Life Among the Dead (Book 4): The End (20 page)

Hands slap against doors and windows, the misplaced man can see dead figures pressing against blinds within the clinics.
They can see the light,
he panics.
Can they smell the blood?

Archie runs. He chooses a direction and charges ahead. He needs to get to Gar and away from the wailing dead he is riling up. His eyes are on the floor hoping to catch sight of his footprints, he travels further than the point he feels he should be seeing his path and fears he may have to turn around and make his way through the gauntlet of groans once more.

Not giving himself time to back down he hurries the way he had just come in a quick pace. The appetite of the dead is teased once more. Starved, they beat on the glass. Footprints at last upon the floor, faint red stains that become thicker the further down the hall he goes. Archie searches every door for a sign telling him he’s found the stairs. He finds two.

On either side of the hall he sees red signs of a stick person on a set of risers and a precautionary reminder that in emergencies people should use these rather than the elevators. The trip up here was quick and rather abusive, he can’t remember if he was turned left or right after being shoved through the door. He takes the steps to his right, slowly opening the door and heads down. All he hears is his own tense breathing as he creeps down. He distinctly recalls going up two floors, four sets of stairs bisected at the middle by brief landings.

The moment of truth arrives as he comes to the door he presumes will lead him to Gar. He detects no sound as he gently cracks it open. Nothing looks familiar, not that it should considering the manner in which he had been escorted. He is certain that he’s on the correct level at least.

The signage on the walls is not helpful other than to give him a general direction. He believes Andry held them in a ward which is to his right. To the left he would find only clinics, the pharmacy, and an exit. He is on the ground level, the temptation to just head for the way out is hard to resist. He can’t, he must free the other prisoner.

The hall branches off to other units, He has to check them all until he locates Gar. Though he hears no moans of zombies, he senses movement, or believes he does. He’s closer now but that fact only makes him more on edge. He wants to just turn around and make for the exit yet he chooses a starting point for his rescue mission and begins.

Another long dark corridor. His chest aches with tension as he slowly makes his way, the fact that he isn’t positive that this is the correct floor makes the situation worse. He fears he will come out empty handed and have to travel hall after hall forever. He wants to call out to Gar, getting the man to respond would certainly help matters, or just rile up any undead guardians Andry may have planted here. He continues in silence all the way to the end.

None of the doors resemble what he saw when she took him up to the clinic, she had shoved him through a set of double doors, but all he finds in his light are singles. The space she held them in seemed very large but his perception may have been thrown by the darkness. At the end of the line he finds an emergency exit, a plain gray door that looks very enticing to use.

Maybe just a peek outside,
he thinks.
Fresh air to clear my head.
There is no window to see if the other side is safe, anything could be lurking out there. He debates opening the door ultimately deciding he must. His hand pushes the bar to release the latch, in the same motion he shoves the door wide.

Glorious afternoon sunlight shines down on him, warming his face. The emergency exit opens to an alley leading into a barren field of concrete. Across this sun soaked paradise is a nightmare, Andry has indeed planted her protectors, corpses standing in a line span the path to freedom, barring any hope of quick passage. The woman had somehow tied them together at the wrists. In her paranoia, she alternated the direction in which the zombies face to defend against any wishing to enter, and stop anyone wishing to leave. An unwinnable game of Red Rover.

The chain of zombies see the meal that has delivered itself to them, like a serpent it writhes closer. Those facing the other way look over their shoulders at the meat, they try to turn but can’t get their bodies to do so against their bonds, they are dragged along by the more able bodied of the trap. A winding line of death clumsily advances toward Archie.

The hopeful escapee lets the door close. As the steel panel is pulled back by its pneumatic arm an odd clicking sound is emitted. Archie sees that Andry had rigged a box to it for some reason. The purpose reveals itself with a moan behind him. The woman had placed a device to release corpses into the hall upon using the door. The dead are among the shadows now, drawn to his light. More moans. Feet shuffle his way over the smooth floor. His back is against the wall as he waits for them to enter his circle of light. The lantern is on the floor, he’ll need both hands to fight them off with his stick.

It was emotionally difficult to plunge the stick into Stephanie’s head, but Archie finds the first zombie to reach him harder to put down. He attempts to stab the sharp end into the corpses head, Stephanie’s was against the floor and he was able to strike the side where the bone is thinner, the dead man’s head flops away from the impact like his neck is made of rubber. He continues to approach in a lunge being so close to what he desires, undeterred by the deep gouge his food has made on his face.

Archie backs away just in time, the zombie lands hard on the floor. With more on the way the survivor must jab quickly, using the floor to hold the walking corpse’s head still so he can drive the sick through his skull. Another enters the circle of light, a woman in blood stained hospital scrubs. As Archie reclaims his weapon she dives for him, he isn’t able to prepare his strike in time, only managing to put the pole between them.

The broken pole is all that holds the zombie nurse at bay, she presses against it biting the air wildly as she tries to get her mouth as close as possible to Archie. Her insistence throws off his balance, causing him to fall back with the corpse on top of him.

The nurse clutches his shoulders, brings her face closer and closer to him with surprising force like an over amorous lover. Her sad moans have turned to an eager pant. The others draw closer as he struggles with the woman, using all the might he has to keep her away, unlike her his strength won’t hold for long. He is trying to wiggle free but her weight holds him down, shifting allows her too much of an advantage as it risks him lifting his vulnerable head dangerously close to hers and inadvertently causes him to let up on his efforts to hold her at bay.

His ankle is seized by cold gripping hands. He kicks and thrashes at the unseen zombies, but what gives him his motivation to escape is the sudden agony of teeth finding their way through his denim and into his flesh. With a burst of adrenalin he tears his leg from the starved mouth and greedy hands, his feet find the bodies and shove them away. He pushes the nurse off of him and reverses the pin like a wrestler, flipping her over with him on top. His knee is on her chest to keep her where he needs her so he can bring the stick down through her eye socket.

Blood soaks through his pants once again, his own this time. The zombies that had grabbed at his legs are already on their feet from where he had pushed them. They approach, vacant eyes locked on him. One has already had a taste and wants more, blood stains his ghoulish, slack face. There are only two of them, Archie keeps his distance, and steps around the two he has already dispatched to draw the dead men over the bodies. With their attention so focused on him they trip over the corpses giving their prey the ability to act. He strikes like a viper, two swift movements render the threats inert.

Exhausted, knowing he hasn’t much time, realizing that he will never leave this hospital, there is still one person who has a chance. His final act as a nice guy, with the last bit of strength he has left, he vows to free Gar.

14

Drifts of wind swept snow that had accumulated against the sides of buildings and in alleys have melted away to smaller piles that gleam under a thick shell of ice on this sunny March afternoon. Killer B has tracked the days in a calendar she keeps in her purse, it gave her a sense of normalcy when everything changed overnight. She made large Xs through the squares as they passed before going to sleep, corner to corner, marking the end of each day they have survived and the beginning of the next.

Brown grass reveals itself more and more each day as the covering of snow disappears. The roads have cleared, rivers of water race along the curbs and down drains, nothing can stand in the way of the runoff as it carries trash and reroutes itself around fallen bodies. Hidden below the pure white surface of winter, the evidence of tragedy sprouts, the dead aren’t as easily erased.

To gauge how much time they have left in the city, Rocky visits an old acquaintance, a man whose heart she has seen, and occasionally poked with a stick. The man was a patient at the hospital, had been under the knife when the world was turned upside-down, now he stands outside the hospital as he has all winter with his chest held open by gleaming steel devices. Rocky has been pondering what makes him tick, his shriveled organs that have been able to thaw quicker under direct sunlight where the others like him are still solid at their cores like frozen turkeys.

“Well, Donny,” she addresses the dead man, his eyes have unfroze and today track her movements. “This is it. I’m leaving town tomorrow.”

She’s seen enough of Waterloo to have planned her route out of the city, found streets clear enough of stalled traffic and debris to use. Her original plan was to take the Washington Bridge North and follow the road until it met with the eastbound highway that could carry them all the way home. All winter there has been what looked to her like a serpent beneath the snow, long lines of cars that had tried to escape the carnage and never made it. Following the traffic she had found the most horrific wreck she has ever seen in her life, so devastating it wiped out the bridge completely. She’s since made a new plan, loaded their bus with supplies, and had Killer B mark the day on her calendar to make her feel important.

Leaving Donny for the last time, not one for goodbyes generally, she cuts this one even shorter when the man twitches slightly. Just a joint coming loose enough for him to try and grab her, but without enough range of motion to be a threat. His insides quiver from the sudden jolt. She heads for the mansion, taking the long way through Shepard Park, wishing to enjoy the tranquil solitude of it all one last time.

Sipping whiskey from a flask she watches tiny birds land on patches of dry grass. Unable to wait for the land to become rejuvenated, the sparrows peck at the ground in search of food. Large black birds have found perches upon corpses with the same goal. They protect and fight over their bounties, flapping and squawking at one another to find their own. There’s plenty to be had, lots to go around. By Rocky’s guess, in less than two weeks, all of them will be active once more, it’ll be their turn to search for food.

As the world wakes up and the ground is exposed, Rocky has lost her ability to spot signs of life other than herself. She knows she hasn’t been the only one out scavenging, occasionally seen prints in the snow that were not hers, but never spotted another living, breathing person all winter. She avoided contact, but admits to herself that she was curious about the phantom survivor. Now she will never know who it was or how they’ve been getting by.

“You’re tracking mud on the floor!” Killer B points out to Rocky as she enters with a bag full of last minute items for the road.

“Christ, KB, give it a rest!” she counters. “I gave you a Swiffer for shit like this, besides we’re leaving. Who cares?”

“Kelly Peel would care if she saw her house trashed. I just want to leave it how we found it.”

“Really?” Rocky asks knowingly, her eyes peer over at the bag her friend has ready for the journey. “So, if I were to look in that duffle, I wouldn’t find anything of hers, would I? No keepsakes of our little stay here? Trinkets?”

Guiltily, Killer B looks away. She wishes to change the subject and spots the handy floor mop Rocky had gotten her to ease the tension between their differing views on being a houseguest during an apocalypse. “I’ll just clean it. It’s fine.”

Not satisfied with the easy victory, Rocky crouches over the bag but doesn’t look inside, she doesn’t have to. A smug look comes over her face, she looks up at her friend who avoids eye contact. Rocky just loves to make her friend squirm, she couldn’t care less if she has stolen anything from the house.

“I couldn’t resist!” Killer B admits. “They’re Kelly friggin’ Peel’s Heelys!”

They have enough room on the bus, no need to travel light. Rocky herself has been hoarding booze for the road. She just smiles at her friend and leaves the bag alone. The trip has her concerned, they are leaving a very comfortable situation and heading out into the unknown. She needs to relax and unwind, rest up for tomorrow. Rocky plops herself down in her usual spot near the fire, she is handed no cocoa today as Killer B is busy tidying up the evidence of their extended stay. Rocky cracks a beer instead.

Letting herself melt into the faux bear skin rug she lounges on as her mind wanders away. She thinks about this city, the frozen wasteland she had ventured through, her thoughts become stuck pondering the tracks in the snow.

Such small feet
, she mulls over her never-seen neighbor.
Could have been a woman. A child?
This is going to bother her for a while, plague her mind. She has been able to ignore the facts up until now, now that she’s about to leave. The discovery of each path of prints was almost as reassuring as it was unsettling. Whoever was leaving them may have been a threat, but it was also a sign that not all was lost, it wasn’t just her and Killer B in the world.

“Fuck,” Rocky mutters under her breath after a long sigh. The cynical woman that most would say wasn’t just rough around the edges but downright jagged like broken glass knows she’s about to announce something she’ll probably regret. “Hey, KB, as we head out tomorrow there’s something we have to do.”