Dave had to work a winch and pulley system he’d rigged up to get us back into the yard. The place was quiet and deserted as ever. Daisy, muzzled and penned in the center of the yard, stayed hidden by piles of lumber, safe from milky undead eyes. While Dave busied himself with raising the gate, I was stuck baby sitting.
I only moved away from him for a second. He leaned against a stop sign, breath thick and staccato. Swayed like a drunk after last call, but stable enough. I thought I’d seen some movement. Must have been a jackrabbit or other critter, because when I went near it rustled away from me, deeper into the underbrush. That was about the time when Mr. Gas Mask started yelling.
I ran back to him, only to see him leveling a small gun at a crawler who had apparently been late to the party. It was crawling toward him, and the idiot was trying to reason with it. Some such crap as "I'll do it," "I'm warning you," "Don't make me." I ran up behind him, and I’m not ashamed to admit, knocked him another good one to the head.
If he’d fired off a round that close to the yard, it would have taken absolutely no time to attract any other moaners in the area, either here or across the river. So, I did what was necessary. Even if Dave doesn’t see it that way.
The crawler was put down in short order by my spiked Louisville slugger, and Dave was back, asking what had happened. I explained it to him, and he of course wasn’t happy. Mr Gas Mask had regained some sort of consciousness by then, so I took his peashooter away from him and pulled off his mask to help his hyperventilating breath. He promptly puked and passed out. We figure he has a concussion. I gave him some water and we manhandled him back into the yard. He’s asleep (unconscious?) now. I wish I knew what to do, but I haven’t the faintest idea. I never got my First Aid merit badge in scouts.
He’s still breathing, and his pulse is strong, so we’ve decided to leave him be. He keeps on mumbling “Got to... Liz” under his breath. Liz his girlfriend? Don’t know.
Dave found his wallet. He’s got a photo of the two of them, Christmas or something. The girl, Liz, is... well, to be honest, she’s Attractive. Capital A and all. Silly Christmas stocking cap, blonde hair sticking out. Dimples. Great smile. Laughing, in the picture.
If he’s come for her in here, she’s probably very, very dead.
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