Those Who Lived

by Poss, Bryant

  Slowly the room came into focus, but it seemed a long time coming. Glancing at the window, he saw that it was still dark outside, but there was no glow from the fire. Had he slept through the entire day? It wouldn’t be the first time. Demerol was indeed a miraculous drug. After he got his bearings, realized where and when he was, he looked to find the source of the voice if indeed there had actually been one. On the floor beside him lay another empty hypodermic, but he could not for the life of him remember that one. Tilting his eyes up and leaning his head back, her face came into view. She’d used one of his glow sticks he kept in his locker to illuminate her, the areas around them. The light did her little justice. She looked sick, tired, and haggard, but she was intoxicating nonetheless. The color of her skin, the tattoos showing, the lines of muscle in her neck, her coat unzipped to show the tops of her breasts gleaming with sweat in the green glow. She was magnificent. No fear came to him, only arousal. He would handle this. Handle it like he did everything else. His hand that was already by his side eased to the knife he had sheathed on his belt, a faint smile curling the corner of his lip as he touched the handle. He didn’t want to kill her, hell no. What a colossal waste that would be. He just wanted to get her attention. She sat there, watching him, her eyes not leaving his. He took a deep breath and stretched his muscles to get his body loose.

  The presence of these two most powerful creatures devoured the room, barely enough space to hold them both. A strange consciousness emanated from both, desire and id mixed roughly, selfishness. One was kept more in check than the other but only on the surface. What was wanted was still there, from both of them, and it filled the room. They looked at each other for some time without moving, each trying to determine the strength of the other, the existence.

  “You know what a monologue is?” She asked him in a casual tone, like she’d asked if he liked to eat hamburgers on the Fourth of July.

  “Yeah, darlin’, I know what one is.”

  “Good,” she said in the same tone.

  She jammed the six inches of the hunting knife blade into his temple all the way to the hilt. Unsure as to how much force would be needed to penetrate the skull, she used all the energy she could muster. There was an odd sound, like a piece of wood breaking, a wet piece, ever so subtle, but that was it. Once the point made it through the skull, it slid right in. A custom sheath. His eyes crossed, but his expression didn’t change. There was a tightening of the body but very brief, only a minor twitch of the leg. His bowels released in a explosion. He was indeed quite a big man.

  “Then you’ll understand when I say I don’t do them,” somewhere in the remnants of his synaptic firing her voice came through, but there was nothing after that. Darkness yet again.

  Lotus came up with Luck from his shirt pocket and smiled into the eye. She was weak and tired, her fever returning from her struggle to get here, but she felt a burst of energy. Rummaging through the bag she took out the bottle of Cephalexin she’d just gotten from his locker. She also popped two Percocet and sat back for a minute, trying not to pass out. Putting the .38 in one hand and holding Luck in the other, she sat in the quiet bedroom of the man that used to be Marshal and waited for the first twinge of painkiller to hit her. When it did, she got to her feet and made her way to the door on the far side of the room.

  Cillian lay in a puddle of what looked to be his own urine next to the door, a knot on his forehead and blood on his knuckles. He turned, looked at her longingly then turned away in shame. She leaned down and pulled the tied kerchief that held the gag in his mouth and kissed him. He immediately started crying. The chain was the work of only a couple of minutes. There wasn’t a word spoken between them. After making another sweep of Marshal’s locker, they made their way to the doorway where Lo poked her head out and looked around.

  “I guess since the cat’s away the mice will play,” she whispered, but Cillian didn’t respond then they blew out of the compound like smoke on a breeze and into the night.

  “Wait,” his whisper was barely audible, but she stopped and turned to him. “I think there’s someone else. I think there’s another kid in the basement.”

  Lo turned to him to explain that between the two of them they probably couldn’t fight their way out of a wet paper bag as they were. She started to say that it was lucky enough most if not all the guards were away or gone, and they should count their blessings as they make their way through the miles they had to cover to get back to the school in the dark. She opened her mouth to say these things, but she knew better, thinking back to when they saw Alice and Devon from the roof, at how adamant he was that they help them even before he was sure of how young they were. How disappointed he was in her for even considering not helping. She thought of this in the time it took her to start heading back toward the compound.

  “It’s easier to go around back,” he said, and she nodded, taking his word. She had come from the front, on the street, through the giant hole left by the backhoe that was still buried into the front right side of the building.

  They went around the machine now, the smell of diesel mixed with the smoke that blew over from the charred remains of the gas station just down the street. Lo noticed Cillian looking at the backhoe hard, at the seat. She thought to ask him what was wrong but then she realized. The others had told her enough. There was plenty of time later to discuss everything. Right now, she just needed to maintain consciousness for as long as possible, until they could hopefully just walk this kid out.

  Before they rounded the second corner of the building, they heard them. Before they could stop walking they smelled them. When she finally eased half her face around the edge of the brick, she saw them. She grabbed Cillian’s shirt, pulled him slowly, and he came willingly enough. They both stood for a full minute looking at the horde of pokies in the back of the compound, disappearing into the rear doorway.

  “The guards didn’t leave because they could,” she whispered into his ear, looking at the mob like stoners backstage at a concert. “They left because they had to. We’ve got to back away from here slowly and get the hell out of Dodge.”

  “If the girl is still in there, she’ll be in a cage. There is no way we can leave a person like this.” Cillian’s voice, though a whisper, was final. She didn’t even have to look at him.

  The night was cold, and the wind felt like sandpaper on Lo’s skin. Only the painkillers were keeping her on her feet and she knew it. The Cephalexin would take care of the infection from the bite of the poky, of that she had no doubt, but she needed to rest, dearly needed it. If the chance presented itself, she’d lie down in the grass at the foot of all these pokies and go to sleep. As both stood with their backs against the wall pondering what to do, Lo reached into the bag and pulled out an orange medicine bottle. She popped another painkiller then gave one to Cillian who took it down with half a bottle of water. He had a goose egg on his forehead the size of a tennis ball.

  “What the hell happened to your head?” She asked with a smile, trying to lighten the mood.

  “I—I think I got shot,” he said smiling back, and they both just shrugged.

  She let a few minutes go by, waiting for the meds to kick in then she turned to him with the most comfortable face she could muster.

  “You’ll have to lead them away, Cillian. Get their attention and just go back through the fence. I assume there’s a hole.” She raised her eyebrows and he nodded. “Okay, as soon as I see them following you, I’m going back around to the front and entering from the other side—”

  “Watch out for Alice,” his face was blank, like his soul had been snatched through his eyes. “She’s at the top of the stairs.”

  Lotus laid a hand on his cheek and leaned down, kissing him on the lips.

  “I’ll be careful, buddy,” she touched her forehead to his and felt him quiver. “Here, use this glow stick. Just crack it and make some noise. And listen to me. There are no spazzos here, that we know of. The first sign of a spazzo, you drop that damn thi
ng and do whatever you’ve got to do to get back to the school. You got it?”

  “Do you have the radio?”

  “No radio, buddy. It’s just you and me.”

  “Like it used to be.” He whispered.

  They looked at each other for only a moment then Cillian took the glow stick from her hand and made his way around the horde, keeping as much distance as the fence would allow. When he was in line with where the hole must have been, he cracked the stick, the green glow growing quickly around him and illuminating those pokies closest to him. He began yelling, not loudly, just noticeably, and slowly those at the outer edge turned, the others following suit, and the mass of what used to be humans, men and women, all races, creeds, and ethnicities, all began groaning and following the stimulus. She watched until she knew that the green was on the other side of the fence then she turned and made her way back to the front of the building.

  Inside was quiet. Black and quiet. Lotus cracked a glow stick of her own then let her sense of direction take her to the door that led to the staircase downstairs. It was here that she saw the only guard she’d come into contact with since arriving here. He was a very dark-skinned man, his head bald under a sweat stained green cap. He looked at her with pistol in his hand, but he didn’t raise it. Lo paid the same respect, but she had the .38 ready.

  “Your boss is dead,” she said flatly. “I stuck a blade in him from one ear to the other. The basement is covered with the infected. Everybody else is gone. Are you going to give me any problems?”

  He looked up at her with bloodshot eyes, his gun hand shaking ever so slightly but enough to notice. He looked at her with a painful look, pleading.

  “Where do I go from here?” He asked in a voice too loud.

  “I don’t care,” Lo said motioning with the barrel of her own pistol. “Just stay away from me.”

  With a nod of the head, he made his way to the door. Lotus watched until he disappeared into the night then made her way through her own door, the one that led downstairs.

  Lo stopped long enough to pull her hair back. Using a rubber band, she got it out of the way as best she could, the inevitable clump falling over her cheek, then made her way through the door. The body of a beautiful blond-haired girl stopped her in her tracks. Lotus knelt down on the balls of her feet and put her hand on the cheek of this girl, this thing of beauty, and spent a minute taking in the situation. A machete buried three of four inches into her skull longwise held her head up at an angle, and the woman placed her hand on the grip in order to pull it free, but she quickly thought better of it. The force required would have probably been too much for her had she been well, and she was far from that even packed full of pain killers. Lo kept her hand on the cold cheek instead and looked into her stunning eyes, even now, the color of polished jade in the morning sun. She looked into them, at her hair and thought of the waste of it all. There was waste before and waste now. What was there to set a precedent of what was necessary? Cillian would be destroyed by this. Would he ever be able to get past it all now? It was the shuffling of the feet that pulled her eyes away, the human whimper that really got her attention.

  Walking silently, Lo made her way down the stairs with firm grip on the .38 in one hand, the morbid glow of the plastic stick in the other. She looked at the loaded wall of guns, ammo, and supplies then followed the whimper from the line of cages against the wall. Three pokies still stood at the last cage, their arms extended past the bars. There was a girl crouched at the opposite end of the cage that had held her for so long against her will but was now her salvation. The child had moved past fear. She was in shock to the point of just staring at the hands that groped at her, to squeeze the life out of her. Stared at them like butterflies on a spring day. Lo looked and raised her gun then thought better of it, not wanting to reverse all the progress Cillian had made by leading the mob away. Quickly she thought of how to handle the pokies around the girl, and with catlike movement, she seemed to hover to the door, pushing it closed in order to block the noise of killing the three remaining. It was the growl from just outside the door that took her attention away from her plan. That was the growl of something she’d heard before at the rear of the pizzeria, the sound of pure rage. Looking to lock the door, Lotus hissed a curse when she saw it could only be locked with a key then came time for breathing and not panicking. With a long, steady breath, she looked at the wall, looked for anything that could be used against what she knew would be coming, and when she saw it, her fingers latched around the strap attached to the military grade night vision goggles that hung from the nail on the wall and tossed the glowing stick at the door as soon as she could, backing to the foot of the stairs while she pulled the night vision goggles on, praying that they’d been hung on that nail with charged batteries, ready to go at a moment’s notice. When the high-pitched whine of the unit clicked on under her searching finger, and the green view of the world came on in her display, she breathed a sigh of relief, but the feeling was short lived. Lo watched with draining confidence as the handle on the door first jiggled then turned down much like the expression on her face. The hinges creaked ever so slightly with its opening, and she looked on with horror as the spazzo’s silhouette outlined the frame of the door it had just opened on its own. It stepped inside like a suitor come calling, what used to be a fat man, morbidly obese to the point he’d probably ridden motorized carts around the grocery store. He moved like water now, like a goddamn ninja. It tilted its head back and sniffed at the air then took its first steps inside into the glow of the stick Lotus had thrown to the ground. She watched from what security she had in the darkness as it looked around in the glow, trying to find what it was it was looking for, this thing that just changed the game by turning a doorknob.

  Squeezing the wooden grip of her trusty .38, Lotus couldn’t help but think back to the pizzeria. Ben emptied a clip into the spazzo that chased him, and it wouldn’t stop. A head shot would do it, something that would stop its life. She couldn’t rely on shooting it in the body and it being shocked and scared of its own mortality like a person. It wouldn’t feel that. The bullet would have to end its life, whatever life it had. She knew how the world worked. An animated body had to have life to move. These were not the dead come back to life. They were infected, filled with rage and hunger as far as she could tell. There had to be blood flowing through the veins, had to be a heart pumping it. There had to be a brain controlling it all, the nerve center. This thing might not have the first clue what it was thinking. Maybe all it saw was white as far as Lotus knew, but there was something going on in the head, something controlling it. This wasn’t a corpse walking around, rotting until there wasn’t enough left of it to move. It needed nourishment. It ate. It defecated on itself. They were nasty, filthy, disgusting, violent, beyond dangerous, but they were alive. Perhaps not enough to be a she or he anymore, a her or him, but it was alive enough to be an it, something that could take the life of something else, and if Lotus had to keep these thoughts at the forefront of her consciousness every time she saw one so she could maintain her sanity then so be it. They were alive, and they could be killed. Between her and this thing in front of her, only one of them had a gun, and she took comfort in that. But when her foot slid across the dirt on the floor to alleviate the pain in her knee, these thoughts left her because the sound it made drew the attention of everything in the room.

  Even the girl in the cell turned her head, her hands over her mouth in what looked to be a painful effort to make no noise. Even with the little light she had, the girl knew what was in the room with them. Past the spazzo, Lo could see the outlines of pokies beyond in the yard. Cillian was leading them away, but there were so many. The three pokies around the cell still kept up their futile efforts of reaching for the girl. The spazzo paid them no attention. It looked dead at Lotus, or in the direction it heard the noise at least. There wasn’t enough light for it to really be able to see her. She hoped. As it stepped forward, nose going back and forth throug
h the air with sporadic sniffing sounds, Lo weighed her options. If she shot it while it was unaware of her, right now, she would get it in the head, dead in its place, but she would attract the three pokies at the cage along with the countless others outside, leaving her no time to get the girl from the cell. No, a gunshot would kill the girl. She knew that. She would have to kill this spazzo some other way. She would have to kill it up close and personal.

  The night vision goggles gave her an advantage for now. She needed something, anything to use as a weapon, something that could kill quickly and silently. Another step. The fact that this thing seemed to be cautious filled Lo with a new dread. How much was it thinking exactly? She had no time to figure it out now. Hanging on the wall were guns, night vision goggles, and tools. Among the tools was a crow bar, which crossed her mind for a second, but she was far from one hundred percent physically, and even if she were, she didn’t know if she was capable of bludgeoning a spazzo. There was a box cutter, a row of screwdrivers, a five-gallon bucket of nails, hammers. She stopped. One of the hammers was what she had in mind. It lay on its side on the counter above the bucket of nails, a big daddy, twenty-four-ounce claw hammer. That would do it. That claw would slide into its head like rotted wood. Lo turned back then to see that the spazzo had moved forward, no more than ten feet from her.

  There was a clang of metal, one of the pokies at the cell bars, and Lotus was hopeful if just for a moment that it would draw the spazzo away. It didn’t. She sucked in a deep breath and held it, waiting to see what it would do next. Her knees hurt. Her skin hurt. She felt terrible, the painkillers giving her just enough to stay upright. With another step, breath still held, Lotus knew that it was too close for her to do anything. She didn’t want to use the gun. She couldn’t, but just a couple more steps, and she’d have no choice. Then it dawned on her.