better hand-to-hand weapon against the geeks, he had yet to discover it. Of course, it was perfect for smashing stubborn window and damned locked doors that he encountered almost every time he had to go out shopping.
“It’s Miller Time,” he said to no one but himself.
Turning, he locked the door of his favorite safe house. It had been a simple twenty foot by twenty-foot workroom on the roof of this office building. Once upon a time, it started as a kind of penthouse , before the building thought better of that , and never quite finished it. Thus, when he’d first come upon it, the blocky space had been just three spaces ; a big open room with a concrete floor, a small space that he’d made into a bedroom that could be locked from inside, and a simple bathroom that had a toilet and a shower. There was no water pressure these days, but Ron had rigged a rain catchment and big plastic containers that served as a series of cisterns. He never drank that water, but it was good for washing and for flushing the commode. Best of all, it was high above the wandering deads, but not too high. He could get down if he wanted to or if he had to.
Right now, he wanted to get down; it was time.
**
Cutter always exited this particular safe house , the same way ; by a rooftop door that opened into a very narrow and very steep stairwell. Although he had pondered it over the months, he’d never figure out why the architects had put that set of stairs just where they had. He was glad of it, but damned if he had ever figured it out. Just another access point, he supposed. It was the one that he kept open; having successfully blocked the other stairs with debris that none of the zombies had been able to pierce.
Sometimes the shamblers did get into the main section of the building, but they never stayed for long and none of them had been able to advance beyond the second floor. Ron had scattered the stairs with all manner of metal debris that wouldn’t burn , and with barbed wire and razor wire that he’d scavenged from different places around the neighborhood. It wasn’t pretty to look at, but so far it had proven to be effective.
He unlocked the door and shined an LED light into the well. The stairs plunged down at an alarmingly steep angle and the first couple of times Ron had stood at the top and looked down he’d actually felt vertigo. Once you got used to them it was no big deal. He just had to make sure that the narrow confines were free of the roaming dead. None had ever figured out how to force their way in, but if they ever did , the space was so confining that , a single man could stand at the height and pick them off one by one with gunfire or even with something as simple as a hammer. In no time, the shaft would become so plugged with dead flesh that nothing could push through. It was a good defense point, he knew.
Quietly, he descended the stairs until he was at street level. In addition to the stout lock that he had installed himself, the steel door at the bottom had a good, old-fashioned metal bar that held it closed. He had also put in a peephole and he used that now to peer out. He could see straight down the street for about a hundred yards. There was a deader mucking about. Something had obviously upset the thing and it was searching for prey , but its back was to him so Cutter figured it was all right to unlock the door and step out.
He slipped the bolts and pulled the door open slowly . The well-oiled hinges didn’t make a sound as he stepped out and locked the door behind him. All the while, he kept one eye on the dead thing that still had its back to him, and as soon as the door was secure, he moved off to his left and if the shamble ever turned around to look toward Ron’s escape route, he wasn’t there to see it.
Stuffing his keys into a thigh pocket of his pants, he buttoned them up securely and moved off. Ron knew exactly what he wanted to achieve in the way of scavenging, and he wanted to check up on
Learning to Kill: Stories