36 Hours (32 page)

Water splashed from scattered puddles as I ran over to the side of the roof. The courtyard fountain sang as rain slid into its foaming waters. A huddle of more buildings encircled the courtyard; beyond the courtyard was the YMCA. It looked so close, so far away. I wanted to go down, get Hannah, and make a run for it. We could. It was so close – but how close was close enough? Toes curling, I walked backwards from the roof’s edge, keeping an eye on those triangle roofs. Lightning burst down to the south, carrying echoing light dancing over the buildings and reflecting in the fountain and puddles. A hump appeared on the edge of the roof, thirty feet away. It grew larger, sprouted some roots, and dropped down over the roof. A moment later the head peeked over, the hair matted down by rain. Bulbous eyes watched me, and the Anthony Barnhart

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figure crawled closer. The steel lids clanged together as I hurriedly descended the ladder. I followed the flashlight set before me, out of the room, past the lobby; I swung the beam against the window, blinding the eyes of four or five creatures huddled together. They banged their hands on the glass, smothering their bloodied faces against the windows. Mouths opened, revealing bloody jaws, dripping with the blood of
Ashlie Les

I burst into the conference room. “Hannah! Hannah!”

Her eyes opened. “Austin? Austin, what-“ Weak and frail.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Look. We’ve got to go.”

“Go where?”

“Not here.” I grabbed her hand and pulled her up; she stumbled against me, twisted around, and vomited all over the table. I jumped backwards, shocked. She fell to the floor, landing on her wounded arm. She let out a cry and rolled over. Fresh blood trickled down her bare skin. Wide awake now, she groped the wound, blood oozing between her fingers. The cut was down into the bone.

“Hannah. Come on. Get up. Get up!”

She grabbed onto a chair to pull herself up, but the chair toppled on top of her. I yanked it off. “What’s wrong with you?”

“I’m… dizzy.” She turned pale, green, and spewed all over the couch. Gunk dribbled down the satin cloth, ran along the edges of her chin. Shattering glass somewhere down the corridor.

“Hannah. Tell me you can walk.”

She stood on wobbly knees. “I can walk.”

“Run?”

She didn’t answer.

“I can’t believe this. Stay with me.” Again I took her hand, cold and clammy. We moved out into the dark hallway. It was barren. I dragged her towards the lobby; “Wait here.” I peeked around the edge of the wall leading to the lobby. One of the tall glass windows had shattered, leaving pieces clinging to the carpet. Bloody footprints led their way into the lobby, past the chairs, scattered magazines, and down a branching hallway where our destination did not lay. I beckoned Hannah forward and we crossed into the right hallway, reaching the utility room.

Going inside first, I shone the flashlight. The metal door was still open. I ducked inside, tucked the flashlight under my arm, prepared to open the latch. It was already open.

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Rain fell through, splashing on my face.

“Hannah,” I muttered, turning off the flashlight. I went into the utility room. She stood there in the darkness; behind her two quiet, yellow eyes watched her. I bent down, slowly, groped on the cold concrete floor, found it. I lifted the hammer in one hand, the flashlight in another. I raised the dark flashlight. Hannah began to say something. I flashed the light on and off real fast, blinding the creature behind her; the creature shrieked, raising its hands. She whipped around, seeing the bloodied bulk cringing in the doorway. It roared and stepped towards her. I leapt forward, swinging the iron hammer; it smashed into the skull, breaking bones and crushing into the soft tissue of the brain. The brute grunted and fell backwards into the hallway wall, sliding to the floor.

“Hannah,” I said again. “The stairs!”

The stairs rose up to the open latch. Had he been the one I’d seen on the roof?

Pray be it so. “Go up there. Now.” She started climbing, nauseous and woozy. I half expected her to fall on top of me. She peeked her head up, looked around, and crawled out. I started on the ladder. As I climbed, the light tucked into my armpit, the beam hit the fallen corpse. I looked over and stopped climbing. Two other zombies ripped and tore at the corpse, drenching the floor, wal s and ceiling in guts. They hungrily ate it all, ignoring me for their feast. Hungry. I pulled up onto the roof, kicked the lids back down. The sound roared.

“Austin-“

“Some were down there.”

The latch shuddered. I stood on top of it. Now what? My own eager foolishness cost us.

Hannah pointed to the bonfire. “You shouldn’t have done that!”

Hordes of infected rushed towards the business complex, drawn by our voices and the clanging latch.

Hannah’s ashen faced tinted in the glow of the fires. “What do we-“

“Run!”

The latch flipped open; I was thrown through the air, landing hard on the roof, rolling. Hannah ran towards me. “No! No! Go!” I helped myself up and she ran to the edge of the roof, nearly falling over. “Jump it! Jump it!” Infected were coming from the stairwell, covered in fresh zombie blood. Hannah leapt over the side, vanishing. I didn’t even look. Running as hard as I could, I took the last few bounds and pressed up on the balls of my feet; the wind tore at me, and the ground vanished. I flew twenty feet above the concrete of the courtyard, Anthony Barnhart

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flailing my arms. Hannah’s figure beneath me was running for the YMCA. I landed off to her right in a bed of drowned roses. The thorns twisted at my skin, and the mud coated me. I spit up brackish water and burnt soil. Hannah grabbed me and ripped me from the bed. The infected fell off the roof, landing hard, tumbling over one another.

“The YMCA,” I gasped. “That’s where-“

She ran beside me. We went between the two buildings. Faster. Faster. I looked back; infected were coming from around the sides of the complex, blending together, running flat-out. Most were covered in blood, gashes, bites and tears; some were missing limbs. Still they ran. Men. Women. A little child, shrieking, sending shivers up my spine. They weren’t slow, and we weren’t faster. My entire body ached; Hannah was lightheaded. More than once I almost slipped and fell. We reached the tarmac of the YMCA, running between the ghost cars. We slammed into the front doors, ripping at them. Locked!

Hannah cried out. I said, “Side door!”

We ran behind a row of bushes, sides scraping against wet bricks, shoes sucking and tearing at grimy mud. The infected reached the parking lot, weaving between the cars, jumping over cars. We spun around the side of the building; two infected launched after us; I dodged, Hannah dodged, and the two hit the side of the building. We ran into the employee parking lot, to the side door beside the dumpster. Infected were coming from the surrounding neighborhoods, appearing over a hill and racing down.

“Austin! The code! Do you know the code?”

I did, but I couldn’t recall; the fear and suspense and nail-biting nausea enflamed my mind.

“Think, Austin! Think!”

“I’m trying! Do you think I’m just standing here!”

“Harder!”

The infected were at the dumpster and going strong. Only split-seconds to spare.

Hannah reached down, picked up an iron bar cast out from the dumpster. She braced against me and swung it out, clobbering the first of the dozen infected to reach us. The zombie spun into the wall, buckling over onto a comrade. She whirled the bar again and again, cutting through the air, bashing the creatures in the head as they ran after. They kept falling and picking themselves up. Shaking fingers danced over the keyboard, finding no refuge; a lot of times we were Anthony Barnhart

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unable to get the door to open with the
correct
code; my mind was a tumultuous waterfall of careening fear and emotion to concentrate.

“Get the door!” Hannah cried, her own muscles beginning to fail.

“I don’t remember it!”

“Think!”

“I can’t think with their screams!”

… “Oh my gosh…”

I glanced over. At the crest of the hill across the employee parking lot, nearly a hundred of the monstrous creatures appeared, running down at full-speed. I watched them coming; some tripped, getting trampled; all soaked and foamed at the mouth, shivering in their purplish flesh, reeking of rotting flesh and stale vomit. Hannah thrust the bar into the eye of an elderly woman and sent her to the ground. The other infected were picking themselves up. This was it. My hand went limp, pressing against the keypad. It all came down to this.

“Austin!” She took off towards the oncoming horde.

Filled with passion, I abandoned the pad. “What the heck are you doing!”

She spun around the side of the dumpster; I followed, feeling so foolish for heading into the mob. Hannah was opening the dumpster door, but the brake bar at the bottom was tearing at the concrete. I tried to lift it, but it was too heavy. Hannah joined. The infected came at us. The door popped open. We both ducked inside; I slipped, falling against the dumpster; Hannah slid the door completely shut and stepped away. I pushed her to the side and slid the lock into the ground just as the creatures began to tug. Their screams thundered like a stampede.

The dumpster was enclosed by fifteen-foot-tall concrete walls and a fifteenfoot-tall wooden gate, now locked shut. Twisted sheet metal, steel bars, and soaked cardboard containers surrounded the dumpster, the lid open, the smell of putrid garbage blending with the wreath of rain. We slid back against the dumpster, hearing them thrusting their bodies against the wood. The gates were reinforced with steel bars, vertical, horizontal and diagonal. My geometry mind said,
They won’t be coming in.
My no-nonsense, common sense mind said,
That’s bullcrap.

“Wonderful idea,” I hissed to Hannah. She ignored me, put a finger to her lips. She would later tell me my eyes burned like sulfur as I fumed, “It stinks of death.”

She nodded, and hissed, “
Shut up.
”

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The infected continued to harass the gate, but slowly the attacks began to stop. They died away. We heard their scuffling outside the dumpster, shimmying back and forth, wandering around, smelling for life to suck it out through venom-laced teeth.

The rain fell over us. I shivered. My feet began to chatter. Hannah knelt down, grabbed some corroding cardboard, and handed it to me. I eyed her. She pointed to her mouth. I mouthed,
What?
She tore it from my hand and shoved it into my mouth. My head reeled back, but I understood. My teeth didn’t click anymore. It was then I realized how genius the girl was. The stench of the garbage masked our smell. We made no noise. These creatures, they didn’t seem to have long-term memories. They didn’t remember their past lives, as was demonstrated by Amanda and Dad attacking me. So if long-term memory has been degraded, then what about short-term memory? They could easily keep up a chase for hours. But what happens if we hide, make no noise, and they can’t smell us? Two minutes later, they have no memory of our existence. So they wander around, thinking nothing. We don’t exist to them. I smiled and looked at Hannah. Even in the soapy rain she was lovely. She smiled back, and I gave a thumbs-up.

We sat down, backs against the green dumpster, listened to the rain. The infected were spanning out. Our voices were drowned out in the rain, refusing to carry beyond the concrete and wooden walls as we whispered in the night:

“Clever trick. Did you think of it yourself?”

“I guess. I just did it. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“Well, thank you. You saved our lives.”

“For once,” she grinned. “You’ve been carrying the weight.”

“Les was carrying the weight.”

“No.
My
weight. I heard you, too, in the building. You couldn’t have helped her. And you
were
a hero. You were selfless. You took me instead.” She touched my shaking hands, wrapping them in her own; heat melted the raindrops. “I can’t thank you enough. I’m alive now because of you. You even stuck with me when I was holding you back on our way through the fields here. Hah. I sound like a rambling fool…”

“No, no.”

“I just think, if someone saves your life, they were pretty good people. You’re a good person. And I know that people haven’t always treated you like a gem. I’ve seen it at school. And I feel so stupid, because I always just watched on and Anthony Barnhart

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didn’t do anything. You were always the quiet nerd. It’s impossible to see it now. I don’t know how we ever did. How
I
ever did. You’re a really good person. You are… one of the best people I know. I’m just a clumsy little ditz.”

I squeezed her hand, and whispered, “A ditz wouldn’t have thought of deceiving them by locking us in here.”

“I wasn’t thinking. I was scared.”

“And truth is? So was I. So
am
I. I’m terrified. But it isn’t absence of fear that makes you good, that makes me good. It’s the presence of courage.”

“Wow, that sounded really professional.”

“Some famous person said it. Winston Churchill, I think. It was in a free calendar once. Let me see your arm.”

She pulled back her sleeve. It was growing more purple. “It itches,” she told me. “And it stings at the same time.” She reached to scratch it, but I stopped her.

“Don’t scratch it. It will make it worse.”

“I know. But it really itches.”

“When we get inside, they’ll have some medical supplies somewhere. We can get some antiseptic and gauze on that. Well, you can. I only know band-aids.”

“We’re still going in there? We should stay here until morning.”

“No. We’ll be too tired. And when we start snoring, we’re discovered. We’ll pass out and be unable to react. Once the body is up more than 24 hours, it will start hallucinating. That means we might start going crazy and get ourselves killed. Our minds will mess with us, and we might end up turning on each other.”