(http://www.tribute.ca/tribute_objects/images/stars/cherry_jones.jpg)<br/><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 18pt;"><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">CLAIRE ANDERSON</span></span><br/><strong>Location:</strong>Forecourt of a gas station in Wellington<br/><strong>With:</strong>Charlie, Lily and Olivia. Marcus showing up.<br/><br/><strong><em>"I'm not alone, I have a young girl following me. I'm not telling you where she is held up, I can't take a chance with her. I only came around to ask if you might have some supplies you could spare, we're on our last stocks really. I'm Marcus, me and my friend have been staying in some of the abandoned houses around here. Most of the others have already left."</em></strong><br/><br/>My police training allowed me to listen to what the young man was saying and take it in without being distracted. My eyes flitted to the corner of the building behind him and then to the board fence at the back of the lot. He could be just a stooge and his accomplices were working around us to the flanks.<br/><br/><strong>“Alright, Marcus, we can share some food and drink with you, but we need to be on our w-“</strong>Suddenly, behind me in the store was a loud crash; the sound of a door being flung violently open and then a stand of display racks smashing to the floor. There was also another sound – one I had come to fear and loathe over the last week or so – the low grunting, groaning guttural sound of<em>them.</em><br/><br/><em>Shit! SHIT! Charlie! The girls!</em><br/><br/><strong>”Charlie! Get back here quick! Zombies in the storeroom out back! Lilly! Olivia! Get out here! Grab what you can and get o---!”</strong>I had looked in the wide store window and what I saw next made my blood run cold. It was them, three of them – zombies – one female and small, maybe a cashier or someone who worked at the gas station, an older guy in greasy coveralls who could once have been a mechanic or a visiting farmer. The third figure was what really made my stomach churn and made me want to vomit in shock and dismay. It was Charlie, his face pale and waxy, his eyes sunken and rolled back so only the whites showed, his mouth trailing drool, the jaw slack. There was a series of bite marks down his neck and one of his bare arms. How…?<br/><br/>He must have been searching the back rooms, blundered into the storage areas and they’d surprised him! Oh Christ!<br/><br/>I turned, forgetting Marcus and his story of a girl and aimed my revolver through the plate glass window at the first zombie’s face as they came stumbling through the store.<br/><br/><strong>“Girls! Get out! Get the hell out!”</strong>I didn’t want to shoot. A gunshot could bring more of them running. Many staggered and lurched but some of them could be frighteningly fast.<br/><br/><em>Charlie! Oh shit, not you too!</em>