“S-stay away. You can’t t-touch me anymore…” She fell to her knees and used the gun to steady herself, the barrel pressed against the floor.

Juan sprinted to her side, draped her arm over his neck. “I help you.”

A group of four eaters had their eyes on Juan and the woman. They stalked across the kitchen and clicked their teeth. Blood covered them from head to stomach.

“So…hungry.”

“I won’t l-let you touch me…again,” the woman whispered. The gun slipped from her fingers and clattered to the floor. Her body went slack and she became dead weight in Juan’s arms.

Her body dropped to the ground, and Juan bent down and scooped up the pistol. He’d never used one before, but he only needed one bullet. He hoped there was one.

The group of eaters descended upon the woman and Juan quickly looked away. He ran to the cooler door, gave it one hard tug. He peered into the crack, saw Manuel motionless on the floor. Chewed up meat lay all around him.

He pressed the gun to the thick shaft of wood, pulled the trigger. It went off and Juan fell backward, the gun sliding out of sight.

And he felt the cool air hit his skin.

The rest of them knew what it was. It sounded like stampeding elephants as they stomped toward the cooler. They piled into it, grabbing everything they saw, swallowing chunks of meat whole.

Every one of them pressed into the refrigerator, barely fitting as they fed on the contents. The secret recipe of the Paradise Buffet. Like a bright light for junebugs.

When the last jiggling body crammed into the cooler, Juan slammed the door shut, but it bounced back out when it hit the spongy wall of bodies. He pressed his body against the door, but couldn’t quite get it shut.

“L-let ’em…eat each other…to d-death.” The woman bared her teeth and leaned into the door as Juan did the same. Bite marks decorated her arms and face.

Together they pushed, grunting and groaning, until finally, the door clicked shut.

The woman fell to the floor, a slight smile on her face, and moved no more.

Juan grabbed everything he could manage to move on his own: shelves, tables, boxes. He shoved them and piled them against the door, though he knew the fat sons of bitches inside wouldn’t have the room to turn, much less get that door open.

He thought about Manuel. Probably a greasy spot under the horde’s feet by now. He would shed many tears for his cousin…but that would have to come later.

He had to get the hell out of there.

The woman was the color of chalk and a pool of blood spread out from under her. It was no good. He could do nothing for her.

He burst through the double doors and into the dining area. His feet tangled up with one of the plump bodies littering the floor and slammed face to face into a dead man. Their teeth clicked and Juan screamed, but rolled away and jumped back to his feet.