Tower Of The Dead: A Zombie Novel (5 page)

“We’ve got to get the hell out of here, now!” Tasia says, taking the words right out of my mouth.

6

We’re back in the hall. A quick check reveals that the bodies Tasia and I dropped on the way down are still lifeless.

“The window!” Tasia points to the single dirty window at the end of the hall. Oddly enough, there’s not a single crack or bullet hole to be seen. It’s a twin to the one I’d thrown Amos out of.

I look at Tasia and shrug, her message lost on me.

“We can signal for help, tell them we got our child up here!”

“Tasia, I’ve seen what they do to people…what they’re doing to people right now! I can’t just—”

“Try, damn it!” Tasia catches herself and puts a hand over Alisa’s ear and presses her head down against her shoulder, lowering her voice. “We’ll never make it down to the lobby. What do you think it’s like down there? This ain’t no place for our little girl.”

She’s right. Even before we found Alisa, I was asking myself how we were gonna get her out of here in one piece. I look at the window and remember the men in the helicopter killing all those innocent folks on the roof. The voice of the lady on the news talking about folks getting shot down in the street echoes in my head. But the desire to see my little girl safe is louder than all of that, so I start towards the window.

The glass is fogged over with grime and I don’t think the window has actually been opened since it was installed. The wood is splintering off and the edges are damp with moisture. The window sill is coated with dust and the carcasses of various species of beetle and spider. I wrap my fingers under the bottom lip and begin to pull.

At first it doesn’t budge.

Then it creaks.

Some of the dust and grime starts to sprinkle away as the window begins to shake some of the sleep from its bones.

It moves an inch, screeching its resistance.

Then it moves another.

And another.

The glass shatters and blows back in my face.

“Goddamn!” I stumble backwards, blinking rapidly against the fresh currents of blood flowing into my eyes from the newly created cuts on my forehead. I rub my eyes and blink again, trying to make sure that I haven’t been blinded. My vision is fine. My face seems to have taken the brunt of the assault. I turn and run back towards Tasia as the gunfire continues from the streets below, splintering the window frame and powdering the ceiling tiles.

“Markus, you’re—”

“I’m fine, let’s go!” I run past her to the stairwell door, opening it and checking up and down to make sure it’s clear. “Come on!”

Tasia hustles past me into the stairwell and I let the door slam home. “Markus, why are they shooting?”

“Because they’re not here to save us, they’re not here to save anyone.”

“But we’re…we’re not sick. We’re not trying to hurt no one.”

“That’s not how they see it. For them, one bad apple ruins the whole batch.”

I lead the charge down to the twelfth-floor landing and look over the railing, down at the eleventh; Looney Tune’s turf. There’s no sign of him or his Golden Boys and the gunfire from their floor seems to have quieted. I go down the first two steps, whispering for Tasia to follow close. I don’t know if Looney Tune and his boys are psychic or if I just have shitty luck, but as soon as my feet land on that second step the door to the eleventh-floor swings open and three Golden Boys emerge carrying black machine guns.

I freeze, trying to stay quiet.

Tasia doesn’t stop quite as quickly and falls into me, knocking me forward and causing the head of my hatchet to slam against the metal railing. The noise created by this fills the entire stairwell, pinpointing our exact spot for the Golden Boys.

They open fire.

I turn with my head down and aim right for Tasia’s midsection, going at her like I’m trying to sack a quarterback. She’s still carrying Alisa. My daughter’s feet scrape the top of my head as I make impact. I lift her and Alisa into the air and set them down hard on their backs as the bullets create fireworks on the railing behind me.

“Let’s get those mutherfuckas!” I hear one of the men scream.

My wife is coughing and trying to get her breath back.

“Up, let’s go!” I pull Alisa from her arms and yank Tasia to her feet. “Go, go, go!” I hold the door to the twelfth-floor open and shove them ahead of me as the footsteps of our aggressors draw closer. I let the door swing shut behind me. My wife and daughter are both standing in the middle of the hall, confused about where to go next.

Unfortunately, so am I.

Tasia is trying to say something but the words are scratchy and are missing most of their syllables due to having the breath knocked from her lungs.

The Golden Boys are on the other side of the door now, ready to storm our position.

I push Tasia and Alisa left into the hall. “Step on the gas!” I’m looking around for an open door, for a readymade sanctuary, I don’t have time to shake handles and pray. There’s the expected sprawl of bodies in the hall. None of them are moving, thankfully. We step over and around them. Alisa gives a little shriek of fear as we approach each one, staying close to Tasia’s side.

A few feet in front of us, to the right, a door opens.

Fuck.

A sick one. It’s gotta be.

Only a sick one would open their door to the sound of gunfire.

Paul, the maintenance man, pokes his head into the hall. “Come on, get in here!”

The Golden Boys are in the hall now. I can hear them. In another two seconds, they’ll breach the corner behind us and send hot lead soaring towards our backs.

Paul pulls us inside and slams the door shut, locking the handle and securing the two deadbolts and the chain (for whatever that’s worth).

All four of us stand there in the small foyer, panting like backyard dogs in mid-July, exchanging glances of uncertainty.

Did the Golden Boys get eyes on us?

We can hear them stomping the hall. “They’re here somewhere, man. Ain’t nowhere to go. We got em’ cornered. Yo, Tone, you watch the stairs. Pook and me will kick doors till we find em’ and wet em’ up.”

“Aight, then.”

I look around at the group, my eyes stopping on Paul. “Thank you,” I whisper.

He winks and slaps me on the shoulder. “You’re a good man, Markus. You’ve got a good family. Not gonna let a couple of young punks be the end of you.”

“Unfortunately the young punks may be the least of our worries.”

“Oh, yes, of course.” Paul points towards the living room. “Been watching it on the television. Been listening to it through the windows. Crazy what they’re doing, right?”

“Yeah, crazy, and we don’t have much time. Does anyone have any ideas?”

Tasia just shakes her head, holding Alisa close to her left thigh.

Paul walks towards the living room, one hand in the left pocket of his jeans, the other perched thoughtfully beneath his chin. “You got the gangsters in the hall. You got the military on the streets. And you’ve got the monsters in between. All of them are trying to kill us. Not good, is it? Not good at all.”

“No, Paul, it’s not.” I’m trying to keep the annoyance I feel out of my voice, but Paul pacing the room and reminding me of how dire my situation is isn’t helping matters.

Paul sits down on the edge of his couch, watching the muted images on the television. “I may have a way out of here, but it’s risky.”

“Risky is better than hopeless.”

“Then follow me.” Paul stands, his knees popping with the effort. He leads us towards his bedroom.

“I want to go home,” Alisa whines, her words muffled against Tasia’s jeans.

“This will all be over soon.” Tasia gives her a reassuring pat on the head.

I kiss Tasia on the back of the neck as we walk into Paul’s bedroom. “You’re doing great, sweetheart.”

She reaches back and gives my hand a squeeze.

Paul is whistling as he walks over and shoves his bed against the wall, opening up the center of the room.

“What the hell is he doing?” Tasia whispers in my ear.

“I have no clue, but let’s just let the man do his thing.”

He goes to his closet and starts moving boxes and shifting clothes. “Where did I put it? You know, I got it as a gift and never really used it. I plugged it in once. But that was it. Not much use for it around here.”

“Mind if I ask what
it
is?”

“Patience, it’s good for the soul.”

“Today it’s bad for your health.” I bounce nervously on the balls of my feet, looking around the corner from the bedroom, waiting for the front door to leave its hinges and the Golden Boys to come in spraying. “Paul, I’m not trying to rush you, but time really is of the essence here. We got guys with guns outside.”

“There are always guys with guns outside,” Paul gives his breezy retort as he tosses another box.

His sage way of speaking is really starting to grind my gears. “These ones are trying to kill us and they’re trying to do it right now.”

“Here we go.” Paul backs out of the closet. He’s holding a reciprocating saw with a red and gray body. The blade is black and mean and untarnished.

“Neat toy, but what the hell are we supposed to do with that?” I’ve never wanted to hit Paul, but that’s quickly becoming an option.

Paul points to the space he’d cleared on the floor.

“Paul, are you out of your damn mind? The entire eleventh floor is Golden Boys’ territory. We’ll be dead before our feet touch down.”

“If luck is not on your side, maybe you will. But I happen to know that the apartment below me is vacant at the moment. If luck is on your side, you will touch down safe and sound. What you do after that, I can’t really help with, can I?”

“No, I suppose you can’t.” I look to Tasia.

“We don’t really got any other choice,” she says, her hand on Alisa’s head.

“I guess we don’t. Alright then, Paul. Let’s do it.”

“Just…one thing.” He dips his eyes towards the front door. “The noise may attract some unwelcome guests.”

Fuck. He’s right. It’ll be a dinner bell for the three gangsters outside.

“You got a gun or something?”

Paul shakes his head. “Afraid I don’t, no. What you have,” he winks at my hatchet, “is better than anything I’ve got to offer.”

I spin the hatchet once and sigh. “Alright then, guess I’ll watch the door and let you do your thing. You two, get over in the corner. Where’s the knife?”

Tasia backs into the corner, one arm wrapped down across Alisa’s chest. She reaches behind her back and comes out with the blade.

“Anyone that comes through that door, if they ain’t me, you fight, you got that?”

Tasia looks at our baby girl. “You don’t gotta tell me to fight. You just get back to us.”

I nod, kiss her and Alisa, and move quickly to the foyer as Paul plugs the saw into the wall and prepares to get to work.

I position myself flat against the wall near the handle, that way, if they do kick the door, it doesn’t swing open and smash me.

Paul doesn’t give me any sort of countdown or warning; he just flips the saw on and gets to digging.

It’s louder than I could have possibly imagined. When it begins eating into the carpet and wood, it’s downright deafening. I can’t hear shit. For all I know, the Golden Boys are stacking up outside the door right now. All I can do is keep the hatchet ready and watch for the slightest hint of movement.

I’m dizzy. My pulse is racing. I feel like a car is sitting on my chest. If they’re gonna get here, they need to get here; I might not be in killing shape much longer.  For fuck sake, I might keel over and die right here, save the Golden Boys the trouble.

The wood around the door handle is shredded by gunfire, which sounds like nothing more than a dull series of thuds above the sound of the saw blade chomping up the floor. The door is unseated by a strong kick. The first gangster comes charging into the room, machine gun up, wearing his long white tee with the golden emblem. He’s moving straight back towards the source of the noise. Towards the bedroom, where Tasia and Alisa are hiding.

But I don’t make a move.

I wait.

Another comes in after him. Same baggy ass jeans. Same loud ass shirt. Same machine gun. “Knock, knock, muthafuckas!”

I strike.

I jump on the second gang member’s back and sink the blade of the hatchet right into the back of his head. His lights go out instantly. He doesn’t even scream.

As he’s falling forward, he takes me with him. I go for the ride, reaching around and retrieving the machine gun.

Now, I’ve never shot one of these damn things. But I figure if these punks can handle one, so can I.

The first Golden Boy is getting ready to turn into the hall. After that he’ll be out of my sightline and Paul, Tasia, and Alisa will be in his.

I’m on my stomach, lying across the back of the dead gangster, my hatchet still buried in his head. I extend the machine gun and hold the trigger down. It rattles violently in my hands and the world in front of me turns into one big blur. Once it clicks empty, everything slowly comes back into focus. My target is plastered face first against the wall. The back of his shirt is shredded and is now dyed a deep red. He groans and slides down to his knees, leaving behind a thick smear of blood.