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    After fifteen tense minutes of sneaking through alleys and side streets, staying out of sight of the zombies when we could, we finally emerged at the waterfront. We smelled seawater. To our right was an old factory that had been converted into a nightclub. It took up the whole block. Past the nightclub was the old Sylvan Learning Center building and several luxury hotels that towered into the sky. In the distance was the Inner Harbor itself, along with the stadium and downtown Baltimore's skyline. Buildings were on fire there, too. On our left was the private yacht club. We could see all kinds of little boats and pleasure crafts tied up at the docks. Leftover yuppie toys. There was no movement inside the club. We heard a bell toll once; probably mounted to someone's mast. It was the loneliest sound in the world. A twelve-foot high wire mesh fence surrounded the yacht club. The gates were chained and padlocked. Curled lengths of razor wire stretched across the top of the fence. Security cameras were stationed every ten feet, along with floodlights. The cameras and lights were dead, of course, just like everything else.

    "What is it with fucking padlocks tonight?" 1 fingered the lock and then turned back to Mitch. "Don't suppose you got a pair of bolt cutters in your backpack?"

    "No. Wish I did. I take it this isn't the first time you've been stymied by a lock tonight?"

    I shook my head. Above us, a pigeon took flight with an angry squawk. I envied the bird. Found myself wishing we all had wings so we could fly above the city. Mitch stared up at the bird, too, and then turned to the fence.

    "We can't climb it either," he said. "The kids would cut the shit out of themselves on that razor wire."

    "I can climb," Malik said. "I ain't afraid of no wire."

    "I am," Mitch replied. "And you should be, too. It'll cut the hell out of you. Slice your arms and legs to ribbons."

    Malik appeared doubtful.

    I stared at the boats-so close and yet so far away. "Couldn't we just shoot the lock off?"

    "Not one that big. That's high-end, American-made steel. A smaller lock, yeah, it would work. A round or two from the forty-five and we'd have no problem. But we don't have the firepower to even dent that fucking thing. We could use a grenade, but that would attract too much attention." He kicked the fence in frustration. "The owners really made sure no one could get in."

    "Doesn't surprise me," I said. "There were a lot of homeless people in this area. Used to beg off the tourists and college kids, and the folks over in the office blocks. No doubt they'd have slept on the boats if they could have gotten in."

    Instead of responding to me, Mitch raised his pistol and fired a shot past us. The empty shell clattered onto the ground. Tasha, Malik and I all jumped in surprise. I turned around. A zombie lay in the street, blood spreading in a pool from its head. It had been creeping up on us in silence.

    "We'd better figure something else out," Mitch said. "And quickly. That shot is sure to bring more of them."

    I pointed at a small, cinder block building next to the nightclub. A sign outside indicated that it was a machine shop. "Maybe we could try in there. Find something to cut this chain with?"

    "Good idea."

    "Come on, guys." I motioned for Tasha and Malik to follow us and they did.

    We ran across the street to the machine shop. The only entrance from our side of the building was through a large, graffiti-covered garage door. I figured it would be locked, but when Mitch bent over and tugged at the handle, the door rose a few inches. Maybe the owners had not had time to lock it, or maybe someone else had already broken in. Unoiled pulleys screeched. A horrible slaughterhouse stench drifted out.

    Tasha grabbed my arm. "That smells like…"

    Grunting, Mitch yanked on the door. It rose higher.

    "Mitch," I whispered. "Wait."

    My warning was too late. Mitch let go of the handle and the door shot upward, disappearing into the ceiling. The interior was pitch-black, but something moved in the shadows. We saw feet. Then legs. Zombies lurched out of the darkness-two; then six; then a dozen. The machine shop was full of them. Guess they'd been trapped inside for a while, unable to open the door. Just standing there rotting, waiting for someone to free them. A few of them had exploded abdomens. Others suffered from swollen, leaking limbs. Mitch jumped backward and the dead spilled out into the street. There were more inside, stumbling toward the light.