Authors: George A. Romero
“You haven’t spent enough time on the street,” Roger chimed in. Starting cars, especially these big semis, was Roger’s specialty. He had practically learned it at his daddy’s knee. When his daddy was home from the road, that is.
“Well, let’s get it up,” Peter barked. He was never one for idle chatter, and for all the time they had been together, Steve and Roger still felt that Peter was a stranger. He hadn’t opened up once or said anything personal except for the few short minutes of conversation in the chopper.
“There’s not too many of ’em around yet this morning,” Peter continued, looking at the parking lot below.
The parking lot was dotted with the lumbering figures. There were fewer than there had been the day before and they wandered aimlessly, spread out rather than in clusters.
The men walked toward the skylight. In the storage area below, Fran examined the maps in the manual. The TV droned on. It was a familiar sound now, almost like white noise. They didn’t hear it when it was on, but if it were off, they’d notice it.
“Hey, Fran . . .” Roger called in a friendly tone as the men made their way down into the room.
“I would have made coffee and breakfast, but I don’t have my pots and pans,” she said bitterly.
Roger laughed, thinking it a joke, but Steve could sense the tension in Fran’s face and waited for her to explode. Peter seemed preoccupied with his equipment and hadn’t even acknowledged Fran’s presence.
“Can I say something?” she asked.
“Sure. What do you mean?” Steve said gently, hoping to forestall any argument.
She looked at the three men, who had stopped their fiddling around and stood waiting for her to go on. “I’m sorry you found out that I’m pregnant, because I don’t want any of you to treat me any differently than you’d treat another guy.”
Steve blushed and looked around at the other men.
“Hey, Frannie, come on . . .”
“And,” she went on, shooting Steve a deadly look, “I’m not gonna be a den mother for you guys.”
They all looked at her now, even Peter, giving her their undivided attention.
“And I want to know what’s going on. And I want something to say about the plans. There’s four of us, OK?”
“Jesus, Fran . . .” Steve bellowed, putting his hand to his head. She was really blowing it now. They probably thought she was a hysterical female, Steve decided.
“Fair enough!” Peter chimed in, a smile on his face.
For the life of him, Steve couldn’t figure that one out.
“Now,” Fran went on, picking up confidence. “What’s goin’ on?”
“We’re goin’ out,” Peter said, but this time he wasn’t smiling.
Fran started to say something, but at this point he cut her off.
“. . . and you’re not coming with us!”
Fran started to turn red and protest. Peter had made believe that he agreed with her, and now he was back to being his same overbearing male chauvinist pig self.
“You will not come with us until you can handle yourself,” he said slowly and deliberately, as if he were speaking to a child. “That means you learn to shoot and learn to fight.”
He turned, not even waiting for her reply, and started back up the pyramid. Roger followed, his head down. He couldn’t look Fran in the eye.
“Something else.” She said it with determination. She wasn’t going to let Peter step all over her as he did to Roger and Steve.
They all turned to look at her again. This time she faced Roger and Peter directly, without giving a second glance to Stephen.
“I don’t know about you two, but I wanna learn how to fly that helicopter.”
Stephen’s mouth fell open, and he looked at Fran in disbelief. She glared at him and then lowered her eyes.
“If anything happens . . . we’ve gotta be able to get out of here.”
Stephen was speechless. Not only was Fran humiliating him in front of the two troopers, but she was implying that he was dispensable. He looked at her and then at the others. He could feel a flush spreading up from his neck.
“She’s right, Flyboy,” Peter chimed in. “Come on, let’s go.”
“And you’re not leaving me without a gun again.”
Stephen started to protest, but then he changed his mind.
Dejected, he set his rifle down on the cartons and fished in his pocket for a fistful of shells, dumping them next to the gun. He stared at Fran, as if he were a beaten dog, both angry and hurt.
“I just might be able to figure out how to use it,” she said as she picked up the weapon and shot a glance up at Peter.
The two troopers disappeared through the skylight. Stephen seemed frozen to the spot, focusing on a speck of dirt on the floor.
“I’m sorry, Stephen,” Fran said, moving close to his side. But it wasn’t an apology.
“I know . . . I know . . . it’s all right.” He started up to the skylight.
“Stephen,” she said soothingly.
“Yeah?”
He stopped and turned to look at her. She seemed to be crying out for understanding, but he was incapable of running to her. She had damaged him in front of Peter and Roger, and he had tried so hard to gain their respect. Now, by standing up to him, defying him, and showing the troopers that she wanted to be on her own, they probably thought less of him.
But Fran’s intention wasn’t to hurt his masculine image, and this was something Steve couldn’t fathom. Fran could see in his eyes that he didn’t understand the necessity of her actions. She shrugged off whatever she was going to say and sighed with exasperation.
“Be careful,” she said tonelessly, as if by rote.
“Yeah, we’ll be all right.” He disappeared through the skylight. Fran stared down at the weapon in her hand and then stepped over and clicked off the television set.
It was ironic, but this situation was teaching her more about Stephen than she could ever have imagined. It was sad, too, that with their lives on the line they had to deal with such pettiness. The experience was also teaching Fran a lot about herself that she hadn’t realized before. It was teaching her that she had a lot more strength than she had ever thought and that she didn’t always need a man to lean on.
Stephen entered the pilot’s seat of the chopper. He was really upset by Frannie’s actions. He started the controls, and the sudden loud noise of the chopper engine made him jump. Roger and Peter ran over, ducked under the whirling blades, and got in. Slowly, the bird lifted off the rooftop. The plan was for Steve to fly the chopper over to the tractor-trailer parking field and let the troopers off. Once in the big trucks, Roger would hot wire the motors and they would drive the trucks over to the various entrances to the shopping mall and park them flush against the doors, preventing the outside zombies from entering, and the inside zombies from leaving—alive.
As Steve hovered above, Roger worked on the wiring beneath the dashboard of one of the big trailer trucks. His fingers moved nimbly, as skilled and trained as a surgeon’s.
Peter was in the cab of another rig already started by Roger. He tried the complicated shift mechanisms and fidgeted with the other controls. Then he pulled the big semi out of its parking space and stopped his cab just abreast of the cab Roger was working in.
“How about it?” he called over the roar of the engine.
“Gettin’ it,” Roger called back.
Peter looked around the mall parking lot and out to the mall in the distance. On the ground there were a few zombies scattered about in little clusters, but none of them seemed to present any imminent danger. So far, they hadn’t noticed the activity going on over by the garage.
Roger sat up and the truck vibrated steadily.
“I’ll just ride pickup,” Peter shouted across the gap between the two trucks. “I’m not too sure of this thing . . .”
“I grew up in one of these,” Roger returned, his eyes lighting up like a child’s. “Let’s go!”
The huge vehicles pulled away from the warehouse. They rode across the little loading lot and down a ramp toward the roadway. Stephen hovered overhead in the chopper, following the trucks as closely as he could. It was difficult, since they had to ride a while before the trucks could gather any speed up a slight incline. But once the giant trucks picked up speed, there was no stopping them. Fran was up on the roof of the mall, clutching the rifle to her chest. She could make out the big trailers in the distance and watched them roar over the hill, the helicopter wavering above them. It was a strange-looking convoy speeding toward the shopping center.
Along the road, several zombies tried to stagger after the trucks, but they were left in the dust of the barreling vehicles. As the wind whipped by them, they wavered slightly but continued their sluggish, creeping pace.
The vehicles pulled into the long grade that loaded into the mall’s parking lot. With a gigantic roar, they drove straight toward the building.
At one of the building entrances, a gathering of zombies was moving in and out of the main doors like robots. Some wandered nearby in the parking lot. The area seemed to be filling up as the morning progressed. Some of the creatures were attracted by the sounds of the engines, and they turned and faced the trucks.
As Peter pulled his vehicle in a wide arc, Roger drove his right up to the side of the building and roared toward the entrance doors. Then he skipped his right wheels up onto the curb, and with a great, scraping crunch, the big truck pulled directly abreast of the building, flush with the entrance. The tremendous truck crushed several of the helpless creatures and knocked them against the wall as if they were flies being squashed on a windshield.
The trailer of the truck had effectively blocked off the mall entrance. Several zombies trapped inside tried to push the glass door open. The doors moved slightly but did not allow any room for the creatures to escape.
The few creatures immediately around the truck began to clamor at its sides. Roger shut off the engine and grabbed his gun. Other zombies began clutching at the windows of the cab.
Roger watched their ghoulish faces flush against the cab windows. Their nails made screeching sounds on the glass as they tried to gain entrance. Some of them pushed their faces up against the windows, making them look even more fiendish.
Overhead, the chopper hovered like a bird in flight. With a rumble, Peter pulled up his big truck alongside so that his passenger door was directly abreast of the free door on Roger’s cab.
Peter’s truck also crushed one or two of the creatures, but there were still several in the immediate vicinity of the cabs. They made a slight thud as they hit the wheels.
As Roger opened his door and scrambled into the other truck, one of the zombies grabbed hold of his leg. Roger managed to kick the creature off just as the big truck pulled out and roared across the lot.
The helicopter flew straight up and directly over the roof of the big shopping center, where Fran had been watching the action. She had been fascinated and repulsed at the clockwork precision with which Roger and Peter worked. As she ran to the other side of the roof, the wind from the chopper whipped her hair.
The chopper turned and waited for the big truck to move up under it, then it escorted the trailer back to the warehouse down the road.
In the cab that Peter was driving, Roger was jumping up and down in the seat, whooping it up like a cowboy. They pulled alongside another of the parked trucks.
“Come on, come on,” Peter tried to calm him down. “Three more, baby.”
“Like a charm, huh?” Roger was yelling for joy. “Like a fucking charm!” He grabbed his knapsack and climbed into the new cab. Immediately, all frivolity was forgotten, and he went to work on jumping the engine cables of the second rig.
From the helicopter overhead, Steve spotted something moving around the warehouse. He jockeyed the chopper slightly for a better look and saw a small group of zombies wandering out of the big garage directly toward Roger’s truck. It looked like a group of farmers. They were all wearing jeans and work boots. They also seemed to be moving more quickly than the lumbering ones in the parking lot.
In the meantime, Peter’s truck pulled away from the cab Roger was in. The big vehicle rolled into the large paved area behind the warehouse, where Peter was able to turn it around easily.
Stephen swooped down with the copter, buzzing as close as he could to Roger’s truck, trying desperately to signal the man.
But Roger was still immersed in his work on the cables. Every once in a while he would remember their success and whoop like a child. The zombie group drew closer. They had just about reached the cab. Steve swooped low again and buzzed once more. Roger still didn’t notice.
Peter had now backed up into a position that enabled him to pull out. He looked up to see the helicopter heading straight for him.
Is this guy losing his marbles, Peter thought, but then he saw the big chopper buzz right over his cab and spin around, heading back for Roger.
It seemed to be some sort of signal. Peter looked toward the other truck. He was now able to see the lumbering creatures. Frantic, he tried to slam the truck into gear, but the complicated shift mechanism fought him.
One of the approaching zombies reached Roger’s truck and slammed its hands against the driver’s side window. The man was startled and tried to untangle himself from his cramped position under the big steering wheel. For a terrible moment he was stuck. Other creatures appeared at the passenger side of the cab, where the door was open. One of the zombies grabbed at Roger’s leg. He kicked violently but couldn’t seem to get a good position. He fell lower onto the floor of the cab, his body almost knotted among the controls and the shift sticks.
With a lurch, Peter’s truck started to roll, accelerating slowly. From above, Steve tried to buzz the clutching ghouls, but they didn’t even look up or flinch as the wind generated by the blades whipped through their hair and clothes violently. They were a frightening sight as they clawed and banged at Roger. The trooper’s eyes were wide with fear and revulsion at being at the creatures’ mercy. He kicked and twisted his body to push them away, but he was unable to deliver a solid blow from his pinned position. Blindly, he groped for his rifle on the seat of the truck. Inadvertently, his finger hit the trigger and a shell blasted through the chest of the lead creature. But the ghouls didn’t react and kept clawing and grabbing as if nothing had happened.