Six zombies sit among the empty rows of seats. Hunched and silent, they rock with the motion of the train. The closest one is just a few meters away, in a righthand seat. She’s turned a little, so her foot rests in the aisle. Her hair is covered by a fancy hat with a fake rose sitting on top. She even wears glasses, not that she needs them to stare at the back of a headrest.

I move a little closer and nothing happens. Outside the windows, the landscape flashes past. The zombies keep rocking. They’re dressed for winter, bodies hidden by heavy jackets, long coats and scarves. The hands hanging in the aisle are covered with mittens. They wear hats and fur-lined hoods.

The train car is cluttered. The overhead compartments are bursting with luggage, so much that most of the doors won’t close. Purses and backpacks sit on top and underneath seats. A wallet and a sparkling watch rest in the seat across the aisle from the zombie with the fancy hat. In other places, little bits of wealth wait, sitting in easy to reach places.

A trap. How can there be such an obvious trap?

As soon as I step close to a zombie, they’ll pounce. If I take my eyes off them, they’ll move in. I can tell just looking at the backs of their heads. They may be still and quiet, but there’s a tension in the air. Every few seconds, a flies wings buzz. There’s a hush beneath the rattling of the tracks, the chugging of the engine, the distant sound of wind. Underneath it all, there’s this sensation as if the cabin is holding its breath.

I wipe sweat off my forehead. What are the odds I run fast enough to get through? Low. I can probably shake one off, but that might take a while. They latch on like leaches. I might be faster and stronger, but they turn the tables when they lunge.

Those suicidal jumps push past their limits. It’s what really makes them dangerous. If one grabs hold, drags me down? Once it lunges, the advantage is spent, but it’ll still be over. I won’t gamble with another zombie pile.

I won’t be torn apart. Gnawed to death. Eaten alive…

Whether I take it slow or rush as fast as I can, something’s gonna grab me. I can try the roof, but that’s a good way to fall off and die. A last resort.

I need to get through. I need them out of the way. That means a fight… facing death. I remember the feeling of fingers digging into my legs. I remember the sound of stitches ripping open and my insides falling out. I remember being helpless, and that’s no way to go.

Why does it have to be this way?

“Hello?” My voice cracks, sliding out like a shy whisper. “Hello?” I try again. It doesn’t make a difference. The zombies play dead. If that’s how it’s gonna be…

How can I fight this many? Even if the aisle is thin, there’s no stopping them from climbing over the seat backs. If even one gets behind… the end.

I need to draw them back, draw them out.

I ease the door behind me open again. Cold air and the sound of the wind rush inside, dragging on my clothes and chilling my skin. I push the door wide open, until it’s caught by the breeze and swings into the railing. It crashes loud enough to make me jump. I glance around quickly. Every loud noise makes me feel like there’s a nightmare hiding in the sound, just waiting for a distraction to slip out.

A deep breath almost calms my nerves. I watch the room while the door smacks against the railing, banging again and again. I get more and more tense as seconds pass and nothing happens. Am I gonna need to knock one on the head?

Suddenly, the zombie with the fancy hat stands up. She shuffles out of her seat and turns my way. Her cute little slippers slide across the ground as I retreat. I duck through the door as the rest rise to their feet. They move, turn, and shamble, all at the same time. They form a line of hungry faces.

There’s so much emotion in them. They look so intense. A few have patches of missing skin, bloody marks or torn hair. Dark blood leaks from their tear ducts, their nostrils, their ear canals and the corners of their mouths. Their eyes are opened wide. Their expressions are twisted. Whether the skin is pale, tan or dark, the black veins show through, like shadows cast on their faces.

One of them tries to smile with its mouth open. Maggots crawl on its tongue and spill to the floor like pale raindrops. My skin crawls and a wave of buzzing flies swirls around me.

These are angry, greedy undead. Seems they don’t like being kept waiting.

I flex my fingers and spread my feet wide, sinking a little lower. I tense when fancy hat gets close, but I’m not ready for her lunge. She comes from farther away than I expected, crossing a meter with a wide-armed tackle. I cross my arms to take the impact, and my feet slide in the snow.

She tries to bite through the layers on my arms, jerking her head and sheering off strips of fabric. Dead blood sprays on my face as she tears her own lips. Her grip is terribly strong. In her frenzy, she tries to wrestle me to the ground. I lean back as far as I can, then I headbutt her once, twice, and break her jaw with my forehead. I grab her by the shirt and raise her off the ground.

The fancy hat flies off in the wind and she screeches. I smash her against the railing and shake her grip. With a little effort, I heave her over the side without losing the cane.

The next zombie stumbles through the door and lunges. I get the cane up in time to shove against its chest and slow it down. I barely stop it from wrapping its hands around me. I lean away from its swiping claws and crack it across the jaw.

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It stumbles to the side and screams as I get good handfuls of its collar and belt. I lift it, hold it past the railing and let it sail away.

Something crashes into me. I stare into cloudy, angry eyes. Sharp teeth chomp in front of my face, and little flecks fly through the air. I feel movement: an itching in my scalp, discomfort in my neck, and I shiver. I realize there are maggots crawling on my skin.

I resist opening my mouth to scream. Instead, I punch and struggle until I can get the cane between the thing’s teeth. It chomps down until I hear the wood creak and crack.

Another body crashes into us. My feet slide and slip, then we smash into the other door. Hands pull at my shirt. More and more reach for my face, until all I can see are broken, bloody fingernails. I throw myself back and forth, ramming into the door and pushing off, trying to shake loose.

I get a little space, grab the zombie’s head, tearing handfuls of weak hair. I pull on the cane between its teeth and twist its head around. Krck! With a jerk, the neck snaps. Down it goes, dead weight slumping against my legs.

I fight to stand as the next one pushes me into the door. Teeth dig into my shoulder, right at the base of the neck. Its hands slide up my back. Its legs press between mine. I feel like my whole body’s covered by it, chest to chest, breathing its foul breath, disgusting beyond belief. It feels too intimate, looking down the side of its face while its jaws try to gnaw through my shoulder.

I squirm, but I have no leverage to shake it off. All I can do is scrabble for the door handle digging into my back. I manage to wrap my fingers around it and twist. We go tumbling through.

I collapse to the floor like a broken doll, crumpled up, winded and dazed. The zombie lies heavy on my chest, fingers digging into my back, and it jerks its head.

“Aaaah! Ow! Fuck!” I feel the flesh tear. A piece of meat falls from its teeth as it opens its mouth and leans in again, digging into the side of my neck. I grab its head and hammer its jaw with the end of the cane. Another excruciating bite tears skin and I scream.

“Aaaaaah!” Finally its jaw breaks. I stare at it. Bits of my body sit in its mouth with the maggots and the broken teeth. I snarl and shove it against the wall.

Already, another zombie looms above me. I rock back and get my feet up in time to catch it. Its chest crashes down on the soles of my boots and it lets out a mournful moan.

Is that disappointment I hear?

Another zombie piles on top. Their arms wriggle as they claw at me together, like a four-armed monster. My knees strain under the weight.

I grab for the mournful zombie’s head. My palms slide along his fat cheeks and scrappy beard. He’s trying to get a bite of my finger, but he’s not fast enough to stop me from covering his pus-filled eye sockets with one hand, and cupping the back of his skull with the other.

Krck! I break his neck and he sags like a ragdoll. Only the drool falling on my stomach and the twitching in his face show he’s still undead.

For a few seconds, we’re stuck: A pile of zombies trying to claw their way to me, a paralyzed zombie, and me, pressed to the floor and holding them off with trembling legs.

I start digging in my jacket as fast as I can. I come out with the little pocketknife and struggle to flick it open. I shift my hips as they pull the paralyzed one aside. I catch the next by the neck and hold it off. Its fingers claw at my wrist, squeezing and squeezing. I hiss from the pain.

The blade on the pocketknife clicks into place and I swing, cutting along the zombie’s scalp, drawing a line of dark blood. The next swing buries the blade in its jaw. I tear it out, leaving its mouth barely hanging from one side. Its face is a bloody mess. It screams in rage. Mucus spills out of its mouth in viscous strings.

“Ugh…” Disgusting.

I stab its arm and shoulder until a hand releases my wrist. I saw at the fingers of the other hand. I cut into my own skin, but soon enough, its hand falls away. I’m able to push it back and slide from under it.

I stumble to unsteady feet. Feels like it’s been a while since I’ve stood straight. I must’ve been on the ground for less than… less than a minute. A vertebra in my spine pops when I stretch out. I hop back and glance around. I don’t want to fall into an ambush or suffer another tackle. I’m sick of being dragged down and chewed on.

Walking through a train isn’t supposed to be this difficult.

“Shoulda taken the goddamn roof.” I growl. I sigh out a whole lungful of breath. I feel spent, like a whole lifetime of effort just left me. I don’t have time to rest. Two more.

A tall zombie in heels, blouse and pencil skirt stands in the doorway, fur coat swirling in the wind, holding something sharp and shiny in its hand. A little child zombie sits in front of her, wearing a bulky jacket with a fuzzy hood. It clambers over its fallen comrades on hands and knees. Clambers isn’t the right word. Scurries is better. The thing is fast. It gets to the top of the pile and leaps, arms and legs spread wide to catch me.

I snatch it out of the air by the neck. Its teeth click and clack as it wraps around my arm, like a monkey climbing a branch. I jab the knife in its spine. Its movements falter, becoming sluggish and twitchy. I draw my arm back and pitch the little one at the slender zombie. She ducks, so it flies over her head and through the doorway.

She holds a pair of scissors out to me, threatening. This seems like a bad deal. One lunge and those things end up buried in my neck. I’ll be helpless as a paralyzed zombie, eyes rolling in my head, waiting for the teeth to come.

I snag a body off the ground, using it like a shield as I charge her. When I get close enough, I toss the body as hard as I can and tackle her through the doorway. I feel the scissors puncture my side and snag on a rib, but I’m committed. I wrap her in a bear hug and take her down, sliding across the snow.

I pull back from her biting teeth and grab her legs. I drag them up around my waist, then I jump to my feet.

“Huff!” I adjust my grip. She tries to sit up and reach for me, eyes twisted in rage. I spin around and she screams.

“Raaaaaaaaaaaaa!”

I spin around again.

“-Aaaaaaaaaaaa!”

And again.

“-Aaaaaaaaaaa!”

I let go. She sails over the railing right as a tree trunk flies past. Her scream cuts with a thud.

A quick glance around shows me all is quiet. Just crippled zombies laying around, groaning. And me… last one standing.

I dust my hands off. It doesn’t get rid of the damage on them. It doesn’t lift the fatigue weighing them down. It doesn’t shed the filth or erase the stench. But it makes me feel better.

For a moment, a wave of exhilaration sweeps through me, like a force bursting under my skin. It fills me with this sense of fulfillment. Accomplishment. Strength. Confidence. I don’t know what to call it, but for a moment it brings my tired body relief. It fades and leaves a tingling sensation in its wake.

I take some time to toss the other zombies off the train. Each one that goes leaves me feeling energized. Once they’re gone, I close the doors and stand on the junction between the train cars. I lean on the rail and try to clear the smell of death from my nose.

It doesn’t work, but a few minutes of wind on my face is the closest thing to peace I think I’ll get.

I’ll take whatever I can whenever it comes.

I’ve decided to treasure the calm moments.

I have a feeling I won’t be walking an easy road.