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I didn't bother breaking down the door to the first floor, there wasn't anything of value out there and there might just be a few unfriendlies. I paused at the basement door and switched on my headlamp. I didn't have to breakdown this door since it was the evacuation point for the building and would have been a severe fire risk if it were ever locked. I pulled the door open slid in a wooden chock just in case I needed to make a quick escape, and stole out into the near pitch blackness of the basement.

The light on my forehead cut a swathe through the darkness, illuminating the area in front of me for about thirty feet in a ninety degree arc.

My blood froze as to my left I heard a growl escape the throat of... something. I twisted violently, leveling the shotgun at the noise. My light illuminated the horrifying form of a reanimated corpse shuffling towards me. I panicked; the sight of rotting corpses still scared the shit out of me. I let out a pitiful sound, halfway between a sob and a whine.

"Breath you asshole," I sobbed to myself and raised my shaking shotgun to aim at the unsteadily approaching figure. My finger squeezed impulsively against the trigger and the left barrel discharged, clean missing the approaching figure. That caught its attention; the corpse abandoned its shuffle and started towards me at a half walk half run.

The twenty meters became eighteen, then fifteen. I held my breath and forced myself to hold my gun more firmly; I aimed down the sights and pulled the trigger again, discharging the right barrel. To my delight I watch as the zombies body disintegrated in a gory explosion of blood, bone and rotting flesh. The stench was overwhelming and disgusting. I dry wretched several times before summoning the courage to approach the corpse on the floor, the mouth still mindlessly flapping.

I unbuckled the crowbar from my left hip and with a horrendous swing unleashed a devastation blow into the cranium of the zombie. Just before my blow collided I recognized the face staring at me, eyes rolling around in the head, half disintegrated and falling off. It was Andrew, my building manager slash super. The man who had helped me carry furniture to and from my apartment, the man who had spent countless hours with me pouring over the engine of the forty year old Volvo injecting life into the old heirloom I'd been delivered on the back of a flatbed truck one day. Andrew, the man who had shared many a drink with me in the local pub as we tried to win Trivia time and again.

I sobbed over my lost friend, the tears falling unbidden from my eyes. I permitted myself a minute, or as far as I could tell what a minute was, before dragging myself up off my knees and back to the dreary task of sweeping the garage of enemies.

The rest of the basement was devoid of any life, or unlife. I found Andrew's office on the lowest level, broken into, or more accurately out of, glass strewn on the floor and dark red stains all over the concrete floor.

I'd taken a collection of car keys with me, pilfered from the rest of the building, and managed to locate a dozen cars which I had keys to. Eight were small sedans, fuel efficient but incapable of carrying much more than two or three suitcases and absolutely useless off road; two were small SUV's, slightly better than the sedans but not by much; one was a fantastic metallic red Jaguar XK, sleek, sexy and supremely tempting but alas probably the least useful car yet. I hit the jackpot with the twelfth car: a small H2 hummer. It wasn't the most fuel efficient car in the world but it could drive probably drive over the XK without suffering as much as a scratch (although that would be a travesty).

I managed to find half a dozen fuel cans from various cars I broke into, cautious owners preparing for the worst, all of them bone dry.

"Fuck, shit, damn, Christ!" I yelled out, turning the air blue with my curses, as I lifted the last jerry can and found it completely devoid of anything but dust and broken dreams.

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