by Radke, K. E.
Pulling the knife from the ghoul’s head, Lincoln handed it back to his mom, “I need to clean and patch up the stab wound you gave me.” He pointed to the nail file still stuck in his arm. Wet, infected blood was smeared across his arm and he immediately held it out to his side terrified he had the virus.
“Don’t be a pussy Peter. It’s just a nail file,” she spit heinously and ripped it out of his arm watching him wince. Instead of throwing it on the floor, she pocketed the tiny weapon, and reveled in his horrified expression.
Lincoln tried to stay calm as his own blood trickled down his arm. He snarled at his mother losing his temper, “It’s an open wound! We’re surrounded by infected cannibals, and their blood is all over me. I could turn into one of those things!” He tried to keep his voice down, but frustration leaked into every word. Questions and paranoia bombarded him as he swiftly backtracked into his mother’s room and tried the tap.
The flowing water diluted red as he carefully washed his exposed skin. His hands shook as he examined them for the first sign of the disease. In a matter of hours, he’d know for sure. He leaned over the sink with his head down for a few seconds.
“What are you doing?” Gloria’s voice startled Lincoln in the tiny bathroom. “Rub one out on your own time! Stop wasting daylight and take me to my son. If anything happens to him—,” she stifled the threat begging to be unleashed.
Noah was behind her and stared at the knife in her hand. He made eye contact with Lincoln and silently mouthed, is that a good idea? An oversized band-aid was thrust at Lincoln that would keep the cut clean. Slapping it on, Lincoln eyes fell to the knife in his mom’s hand and she tightened her grip on it. “Try and take if from me,” she said fiercely. Nothing would convince her to relinquish the weapon now. He just had to hope the knife ended up in a cannibal—and not in his back.
Ignoring her threat, he changed the subject, “Lincoln was with Denise the last time I saw him. All we have to do is meet up.” He took a wild guess which time period her mind was living in.
Her mouth dropped open in disbelief and she threw her arms in the air. Lincoln leaned away from the sharp knife. “That’s even worse! You know how he is with girls.”
“Mo—Gloria, he’ll be fine,” he tried to assure her.
“Who’s Denise?” Noah muttered with raised, questioning eyebrows. While they bickered back and forth, he took the time to wash the blood off his face and arms.
“Does it matter?” Lincoln said irritated. “Let’s move, Noah keep an eye out for a wheelchair, and meds.” He slightly cocked his head toward his mom to signal who the meds were for.
Back in the corridor they treaded carefully around the bodies and limbs spread across the ground. Every squelching step mixed with the rancid smell had Lincoln’s stomach threatening to revolt. Checking every turn, they came across two rotten stragglers in the transition hallway that Noah was more than happy to take care of with his machete.
Out in the open crossing the giant living area, everyone kept their eyes peeled for movement. Lincoln spotted an orderly moping around with its back to them surrounded by several flesh-eating residents near the staircase in the middle of the room.
Half a body slid across the floor, skidding loudly with each pull of its arms. Entrails hanging out of the torso left a bloody path like bread crumbs.
“How is that even possible?” Gloria whispered to herself. Her hand landed on Lincoln’s upper arm like she was trying to get his attention to witness the unbelievable sight. It only took a few seconds before she realized what she was doing and jerked her hand back, horrified she’d touched him.
The orderly staggered around with clumped, bloody hair swinging around its head. Lincoln planned to snake around it but halted the second it noticed them. At least forty knitting needles were lodged randomly all over his body. Only one arm was functional, the other was bent in the wrong direction at the elbow. A giant hole gaped from his shoulder with a wooden cross wedged deep inside of the wound.
“Remind me never to interrupt a woman while she’s knitting,” Lincoln said astounded.
“It’s a human porcupine,” Noah muttered under his breath chuckling. “En garde!” He said too loudly with a British accent and became the center of attention.
“If you make a mess, you’re fishing for the ID badge,” Lincoln made that clear while Noah swiped through the air at nothing before he sliced the ghoul’s arm off. Gloria and Lincoln kept their distance as Noah dispatched the first of three cannibals searching for lunch.
He swirled around pretending to fence and let the other two walking corpses get too close for comfort in Lincoln’s opinion, and proved his point when Noah slipped in a puddle of blood landing flat on his back. The machete skidded across the floor and all the air in his lungs escaped in one wheezing exhale. Not even a scream could rip from his lungs as the last two ghouls gazed down at him. Black hands twisted his clothes around their fingers while he tried to push them away.
One ghoul’s grip loosened instantly, and Noah saw a single bullet hole in its head. The second had a matching bullet hole and fell on top of him. Pushing off the bodies, Noah glanced up at Lincoln smirking while Gloria pulled her knife out of the head of the half-body corpse sliding across the floor.
With swagger in his step, Lincoln picked the machete off the floor and handed it to Noah.
“See about that badge on the orderly. We need it to get into the nurse’s station upstairs,” Lincoln paused for a second. “I really wish I could have gotten that on video.”
“This never happened,” Noah said grimacing, back on his feet. He gazed at the human pincushion. Some of the knitting needles had made their way through the body and ripped through the scrubs.
He flipped the body over and snatched the attached ID badge off its pocket and held it up triumphantly. Up the stairs, Lincoln led the way turning right and stopped in front of a locked door with a sign labeling it the nurse’s station.
Lincoln knocked on the door first and they all listened silently for signs of something on the other side. After a few minutes, Noah swiped the card and twisted the handle gaining access to the room. Lincoln aimed his Glock 17 at the door ready to fire as Noah shoved the it open.
Over the threshold, Lincoln and Noah both carefully checked the room finding it empty of threats.
Gloria’s voice broke the silence still standing outside in the corridor. “Why can’t I remember how I got here? Or why I’m here. What kind of facility is this?” Her questions came frantically one after another. Not able to keep her anxiety at bay any longer, her thoughts spun out of control. Everything she witnessed stopped computing with reality and she felt like she was in the middle of a horror movie—or an extensive joke someone spent way too much time on.
Then her eyes narrowed suspiciously landing on Lincoln and she spat coldly, “What did you do to me Peter?” She held the knife in front of her ready to use it.
Lincoln and Noah glanced at each other tentatively before staring at the knife in her hand. Simultaneously they both held out their hands in front of them defensively.
Noah suddenly blurted out, “If we were going to leave you here to die—would we be here now?”
Gloria’s attention fell on Noah as she thought about his reasoning and slowly lowered the knife. “Why am I here then?”
Noah’s eyes bounced to Lincoln for help, but the man nodded his head at Gloria, encouraging Noah to finish his story. “You hit your head, and—um Lincoln was on your emergency call list, and he called Peter to come get you.”
“Lincoln called you to come get me?” Gloria questioned derisively not believing a word Noah said.
“The dead are walking—do you think he can call anyone else?” Lincoln added. “Half the population is gone. I was the only one who answered.”
Still staring at them skeptically Lincoln pretended not to care mimicking his father. “Believe what you want. You can either come with us or stay here.”
He turned his back on her and started to rummage thr
ough all the cabinets in the shelving unit to his left. Pulling out supplies and laying them out on the counter, he took a minute to tear off the band-aid and cleanse his arm with alcohol. Noah was left to spin a believable tale for his mother.
Another huge band-aid replaced the first one to keep the elements out of his small cut. His fingertips brushed over it to make sure it was sealed tightly to his skin. Noah caught him staring at his fingertips.
“Everything good?” Noah asked.
“If I—.”
“You don’t even have to ask,” Noah brushed him off. “A bullet between the eyes—unless you prefer the machete?” Noah grinned playfully.
“I hope I bite you if it does happen,” Lincoln grumbled frowning before he continued his search for medical supplies.
“Not a problem, I’ll kill both of you,” Gloria chimed in happily leaning against the closed door.
Perusing the drawers, he found syringes and the drug haloperidol. He glanced at his mother from the corner of his eye. Eventually he’d have to use it to inject his mom—on one of her bad days.
“You mind if I eat that?” his mom asked in her nicest voice ogling the food he’d taken out while rearranging the contents of his pack in order to include the medicine, syringes and bandages. Lincoln opened the MRE and set a water bottle next to it.
“Any room in your pack for meds?” Lincoln asked Noah while his mother was preoccupied.
Setting his down, Noah said absentmindedly, “Stuff it in there if it’ll fit.”
Cautiously treading deeper into the nurse’s station, Noah glanced in all the nooks and crannies and hoped to find a wheelchair. Shelves were full of medical machines and boxes with gowns, gloves and office supplies. Skirting a table where Gloria was eating, he took his Kimber 1911 out of its holster and faced a closed door.
He twisted the knob quietly and swung the door open, roughly getting a peek inside before it slammed shut again rebounding off the wall. Clearly it was a storage closet, and he saw no signs of rotting flesh, but he waited a few minutes listening behind the protection of the closed door before opening it again.
Noah scanned all the cleaning equipment and tools in the small space. More shelves were braced along one wall and he started sorting through all the items after he made sure nothing lurked in the shadows. At the end of the shelf in a tiny nook were four wheelchairs folded up leaning against it.
Lugging one out of the closet, he rolled it into the main room where Lincoln and Gloria were both waiting on him. Against the counter, Lincoln had both packs zipped and ready. He nodded in approval at the wheelchair, but it didn’t shake the grim expression from his face.
“What’s wrong?” Noah asked.
“Don’t worry about him. That’s just the way his face looks,” Gloria explained with a smirk she couldn’t hide, obviously in a better mood after eating.
“We need to get Phoebe’s pack. For her,” Lincoln nodded to his mother. “And I don’t know if she’s healthy enough to travel the distance we need to go.”
Feigning shock Gloria’s voice chimed like a sweet southern belle, “Worried about little ole me with your princess around?”
“There’s three more wheelchairs in the storage closet,” Noah admitted shrugging at the solution.
Lincoln’s face lit up, then immediately fell again. She would never agree to roll around in a wheelchair when she has two legs that work. The disease has convinced her she’s much younger than she truly is.
“Gloria will you sit in a wheelchair?” Lincoln asked his mom almost in a pleading tone.
“I’m not weak Peter!” she snarled.
“But you have been in a hospital bed for a really long time, and your muscles are weaker than normal,” Noah argued politely.
“I want to punch you every time you open up your pie-hole,” Gloria said icily with a finger pointed in Noah’s direction.
Lincoln burst out laughing at Noah’s ‘what the fuck’ expression. His eyes locked on Gloria’s with a corrupted sneer on his face. If he wanted her to cooperate, he’d have to play the part. Tension rose with the deafening silence, neither of them willing to break their hard stares and back down. Noah’s gaze bounced between them waiting for someone to submit.
In a quiet, calm voice, Lincoln began in a tone that said he would not negotiate, “You will cooperate and sit in the wheelchair or I will leave you here and you will never see Lincoln again. I will personally feed you to the cannibals and watch them rip your face off and eat it.”
Scoffing with narrowed eyes full of hatred, Gloria placed her arms over her chest, “Talk to me like that again, and see what happens.”
“Noah,” Lincoln said still staring at his mother. “We’re leaving. The only way out of this room for her, is in that goddamn wheelchair.”
Lincoln fastened on his pack guarding the only exit. Noah followed his lead and gestured to the wheelchair when Gloria didn’t budge.
Pushing her further back into the room and swiping the knife out of her hands, Lincoln held her hostage, so Noah could exit without interference. He peeked through the door checking the area.
Gloria wrestled against Lincoln trying to bully her way out of his hold until she was panting from exertion. “Peter! You cannot keep me here. I need to find Lincoln.” A flash of desperation cracked through her cold demeanor for a moment, but her voice didn’t betray the fear paralyzing her from being jilted without her son. Lincoln did not say another word because his father never repeated himself.
Noah’s fingers drummed against the wheelchair ready to go. Giving her one last chance, he shrugged his shoulders and said indifferently, “You heard the man.”
Gloria’s gaze fled to the wheelchair and back to Lincoln. He was physically stronger than her and she had nothing to kill him with. She stared straight into his eyes with murderous intent and let him silently know she’d remember this moment in the near future. Swallowing her pride in order to see her son again, she relented to his demand and disgruntledly sat in the wheelchair.
Noah gave a thumbs up to Lincoln behind her back and silently thanked the almighty for her cooperation. He allowed Lincoln the honor of pushing his mother and set off for another wheelchair from the storage closet.
In the empty hallway before they trekked downstairs Lincoln growled at his mother before she opened her mouth, “Not. A. Fucking. Word.”
The woman sneered as she stood up and easily made her way down the staircase while the men dragged the wheelchairs with them.
Noah whispered to Lincoln, “I don’t know if I should idolize or hit you over the head for cussing at your mom. If I did that shit my mom would whoop my ass till I bled to death. My tombstone would say ‘died by chaunkla’.”
Vigilantly examining the area over the banister for ghouls, Lincoln replied absently, “A sandal cannot kill you.”
Noah shook his head and continued down the stairs, “You’re never meeting my mom.”
A little offended by the abrupt statement Lincoln asked, “Why not?”
“Because you say stupid shit like that,” Noah explained and rolled his eyes. His mother would take Lincoln’s statement as a personal challenge.
Gloria pounded down the stairs beating both men to the ground floor. No idea where they were headed, she waited impatiently. As soon as they joined her, Noah unfolded the wheelchair and made a grand gesture with a wave of his hand to claim her spot. Lincoln tried to keep his smirk hidden when she sat down without arguing.
Using the wheelchair as a shield Lincoln navigated the group back to the corridor where Wyatt waited for their return. Down the main hall an old chomper rasped and grunted on all fours in front of them. Its head slowly rotated toward their footsteps and before anyone could object, Gloria swiftly stole the knife from Noah’s belt, hopped up from her seat and stabbed it in the head.
Lincoln exhaled slowly at her rash action. With all the dead bodies and debris in the hall, they carried the wheelchairs and left them outside the room. Tallying up the supplies in hi
s pack, he decided to tackle one last problem before they left, and secretly glanced at his mother before barging into Wyatt’s sanctuary.
Wyatt’s head popped up from behind the bed and Lincoln stared down the barrel of his H&K. Both sighed in relief as everyone slipped through the door. Immediately Wyatt’s eyes fell on Gloria and his eyes bounced between Lincoln and her as they narrowed with suspicion.
“Who are you looking at with those beady eyes?” Gloria questioned Wyatt roughly and crossed her arms over her chest. She had to admit this one was pretty, better looking than the small, bald one.
Lincoln checked the AK and his Glock 17 before announcing with authority, “I need to get Phoebe’s pack from the front. Everyone stay here.”
“Never go alone,” Gloria piped up. “Number one rule of survival.”
She said it out of habit. The rule had been ingrained in her by Lincoln. Everyone stared at her silently.
“If I could trust you to behave with Wyatt, I’d take Noah. But I can’t, so Noah will have to stay here. I’ll be right back,” Lincoln explained with an irritated edge.
“He chose the best option boys. Me. You two stay here while Peter and I handle it,” Gloria said the words sharply and dared someone to challenge her.
Lincoln disagreed roughly, “You’re staying here.”
“You can say it as many times as you want. Doesn’t make it true,” she said smugly.
Wyatt crawled out in the open and tried to follow the conversation.
Noah rubbed his temples tired of all the bickering and suggested, “Just take her with you. Maybe it’ll give you some time to bond.” He shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal and hoped Lincoln didn’t see how desperate he was to get rid of both of them.
“I’ll let him bond with my knife,” Gloria scoffed lowly and pushed her way out the door before anyone could stop her.
Shuffling between his pack and guns, Lincoln panicked calling out, “Mom!” The door slammed behind him as he rushed after her.
“What the fuck was that about?” Wyatt blurted out as soon as they were gone.
“I kind of forced Lincoln to go see his mom—which I thought for sure she had died. I mean look at the place—anyway it turns out she’s fucking alive and she hates his dad.”