Giving in wasn't an option. She - he'd not had time to ask her name - had wept, pleaded, then finally agreed. Shuddering, the way he'd imagined a suicide would cutting his own wrist, she'd - Hell, he should ask her name at least - placed the unpinned grenades one at a time behind his back.
The release levers successfully pinned between spine and the plastic that had separated driver from passengers, he felt their edges anew as he extended his arms to push against the bus's folding doors.
"Good girl. Get upstairs. When it's safe. When they're all gone. Come down. Until then, keep quiet."
The bite mark and the scratches were showing signs of Z. It wouldn't be long now. Not long before he was the same as those he was preventing from entering. They could sense it too.
"Shelly. I'm Shelly" she said, giving him the last gift of her humanity, before he lost his. She climbed the spiral stairs. Not long now.
I think having watched Guy Richie's infamous "Revolver" the night before might have had an effect. My life == Stress at the moment, so survival horror is a a common theme of my sleep right now
This is the result of a nightmare, where I was holding the folding doors, while zombies (who could talk in my head at least) cajoled and berated me to just let go. Let them in. Join them in the feast. (There were more passengers in the dreaM.) And I could feel their winning in my fevered blood. Tge grenades were an after thought. An attempt to dispell the dream, to allow me sound sleep.
Hell of a nightmare
This is available as audio as part of the November 2012 #audiomo http://audioboo.fm/boos/1071734-audiomo-21st-november-consequence-you-get-what-you-wish-for-and-move-down-the-buhzzz
I do all sorts of things. Mostly badly. Mostly better than others. I tell stories. Occasionally, I lie.
Giving in wasn't an option.