America the Dead

He took the stairs down to the lobby. The stairwell had been empty, but the lobby had not. The Zombies had long before crashed in through the door and taken over the lobby. He had eased open the door to find two of them laying in the shadows, sleeping, or whatever it was they did that passed for sleeping. He stepped quietly out of the stairwell, shoved a piece of broken board into the fire door opening to keep it from closing and locking him out, and then walked quietly to where the two lay.
They stank of death, rotted flesh, and corruption. Their chests did not rise and fall. They did not move. Their eyes were partially slitted. It would be easy to believe that they really were dead and had been for some time. The gun was in his hand. He had flicked off the safety before he had stepped out into the lobby. He walked up to the first one, turned slightly to take in the second one.
Whatever did not work, their hearing did. As soon as he shot the first one, the second would be up and on him. He looked from one to the other, lowered the gun and shot the first one in the head.
The second one screamed as he turned, a high piercing sound that distracted him for the briefest of seconds. She began to come up off the floor, her eyes wild, flaccid breasts swinging freely, flapping like sails, and he nearly let her get him. He became so distracted that she was very close to having him before he finally pulled the trigger and shot her.
The first shot took her in the chest and flung her back like a rag doll. But that was all it did. She was scrabbling back for him as Bear stepped into her path and pushed the pistol into her head, squeezing the trigger as he did. She flew back this time and didn't rise again. Rotted brains splattered across the wall behind her. She slid down the wall.
Bear stood for a second, his breaths coming in long, ragged pulls. He closed his eyes, slowed his breathing, then turned and went back to the stairwell. His concern was whether he should leave the door open or closed. Open and they might get in, closed and he would have to smash the handle set off himself when he got back so that he could get inside. And that made him wonder if he would be back. If he would find her, take care of her, and then make it back to here. He had no way to know.
A minute later he kicked the board from the propped open door, and stepped back into the lobby. It closed with a solid steel clunk. If he came back, he would break in. Better that than leave it open for the dead, if he didn't make it back before nightfall, or if they came looking in the daylight. It was the only safe place he had. He walked across the lobby and stepped out onto the cracked city sidewalk.