I have a one-track mind
Ben pushed the boarded door open as wide as it went and strode into the road with the torches held at arm's length. The kerosene soaked rags disintegrated slowly at their edges and fell flaming to the road. The things fell back, out of Ben's sphere of influence. He was light-headed from the fumes and not enough to eat. Part of him had madly expected the zombies to scatter like cockroaches, to disappear into cracks and crevices. Instead, they hung back, regarding this new volatile thing. They moaned and drooled and rotted at the fresh meat with the burning arms.
Shifting the second torch to his free hand, Ben wheeled, whooshing with flame. The zombies backed away some more. He tried to get a clearer look at the scratches and bites on his forearms. The black smoke from the torches was making his eyes water. It was dimmer in the twilight of this particular canyon of buildings. Ben kept swooshing the torches and made his way down toward a road that ran east-west, one that was still catching some light from the setting sun.
Only a few of the things were out on the street here. He passed the entrance of an underground parking deck. Things shifted and shuffled almost-seen in the darkness beyond and below the candy-striped barrier arms. Soon the other ones, the ones who were sensitive to the light, would come up from the yawning basements and stairwells. It would only take Ben twenty or thirty minutes to walk out past the downtown area. If he didn't get turned around somewhere, it would only take him thirty minutes. Forty-five minutes, tops. There should be that much daylight left. Maybe he would run into the Marines on his way, even.
He turned the corner onto a numbered avenue and almost stepped in a rotting ribcage. The head attached hissed and strained at its neck tendons. Ben yelled and pirouetted, arresting his right foot in mid air and spinning clockwise. A walking corpse that had been stumbling along was in Ben's face when he finished his little ballet move. He shoved a whirling torch in its armpit. It clamped its elbow and wrenched the burning thing from his hand, catching fire. Ben backed into the middle of the road, flashing looks in all directions, suddenly remembering to keep aware of his surroundings.
The putrefying flesh of the zombie caught and burned marvelously. It tumbled to the ground howling, and crawl-scurried down the gutter, back the way Ben had come from. A plume of smoke gushed from it. Nothing else moved in the abandoned street. Ben could see for blocks to the east. He saw the trench of the highway two blocks down on the west. The sun glared in his eyes, casting its light on the private moment Ben was having with the burning zombie and and the hissing torso on the corner. Ben wondered if he should wait for it to burn up and stop moving, to get the other torch back. He decided he couldn't bear backtracking even those few paces.
Shifting the second torch to his free hand, Ben wheeled, whooshing with flame. The zombies backed away some more. He tried to get a clearer look at the scratches and bites on his forearms. The black smoke from the torches was making his eyes water. It was dimmer in the twilight of this particular canyon of buildings. Ben kept swooshing the torches and made his way down toward a road that ran east-west, one that was still catching some light from the setting sun.
Only a few of the things were out on the street here. He passed the entrance of an underground parking deck. Things shifted and shuffled almost-seen in the darkness beyond and below the candy-striped barrier arms. Soon the other ones, the ones who were sensitive to the light, would come up from the yawning basements and stairwells. It would only take Ben twenty or thirty minutes to walk out past the downtown area. If he didn't get turned around somewhere, it would only take him thirty minutes. Forty-five minutes, tops. There should be that much daylight left. Maybe he would run into the Marines on his way, even.
He turned the corner onto a numbered avenue and almost stepped in a rotting ribcage. The head attached hissed and strained at its neck tendons. Ben yelled and pirouetted, arresting his right foot in mid air and spinning clockwise. A walking corpse that had been stumbling along was in Ben's face when he finished his little ballet move. He shoved a whirling torch in its armpit. It clamped its elbow and wrenched the burning thing from his hand, catching fire. Ben backed into the middle of the road, flashing looks in all directions, suddenly remembering to keep aware of his surroundings.
The putrefying flesh of the zombie caught and burned marvelously. It tumbled to the ground howling, and crawl-scurried down the gutter, back the way Ben had come from. A plume of smoke gushed from it. Nothing else moved in the abandoned street. Ben could see for blocks to the east. He saw the trench of the highway two blocks down on the west. The sun glared in his eyes, casting its light on the private moment Ben was having with the burning zombie and and the hissing torso on the corner. Ben wondered if he should wait for it to burn up and stop moving, to get the other torch back. He decided he couldn't bear backtracking even those few paces.