I live on 103rd & Maple St.  I drove out to Maple, and took a right, so that I could get onto the interstate highway and take that to Athena, but the interstate was blocked off, the entrance sealed by a police blockade made up of base of sandbags about three feet high and pieces of wood cris-crossed with so much yellow crime scene tape that I couldn’t tell what the wood said.  I backed up and turned my car around, no choice but to take Maple all the way to Pratt St in north Omaha.
  There were dozens of stopped cars and groups of zombies all along Maple.  The more I drove, the more I could see that the city had been hit hard and fast with this problem.  I passed shops and places of business and saw windows busted out and glass seemed to be everywhere.  With places that had more than one story, the bottom floor was always gutted, while the upper floors had wood nailed on the windows and looked to be homemade fortresses for survivors.  Soon, my brain started taking in the whole picture and places that I would subconsciously ignore intense signs of death, I would see the truth.  There were bodies seemingly everywhere.  People who had tried to fight the ghouls, but couldn’t win.  Their punishment for not winning the fight was to be pulled apart and eaten.  Some of the zombies still remained at their morbid ‘buffet tables,’ their decomposing heads lolling as they consumed former members of mankind.  I dry heaved, licked my lips once, and pulled a CD out of the case in the backpack and put it in my car CD player.  When the music began playing, I ignored my surroundings and lost myself in the music.
When I hit about 78th and Maple, I got an idea.  There was a pawn shop on 72nd and there were always guns there.  I sped up and nearly ran into a zombie when I turned into the pawn shop parking lot.  I shut off my car and instinctively remote-locked it when I emerged.  I grimaced when I turned to face the pawn shop.  It was trashed.  Windows were busted out and it looked like the inside was destroyed as well.  Several of the bikes and lawnmowers that resided outside of the shop were either gone or destroyed, the blades from the mowers and the bike chains taken, most likely for weapons.  Broken glass crunched abnormally loudly beneath my feet as I walked closer.  I wasn’t sure if it was just my mind playing tricks on me, but it felt as if I was walking in a ghost town.  It wasn’t just silent.  Even the air had died.  
I stepped into the shop, not bothering to open the door.  The glass in the door frame had been broken out.  Before I was completely inside, the deafening silence was broken by a faint sound.  I listened.  The sound repeated itself.  It was a scream.  Someone, somewhere, was probably fighting for their life, and was losing.  I thought of Athena again.  Shaking my head, trying to get that thought out, I finished my entrance to the pawn shop.
“Hello?”  I called out, my voice sounding unsure to my own ears.  I looked around the shop.  It was a large place, long rather than wide.  To my left were several glass cases, many of them broken, that contained jewelry of all sorts.  To my right were walls of lawn equipment.  Further down, on the right, was a wall.  It was empty now, but I knew that the wall normally was the home of several rifles and shotguns.  But those were gone.  I kicked aside a toppled chair and repeated my call.  I got the same reply.  Paper, clothes, and jewelry were strewn all around the place.
I walked behind the broken counter that housed several pistols and knives, hoping to find a stray shotgun that I could use.  Instead, I caught sight of a few boxes of ammo.  I picked them up, then set them back down.  I needed an actual gun first.  There were no large guns left.  Shotguns, Rifles, anything.  
I turned and scanned the case that usually had the pistols in it.  There was nothing.  I moved glass and papers that had found their way into the case and continued looking.  As if it were planned, I got to the end of the long, glass case, moved a piece of paper, and found a small pistol.  I looked all over it, trying to find out what kind of gun it was.  All I saw on the gun was ‘.22’ engraved in tiny numbers.  
“Ok, it’s a 22.”  I don’t know much about guns, but I know enough to pick out the right ammo, lest I blow my hand up.   I snatched a pistol holster off of a nearby coat hanger and put it on, tossing the gun into it so I could get back to work.  I walked back to the red and black boxes of ammo that I had found before.  Unfortunately, they were for a .45.  I looked around for a moment.  There weren’t anymore boxes, nor any indication of where they kept ammo.  I walked out from the counter and looked around some more.  Then I realized that I was looking for the wrong thing.  Why would they keep ammunition out here with the guns?  
“Silly rabbit,” I scolded myself as I walked to the section with the lawn-care items.  Right in between an electric handsaw display and dozens of used water hoses was a grey, metallic door.  I grabbed the handle and pulled.  It didn’t budge.  I blinked in half confusion, grabbed the handle again and pushed.  Nothing happened.  I backed away from the door, almost against the front door with the broken glass.  I had to break this door down.  I clenched my fists and tilted my shoulder for the blow I would receive.  I jumped half a mile when a hand touched my shoulder.  I leapt forward, turned, and drew my sword, my hands shaking from fright.
“Hey, hold on, I’m human,” the person at the door said before I had a chance to really see who it was.  His voice was scratchy and weak.  Too much stress? After a moment, my eyes found the speaker.  A tall, thin, black man was standing with his arms up, one hand holding an aluminum bat, watching me intently.  Why hadn’t I heard him coming in?  Was I that emerged in my thoughts?  I scolded myself for making a mistake that could easily get me killed, then turned my attention back to the guy at the door.  He was wearing a rag on his head, a plain, red t-shirt, and blue jeans that were sagging, along with a pair of blue Nikes that would have looked really good if they weren’t stained with blood and some other brown substance, probably mud.  I stopped shaking a tiny bit.  
“Oh.  Who are you?”  I asked, my voice slightly accusing.  
“Symon.  Symon Belfasdt.”
I nearly laughed.  That was not a name for a gangster (excuse me, gangsta)-looking guy like that.  “Ok, Symon,” I said with a grin.  “Name’s Carl.”  I sheathed my sword and walked up to him, my hand extended.  He took it.  I walked back to the spot I was at before Symon made his entrance.  
He watched me for a moment, then walked jewelry cases.  I shrugged as I steadied myself, focusing my sight and my attention on the gray door ahead of my.  Without warning, I hopped into the air a few inches, yanked my pants up a bit while I was in air, and took off running as soon as I hit the ground.  I turned my head and upper torso to the right slightly and pushed forward as my left shoulder collided with the door with a loud bang.  A shot of pain traveled through my shoulder, but the door didn’t come down.  I backed away from the door and repeated my process.  I hopped, pulled, and ran.  When my shoulder hit the door this time, I heard a crack.  I ignored the pain in my shoulder and grabbed the doorknob again.  The door was loose.  
Before I could back up, I heard a moan.  It was the call of the infected.  And it was coming from behind the door I was ramming.  Why hadn’t I heard that before?  I must’ve just woken it up.  I slowly pulled my sword out, listening to the steel scrape the scabbard.  Holding it with my right hand, I charged the door again.  The door swung open with the collision, the wooden door frame splintering as I fell through the doorway.  I righted myself and briskly brought my sword up, ready to attack.
It took a moment for me to gather what I was seeing.  There was one of the infected on the ground, covered in blood.  Its legs and arms were in a pile in the corner of the small, industrial room.  The rest of it was face up on the ground, growling at me.  I stepped over it, sickened at what I was witnessing, but unable to look away.  A wet, throaty sound emerged from the monster as it tried to spit vomit and blood up at me.  Instead, its projectile dribbled out of its crackled mouth and ran into its nose and eyes, moistening the shrunken knots of flesh in its bony sockets.  I added my own vomit to the mix when it burped a scent that I had never in my life thought could have existed.  
Completely disgusted, I wiped my mouth on my sleeve and stomped on the ghoul’s head, smashing its brittle skull.  Blood and brain matter expanded around my boot, creating a strawberry sherbert-colored scum that nearly made me repeat my previous excrement.  
“You…you ok…in there, man?”  A weak, coughing voice inquired.  Symon’s voice was getting worse.  I was too busy trying to catch my breath to answer him.  After a moment, I was able gain control of my stomach functions again, and I took a look around the room.  It was a small place, about the size of a crappy, gas station restroom.  And it just about smelled like a crappy, gas station restroom as well.  Two of the walls were lined with shelves, many of them containing boxes of some kind.  I started rummaging through the boxes until I found what I was looking for: a vast supply of ammunition for the only weapon I had.  I made an inward victory cry and spun my backpack around to unzip it, the zipper making an unusually loud sound in the silence.
I packed my backpack with boxes of ammo, weighing the bag down nearly fifty pounds more than it was.  I pulled out the pistol and ejected the magazine, fumbling with it for a moment before I figured out how to take it out.  I finally got it out, opened a green and white box of bullets and tried to fill the clip with rounds, but my glove was making that a bit of a chore.  I took the glove off and continued filling the clip, counting twelve rounds before the clip was full.  I put it partway back into the gun, then slapped it the rest of the way, feeling a bit like a cop or something.  
I grinned as I cocked the gun, feeling ready for anything.  That was just when I heard a soft moan from behind me.  I wheeled around, facing the door, and saw Symon standing in the doorway, looking at me.  
“Hey, you need something?”  I asked.  He tilted his head as if he was getting ready to ask me a question.  I instinctively copied his motion.  Then I heard the last thing I expected to hear: the tell-tale moan of one of the infected.  It was coming from outside.  Symon turned his head slowly, trying to located the sound.  “What are you doing?  What’s wrong?”  I got my answer.  Symon moaned in the direction of the first call of the zombie.  He was a zombie.  I tried to figure out how he turned so quickly as I raised my fully loaded gun, aiming at the side of Symon’s head.  He turned and faced me, his head moving so slowly that it sent shivers up my spine.  
The sound of the gun echoed off of the walls of the small room.  I realized that I was going to temporarily lose my hearing before Symon hit the floor.  As I put the pistol in its holster, I felt a small pain tickle at the bit of webbed skin between my thumb joint and index finger joint.  The slide of the pistol had caught that bit of skin, pinching it when it slid back then forward with the shot.  A drop of blood appeared on my hand.  I wiped it off with my left forearm and pulled on my glove.  I looked down at Symon as I stepped over him, my boots tracking some of the growing pool of blood into the main area of the pawn shop.  How had he turned like that?  I turned around and looked at Symon’s body again.  I couldn’t    see any marks or bites.  I hooked my boot under his left shoulder and flipped him over.  When I took my boot away, there was a large wet spot on it.  I narrowed my eyes at the spot and turned my attention to Symon’s upturned body.  On the back of his left shoulder was a dark spot, the red of his shirt accented by it.  I knelt next to him and pulled the collar of his shirt down.  Right below his shoulder was a bandage that was soaked in blood.  I pulled off the large covering to reveal a wound that looked as if Symon had slapped in the back with the nail removing part of a hammer.  I winced as if the pain of the wound were my own.
“How could I have not noticed that?”  I asked myself.  I had to be more careful.  Another slip up like that might cost me my life.
I stood up, brushing myself off, and walked back to the front door.  On impulse I turned and looked around.  At that moment, I got a great idea.  I hopped to my left and looked into the long, glass cases that housed several pieces of jewelry.  I smacked the glass on one of the cases with the butt of my gun.  Behind the sound of glass breaking and falling, I thought I heard another faint noise.  I stood stark still, listening.  I couldn’t hear anything save for my own uneven breathing.  I moved down to another case.  Listening for the sound, I smashed the glass again.  The sound repeated itself.  It sounded like a sneeze, or a gasp for air.  I brushed some powdered glass from my gun and started walking around the store.  I hugged the walls and checked every nook and cranny.  The lawn-care section was clear, I knew that from earlier.  So was the gun and ammo section.  And I had just been in the jewelry section.  My gun pointed at the ground in front of me, I made my way back to the tall shelves and dark aisles of the electronics section.  Normally it would be all illuminated with the faint blue of televisions, computers, and intricate radios.  But now it was dark.  The place had a cold feeling to it, as if winter hibernated there in the summer.  I walked cautiously through the ill-lighted area, creeping up and down every aisle, but found nothing.
I had walked around the store until there was no where to look.  Except for the restroom.  There was only one and it was one of those space-saving bi-gender restrooms.  Holding my gun out in front of me, I kicked the door open.  I didn’t see anyone at first glance.  I walked into the restroom and took a second glance.  All I saw was my reflection in the mirror.  The florescent lights of the restroom were flickering, making my eyes have a ghostly flicker in them as well.  I blinked hard and started searching the stalls.  There were three stalls and I opened each one, slowly pushing it open and sighing when there was nothing in it.  Until I reached the third stall.  I pushed on it, but it didn’t open.  My heartbeat racing now, I knelt and looked under the door.  There was nothing there, but I had seen enough movies to know that people can stand on toilets with no problem.  I knocked on the stall door.  I didn’t expect an answer, and I didn’t get one.  
“Is anyone in there?”
No answer.
“If you don’t say anything, I’ll assume you’re a zombie and I’ll shoot you.”
Still no answer.  
“Ok, then,” I said to myself.  I pressed the barrel of the gun to the door, aiming where the lock would be, and pulled the trigger.  The report from the gun ricocheted off the walls and deafened me again.  
“I’ve gotta stop doing that,” I said.  All I heard of my own voice was “I otta op ing att.”  Behind my own musings, I heard a faint “Whoa!” but I wasn’t sure if it was faint because it was faint, or if it was because at the moment I wouldn’t be able to hear a jet plane break the sound barrier three inches above me.  I shook my head and kicked the stall door.  I grinned as I saw a woman sitting on her haunches on the toilet.  She was wearing blue jeans and a tight fitting shirt with a picture of the Eiffel Tower on it.  She looked like she was black, but she had very light skin and long, brown hair.  My grin grew as I realized that I knew this woman.  I’d gone to high school with her.  Her name was Amber.  I remembered how she had turned me down when I asked her out.  She had mentioned that I was a directionless bum with no ambition when she did.  That was just during our freshman year.
“I know you, don’t I?”  She asked me, rubbing her ears.  Apparently, the gunshot hadn’t just effected me.
“Yeah.  Carl,” I said, pointing at my chest.  She didn’t even remember the one guy in that whole school who would have killed for her.  My grin faltered.
“Carl…Vaughan, right?”  It wasn’t really a question.  “Why did you shoot at me?”  She said, hopping off of the toilet, a look that I was all too accustomed to crossing her face.  
My grin left completely.  I was rescuing her from what promised to be a messy commode death, and she still thought that she was better than I was.  “I didn’t shoot at you.”  Why was I defending myself?  “Nevermind.”  I started walking away, throwing my hands up.
“Where are you going?  I have a plan.”
“Then you stick to it.  I have an engagement.”
“You can’t leave.  You need me.”
I stopped walking and wheeled around.  “I never needed you.  I wanted you.  For four years, all I wanted to do was be at your side, but companionship wasn’t good enough, was it?”  This was seven years of frustration just pouring out.  “I tried with you.  I did.  But you couldn’t see a good thing even when it damn near stalked you.  You know, I joined ROTC just to be closer to you.  I got into Japanese culture because I thought it would impress you.  All four years of high school I tried to be with you.”  I let my voice get dangerously low as I turned my back on her.  “But you were too high and mighty to know that you aren’t better than me.”  
Suddenly there was a great pounding on my back, the blows weakened by my backpack.  I stumbled forward and turned.  Amber rushed at me, fists raised.  I grabbed her wrists.  I grinned in triumph at her.  I didn’t expect her temper to have gotten that much worse, but she didn’t expect me to be able to deal with her.  A look that I had never seen before flashed in her eyes.  She looked at me with pure hatred.  I was trying to figure out why she hated me when she spit in my face.  
“I’m still better than you!”  She screamed, struggling against my hold on her.  With an anger that I’ve never known, I pushed her away and pulled my gun.  The single gunshot re-deafened me.
“But guess who’s alive, bitch.”  I said grimly as she fell.  The look on her face was one of surprise and hurt.  I shouldn’t have been that happy, but I was, and I relished in it.  I was going to go to hell.    
I walked out of the restroom on cloud nine.  So far, everything was going fairly well.  I had a gun and ammo for it, along with a sword which I could give to my girlfriend.  I nodded as I thought about her.  I had to go get her.  I’d spent enough time in the store.  With a determined stride, I made my way back to one of the large jewelry cases.  It took me about two minutes to find the largest diamond set in the purest silver ring that I could find.  I pocketed the diamond.  I walked to my car, unlocked the door, and opened it, the door swinging open fully and bouncing once at the end of its hinges.
I took one last look around, pulled the gun out of its holster, cocked it, and got ready for my next adventure.