A Shrouded World (Book 2): Atlantis (18 page)

“What are they waiting for?” I asked aloud. Trip said nothing, and as if just verbalizing it had infused the air with the answer, I got it. They were waiting for exactly that: the light to go out, I mean, or for us to fall asleep or maybe even to poke our heads out and get them chewed off. At the max, I figured we had three to four hours of battery life left. Trip could probably take a nap in the next ten minutes. It was time to leave.

“Trip, wait until I get to the door and then follow me.”

He nodded, but there was a chance it was to music from a Dead show in 1976.

I kept my eyes riveted ahead of me as I slowly crawled back over the desk. I tried to move as silently as I could, but the room wasn’t much over the size of a crypt, so just me placing my gun-laden hands against the steel banged loud enough to wake the dead. (Horrible fucking pun, sometimes they just happen.) Once I got off the desk, I waited. I knew, I mean I fucking felt that an entire zombie army was pressed up against the wall right outside that door. Maybe Trip did as well, because the light was shaking.

“Steady as she goes.” I was referring to my heart, not Trip’s wayward hand. I took a small step, large enough to say I actually moved, and that was about it. Nothing: not so much as a “How do you do.” I was not emboldened, as some might say they were at this point. I took another step. Two steps I’d taken, and I would have been amazed if I was more than a foot from the desk. I could have easily reached out and touched it. At this pace, I’d reach the door by the middle of next week. Blood was traveling so quickly through my veins that I was concerned it would break through when it hit a corner, much like a train that comes up on a curve with too much speed and careens off the track. I could imagine the high-speed pulsating blood trails shooting out from my elbows, knees, and curled fingers.

Another step. I had both guns out in front of me. I wasn’t a fan of the duel shooting imagery famous in the movies, but there I was nonetheless. There was a perceived safety in that cold steel. Sort of my own leaden force field. I took my next step—I was about a quarter of the way across the floor when I almost turned and headed back. Something beyond the door banged, sounding like a door had been opened quickly; or possibly, and this was much scarier, a zombie had removed a fire axe from the wall and was testing it out. How far from that leap were they? Tomorrow? The next day? Now? I was halfway across the room and the far-off echo had long since died away. The flashlight dimmed, died, and I heard the heavy hit of it against Trip’s palm as he resuscitated it back to life with the handyman’s version of CPR.

Before the light could settle back into place, I swear I saw the side of a zombie’s face as it quickly peered around the doorjamb to see if it was time to eat yet. I wasn’t completely sure, but the stakes were too high: I had to assume it was indeed there. The trap had been laid, now the question was how to respond. My foot shuffled forward. I kept one gun firmly pointed toward where I thought my peeper had been, and the other on the opening in the hopes that what was out there would run into my bullet. I was less than seven feet from the black maw of the opening, which was laced with deadly teeth like the yawning mouth of a great white. I tried not to let my brain run wild with these things, but I was literally about the length of an average man’s height away from something that wanted nothing more in this world than to kill me. That can be a crippling thought. You, who sit safe and secure in your bunker, may or may not have ever experienced this phenomenon, but my insides felt like they were liquefying and puddling in my feet. One more step, and my pistol was nearly touching the door’s trim.

The zombie came around the corner so fast I barely had time to react—it was a good thing I already had most of the trigger pull taken care of. I put three rounds in him before my brain caught up to the fact that I was firing. Always used to think it was a load of bullshit when the woman accused of murder would say she didn’t realize she’d pulled the trigger fifteen times on her abusive husband thus finally ending their doomed relationship. I get it now. I’d been so ramped up, I could easily see blowing through both magazines; the only thing that prevented it was the sheer number of combat situations I’d found myself in. I backed up quickly, fully expecting the attack to be back on. That wasn’t the case: the zombie was mostly out in the hallway, just his head and shoulders had fallen in the security room, yet no ghostly hands reached out to drag him away.

I backed up another step, waited a few tense seconds, and was about to go forward. I looked back to make sure Trip was still on the same page. I now had a different type of fear to contend with. The flashlight was firmly clenched in his teeth, and he was holding my recently put down rifle. I’d rather a monkey had a machine gun than Trip a rifle. He was holding it down by his hip in typical Rambo fashion, though I don’t think it was intentional.

“What are you doing, Trip?” There was not much aiming capacity if he were to shoot the rifle that way.

“Relping.” He said around the mouthful of aluminum tubing.

“You could help by not pointing that thing in my general direction.”

“Right, right.” The barrel moved away, but slowly started to creep back my way like he was holding a compass and I was true north. I was now splitting my time between the front and rear.

“Gun goes toward the enemy, Trip.”

“I row rat.”

Fuck I hoped so. I started back toward the door, wondering what it would feel like to watch my spleen be forcibly ripped from my body. Would it pulse around on the floor for a while before it stilled? Or was that only a heart that did that? Not sure, I’d never had my internal organs violently hewn from me. I waited for any indication that more zombies were close. They were around, that was a given, their smell would always give them away: just how close was the question. My foot was even with the threshold. I was holding my breath, trying to minimize the noise, the barrel of my pistol was actually in the hallway. I fully expected something to reach out and grab it. I thrust my head out and damn near gave myself whiplash with how fast I looked to the left and right and then pulled back in. I was happy to report I’d not been eaten. That was the first priority, then I started to filter the information I’d gleaned in my seven millisecond recon mission.

First, the hallway was fucking dark. Yeah, that’s some valuable intel right there. Second, and this was a biggie, there were no zombies right by the door, except for the dead one and he was fine where he was. Third, I could just make out a group of zombies right at the limit of the light’s influence. What were they doing? They had to have seen me, my shadow danced all over the wall on the far side of the hallway, and then my head would have been lit up like an OPEN sign. There were a few things going through my head. They were amassing more numbers to make a final assault, or they did not have the numbers to make a final push. Or they were laying a trap. Making it look like we could leave, and then we’d run headlong into another group and we’d be surrounded in a hallway with no way to adequately defend ourselves. Or, option number four, they wanted us to go out so they could follow and pursue easier prey. Well great, I’d just cycled through four scenarios: two saw us surviving, two got us killed. Our fucking lives came down to a coin flip. Heads, we went for it and lived; tails, we went for it and died.

“Trip, you have any change on you?”

He took a second to put the rifle down and remove the flashlight from his mouth before he spoke.

“Like clothes? No man, I’ve had these since that time Jerry puked on them, I’m never going to wash these pants. If you look close you can still see the mustard from the Rueben sandwich he had.”

“Coins, Trip; do you have any coins on you?”

“Oh, well why didn’t you say so? Which country?”

“Are you fucking kidding me? Fine, Russia.”

My location instantly darkened as he shined the light down on himself. If I had more than some old gum left in my colon, there was a good chance it would have made a speedy exit. “Trip! The light! Shine it over here!” I was bracing for impact, certain a zombie was about to tackle me. When my shadow reappeared across the hall, I nearly pulled the trigger on it.

“Pretty sure I have a ruble in here,” Trip said, completely oblivious to the fact that I’d been as scared just now as I’d ever been in my life. I heard the sound of a zipper opening and change being moved around. “Found it!”

Did he really have a coin purse? “This is so not worth it. Flip the coin and tell me what it lands on.”

I heard the coin clink off the top of the desk, rattle around a bit, and then go still. Nothing from Trip.

“Trip?”

“Yeah?” he asked foggily.

“What’s going on?”

“Sorry, I think I was hypnotized.”

“What did the fucking coin land on, Trip?” I was rapidly approaching my breaking point.

“Turkmenian Eublefar.”

“English, Trip, English.”

“Gecko, it landed on a gecko.”

“The Russians have a lizard on their money? Whatever. Is that the front or the back?”

“I think it’s the front.”

“Think? How sure are you?”

“Fifty-fifty. Want me to flip a coin to see?”

“No, I think we’re past that. Come on man, we’re making a break for it.” He was by my side without any further incident, which was just fine by me. I reluctantly placed one of the pistols in my pocket.

“Let me borrow the flashlight,” I said, and he handed it off. I moved forward. Half my body was outside now. I turned the light to the left, the way we’d come: the hallway appeared empty. I quickly turned it to the right and was momentarily gripped by fear. Easily a dozen zombies were standing there, watching me intently.

“What are you guys doing?” I asked quietly. One that was a foot or so in front of the others snarled, but made no move toward me. I felt something press against the small of my back. I swatted it away only to realize it had been the barrel of the rifle; Trip’s head was next to mine as he leaned out to take a look as well.

“Trip, you have a high fucking powered hunting rifle pressed up against my spine.”

“Not anymore.”

“Oh, okay, that makes it all right. Asshole.”

“What are they doing?” Trip echoed my thoughts as he stared at the zombies.

“Wish I knew. You ready to get out of here?”

“Ponch, I think I am. Maybe I should flip a coin.”

“Let it go buddy, let it go.” I stepped completely out into the hallway, figuring that might be the mechanism that spurred the zombies on. It wasn’t. I grabbed Trip and pulled him out with me. I looked in the direction we were going just to see if a ninja zombie was coming up behind us, but the path was clear. This sucked—it was possible it smelled worse than the zombies. I was walking sideways so I could keep an eye on both ends. For every half side step I took, the zombies behind took two. They were creeping closer.

“This is insane. I’m having a standoff with them.” The idiotic thought of squaring my shoulders to them and approaching as I fired rapidly really sounded like a good idea right then. Twelve zombies, twenty rounds, and a less than trustworthy flashlight wielder made for a sketchy conclusion.

I was just having a difficult time believing we weren’t being herded to our slaughter. These zombies were too smart to be thwarted by a fucking door handle, weren’t they? And even if that were the case, what kind of asshole was I to show them the way out? Any poor victims they ate would rest on my shoulders. The fact that I hadn’t seen another living person besides Jack since I got here made the choice marginally easier. Not sure if the poor bastard they stumbled upon would agree with my assessment. Something else was going on here, though: if they could employ tactics, they could certainly leave the building on their own. Unless, of course...

“The door is locked,” Trip said with a timbre of panic. While I’d been spinning my wheels trying to find the zombies’ angle on this, he’d gone ahead to our original entry, now potential exit point.

“No funkies?”

“Duh, I think I’d know if people were trying to cut in line.”

“Shoot the handle, Trip.” I was keeping an eye on the zombies. I glanced over my shoulder to see that he’d turned so that, much like a billiards strike, a ricochet would have an above-average chance of nailing me.

“WAIT! Turn the fuck around first!” He did a pirouette. “I hate you, man; shoot the handle from the side closest to me.”

He let the words rattle around in that empty space he called a head and then finally put his back to me, and presumably placed the rifle up against the handle. My system jumped a bit from the bullet; the zombies still did not move.

“Missed,” he said.

“How is that possible?”

He never answered the question, just pulled the trigger quickly two more times. My ears were ringing and the zombies were getting antsy.

“I think it’s indestructible,” he told me.

“Did you actually hit it?”

“Nope, don’t think so.”

“Try it again.”

“My head hurts.” I think he was talking about the loud noise, but who knows.

“Just put the barrel...”

Another loud concussion and the rewarding sound of metal clanging off of cement, although it could easily have been parts of the rifle.

“You coming?” Trip asked.

“Run, Trip, run!” The zombies knew the door was open and they wanted to make sure that we didn’t somehow lock it back up—if they got a little snack out of the deal, all the better. I turned; Trip’s face was wide with shock and fear, yet he held the door open for me. That meant a lot: if the door had closed and all I had was the little hole to pull it open, I’d lose what little head start I had.

“GO, GO, GO!” I yelled. I was close enough now that I could catch it before it shut. He went in; I could not hear his steps over the pursuit behind me. The walls amplified the reverberation of the footfalls from the tailing zombies, and it was petrifying. I was in full-on flight mode; I don’t think I could have made my body turn to fight. Trip was on the first landing as I made it out of the hallway. He made it four stairs before we were neck and neck; the zombies were themselves out of the hallway now and moving quickly. I about lifted Trip as we barreled out and into the light of the first floor. I felt Trip sag, like he thought we were now safe and could take a break. He “got it” after I physically pulled him another twenty feet.