Daily. 17/03.

Post Office. Rain. Graveyard Shift.


Graveyard shift down by the old Post Office. Rain pinged off their shovels, drenching them and turning their freshly dug hole into a pond. The headlights of a car their only illumination, the growls and moans of the nightlife beyond the fences growing louder as they dug at the earth and bailed out the water the best they could with flat spades and a single bucket.

Sam supervised, sitting on the back of the ute’s cab, watching the one weak point in the fence surrounding the Post Office.

“Fucking hell.”

Sam snapped to attention, the gravediggers were squabbling again.

“Watch where you throw that shit.”

Sam glanced over the fence line where a single shadowy figure loomed.

“Cool it you lot,” Sam raised his rifle, “just watch each other’s fingers. We don’t have time for a hospital trip.”

Hell, they hadn’t last time either. It was torture hoofing it down the motorway at two in the morning with four whiny civilians.

The shadow was looking for a hole in the fence, but Sam didn’t take a shot, it was a fair bit off getting through and gunshots only drew more in.

The rain was starting to get heavier the closer it grew to one AM. The shuffle of shovels in wet dirt was lost in the patter of raindrops against the ute tray. Sam stood up, alert now that he lost sight of the looming predator on the edge of the fence. A few others though had appeared, prowlers stalking towards the gate. Only a small lamp illuminated that direction, it was getting washed out and shadows scattered everywhere through the chainlink.

The Post Office was looking more comfortable the longer they lingered. The crumbling storefront was cleared out, indefensible with only one rifle and the processing area where they were busy digging would be too easy to break into with large rusted roller doors.

“You guys anywhere near-“

He snapped silent, the gate’s chains rattled. He raised his rifle square at it, flicked off the safety and fingered the trigger ready.

“We’d be much fucking faster if-“

He waved behind his head with his free hand, the digger shut up. He could barely see the gate, he stepped a few centimetres closer, steadied himself.

“Bury the fucking shit already, we need to leg it.”

The diggers stopped their slacking and raced into gear, grabbing the coffins by the side of the ute and nearly throwing them into the dirty-water pit they had dug. A few of them continued to try and shift the water so they could lay down tarps but there was no use, the rain was too heavy.

They covered it up with almost a metre of dirt, just enough to cover it, then jumped in the car just as the first of the shadowy predators slipped through the gate.

Sam opened fire, clipping one, taking down a second.

The grim faces of the undead, painted up in off-orange light. Teeth bared, they crouched under the chain and pushed through. Sam chewed through them, but every carefully aimed shot drew his magazine closer to empty.

“Leg it, come on!”

The engine churned before ticking over, purring to life. The ute sprung to life just as the undead broke into a rush, chasing them down as it peeled around the corner and erupted out through the side fence.

Sam fired off his last few rounds, clipping some of the faster ones still running after them. There was no way they could catch up as the ute turned out onto the main street, but fuck them. Sam slumped down into the ute tray so they could peel away, his steady feet no longer holding him up.

“Nice shooting, Sam.”

“Cheers,” Sam reloaded ready for the next site, the graveyard shift was a long one and it had only just hit half-past-one. At least the rain was starting to ease up.


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