a blade out, certain I'd break a fingernail, but it came out easily. I cut the rope, tied up the fence, then did it a few more times until the fence was reconnected to all of the posts.
     
    “Done,” I said. I looked back at Mark. He was cutting the seats out of the other lawn mowers. I pondered this bizarre behavior but didn't say anything. He stood up.
     
    “Good, move