The sound started again, this time louder, almost like fists throbbing against the walls, dozens of fists pounding lightly, probing for something. Manny squeezed his eyes shut. Liz’s face washed white in contrast to the blurred smudge of eye shadow around her eyes. Manny took a deep, wispy breath and opened his eyes again. His index finger crept toward the pistol’s trigger.

But then the noises moved away from their room, further down the hallway, soon disappearing entirely. Manny sighed lightly and slumped to the floor like a discarded pile of raw clay. For a few, quiet moments, he rested his head against one arm as it was crooked across his bent knees.

“I think they’re gone, Manny,” Liz whispered, her face whiter than the dingy sheets.

He stumbled and grunted to his feet and cast a dour look at her as he moved to the window on the other side of the room. Gently prying the blinds open again, Manny peeked through the window. Outside, the high street lamp flickered, almost a strobe effect. He looked at the car, still sitting where they’d left it. Then, maybe just a trick of the flashing light, he noticed a little, hurried movement just on the border of darkness around the car. They’re out there, he thought, always in the dark. He pulled away from the window.

“Come to bed, Manny. Please.”

He shook his head. “I’m not sleepy. It’s going to be dawn soon.” His heavy body dropped in a chair next to the window. “Clocks, time, none of it means a damn thing anymore, but the sun is still gonna come up, and that means light. We can get the hell outta here.”

She watched him for a moment, tilted her head, and sank back to the mattress.

With the pistol resting in his lap, he watched her sleep for another few hours. Once weak strands of daylight filtered through the blinds, Manny groaned out of the chair and shuffled to his shoes at the side of the bed. The bed squeaked again when he sat on the corner, and Liz roused.

“Manny,” she whimpered, “is it time to go?”

“Yeah babe. We better hit the road.” He fully opened the blinds now and looked out the window at the parking lot. The silver-grey sedan was still there, but the darkness and shadows had vanished. He could see that the lot was devoid of other cars, just as it had been last night. The only other vehicle in view was a rusted hulk abandoned in the ditch next to the highway about two hundred yards away. “We were lucky to find this place, what with a working generator and all.” He looked at the glowing lamps next to the bed. Drawn by curiosity, he lifted the receiver from its cradle again and listened to silence on the line.

“Hey Manny, I’m going to clean up, okay? Take a shower. We’ve been moving for days, and I’m a wreck.” Liz had stripped to only her bra and panties, showing her pale body in the morning light.

“I dunno, we should go. Last night…”

“They left last night, right?”

“I guess. Seems so.”

“The lights are still on.” She beamed a lopsided, smudged grin. “When are we going to find running water again, huh? C’mon, Manny.” Liz bent over and snatched up her clothes in her arms. “I’m really a mess. It’ll make me feel a little human again.”

“It’ll be ice cold,” Manny said.

“Pleeease?”

“Alright. But hurry.” He slipped his arms into the suit jacket. “I want to hit the road.”

“You’re a peach,” she said, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek before hustling into the bathroom.

The room fell quiet around Manny as he sat on the bed, but the sound of the shower soon swallowed the silence. He stood and paced the room, dropped the clip from his pistol as he walked and counted the remaining cartridges. “Three,” he mumbled. “Three ain’t going to do us much good.”

The lights blinked with a pop and went dark. The yellow room took on a weird morning pall, the only light streaming from the open window that faced west. “Liz,” he called, striding to the bathroom door.

“What the hell happened,” she said as the shower squeaked off.

Manny pushed the door open, throwing just a little light on Liz as she rubbed herself dry with a towel. “You okay?” he asked.

“Not with the door open. Damn it’s cold, Manny.” She pushed him out with one hand and clicked the door shut with the other. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

He first caught the smell again—that awful rotten smell that always came with them. Then their sound came back: dull opened-mouth moans, scurrying and tapping from just down the hallway. Manny pulled the action back on the pistol, chambering a round with a metallic click. Next to him, the bathroom door lock clicked home, echoing his gun. He started to sweat under the suit.

“Liz, we gotta go babe.”

“Just a minute,” she called, “it’s damn near impossible to dress in the dark.”

Tap, tap, tap—louder, closer.

“Now, Liz, unlock the goddamn door.” Manny’s heart swelled and filled his chest cavity.

Tap, tap, tap—just outside the door of their room. Then silence.

Manny’s pistol hand shook with his throbbing heart, and he blinked when sweat dripped in his eye. “Liz?”

“Just a minute,” she called.

A swift, scrabbling noise crawled from floor to ceiling in the hall. A muffled thump sounded, then a crash in the bathroom.

“Oh,” Liz’s voice came through the door like simple surprise. “The vent…”

“Liz!” Manny grabbed at the doorknob and twisted hard, but the lock held.

“Manny, they’re—” Her voice ended in a little squeak and damp gurgle.

Something large hit the door and flopped to the floor. Manny could hear squeaking sounds on the tile. He steeled himself to ram a shoulder into the door and break the lock, but the wet, smacking noises on the other side told him it was too late. He choked on a little vomit in his mouth, spit on the floor, and rubbed a fist against his burning eyes.

Manny trotted to the window and looked at the car. Why’d we pick the goddamn second floor, he thought as he imagined the jump. He looked back across the room, tightening his white-knuckled fist around the pistol. Something moved in the hallway—just a little dark shadow passing underneath the door. He stumbled closer, like in a trance.

Blackened things, thin and gaunt fingers, probed from underneath the hallway door, curling and latching on like talons, scratching and tearing at the veneer. The fingers withdrew, and a moment later the door rattled on its hinges with a crash like they were trying to batter it down. The bathroom door remained shut, and all was quiet but for the small smacking sounds within.

Manny stood for a moment in the middle of the room: the dirty, disheveled bed on his right, the awful mirror mocking his movements on the left, and the hallway door ahead, shaking with each new collision. They’ll get through, he thought as the door let out a slight crack with the latest assault. He looked at the gun, felt its heaviness in his hand.

The door gave with the next thrust, and the lean, hollow face of one of the things poked into the room—a face that once belonged to a teenage girl. Manny leveled the pistol at its head and fired; the gunshot filled the room, and the thing jerked backwards. Blood and black filth sprayed against the wall. Another ghoul crawled over the body and forced into the room, this one wearing its skin in loose, grey strips with wrinkles and lines thickened with blood.

The bathroom door cracked open just as the second thing snarled. Liz’s face appeared in the open doorway. Her shoulder and throat was torn apart with serrated gashes—teeth marks, and the arm hung limp. She, it, looked at Manny with black eyes, and fell in behind the other zombie as they crept toward him. He fired again, dropping the first zombie. The Liz-zombie hissed, an awful sound squeezing from her familiar face.

One shot left, Manny thought.

He glanced back over his shoulder and noticed the crayon smudges of dark smoke rising from the fires in the city. “Where the hell were we going to go, anyway,” he muttered. He looked back at the Liz-zombie and dropped to the floor, propping his back against the foot of the bed. It staggered toward him, trailing the limp arm.