by Burgy, P. J.
She moved the shelf just a little to get a view of the street, lifting it from the floor to make as little noise as possible. It was hard to see in the dark, but the moonlight was bright and the figure that was moving along caught her attention immediately. Coming from Kara’s left, shambling on unsteady feet along the pavement between the abandoned cars, a human shape. It called out again.
“Help. Help me.”
That woman out there would attract the Wailers for sure, if they weren't already swarming toward the sound of her call, killing herself and putting Kara in danger. For a second, she considered letting the woman carry on in the hopes that she'd lead them away perhaps, if the woman got far enough away before the things descended on her.
It took a few seconds of hard deliberation, the images of a few different Pleasant Tree women, familiar but unnamed, passing through her mind. She imagined a mother with her children, the woman's eyes meeting hers as her smile faded, her children pausing to turn to Kara as well.
Or perhaps she was a Brethren brood wife, escaped from her captors. Out of the frying pan and into the fire...
She bit her bottom lip, looking away from the window, and then grunted to herself. Taking out her flashlight, she flipped it to red and went to the front door, unlocking it. Opening the door with such a care that her shoulders and arms ached from how tense she was, Kara shined her light out into the street and onto the woman.
The woman had long, disheveled dark hair and her clothing looked tattered. She was barefoot, arms hanging at her sides. When the woman called out again for help, Kara hissed at her.
“Shh! Hey! Hey, over here,” Kara whispered sharply.
The woman stopped.
“Come over here. Hey,” Kara whispered.
Trap growled behind her.
As the woman turned toward Kara, the red light spread across her face. Her chin was coated in black, her eyes dark with broken blood vessels, oddly aware. Kara was frozen in that moment, staring at the woman, the woman staring at her. But it wasn’t a woman. It may have furrowed its brows and looked at her like there was thought behind those eyes, but it wasn’t even human. The thing opened its mouth and a loud, howling wail came of it. It came running at the shop in a flurry of spastic movement.
She shut the door, locking it just as the Wailer slammed against the building. Backing up, she stumbled and grabbed for her backpack, putting it on and looking around for an escape route. There was none; she was trapped inside. Trap growled louder, beginning to bark. Another wail from outside. Then another. The thing was bashing at the door over and over, shards of wood beginning to splinter along the center. She kept the red light on, and frantically shined it around as she looked for a place to hide.
She turned when she heard crunching glass, and saw that a different Wailer was trying to get in through the windows, its long, powerful arm reaching in and flailing. The hand had long, darkened fingernails, and it was attempting to dig those talons into anything it could, anything close enough. It knocked the shelf away, exposing more window and Kara saw its face and its opened jaws. They moved so unnaturally, their bodies twisting in jerky, twitchy bursts. She flipped her light to the UV lens and saw it retreat, shrieking, only to resume bashing at the door. She could have stood there for the rest of the night, holding her flashlight aimed at the window. She thought about it briefly, only to change her mind as crashing sounded from above.
They were going to get in, they were trying to get to her any way that they could. If it wasn't through the window, it would be through the door, or from somewhere, anywhere else. The battery in her flashlight would likely die before dawn after so many hours of use, and swapping to a new battery would take precious seconds she didn't have.
Abandoning her post guarding the window, she grabbed at Trap, picking him up, and dove behind the counter. He shook like a leaf, and she pushed him back into the corner. She put on her mask and unsheathed her machete, getting ready to come around and fight for her life. That was when she heard a wet crack and a sharp shriek.
Kara peered over the counter top and saw that the door was still intact. The Wailer trying to get in through the missing section of glass was grasping the shelf and then it was gone, pulled back into the night, its expression surprised. Another wet crack and a guttural groan.
She was unsure of what to do, afraid to move out into the open, but the compulsion to investigate was too strong to resist. It was too quiet too suddenly.
UV light still glowing, she trained the flashlight ahead, toward the front of the shop, and she slowly moved forward. Behind her, she could hear Trap snarling. She watched her footing, stepping over to the door, the center bashed in toward her.
She took in a soft breath and reached for the doorknob, unlocking it first. Just as her fingers brushed the cool metal knob, the door flew open, away from her, and a tall, dark figure stood before her. She almost gasped, but she clenched her jaw tight reflexively. Man shaped, tall, wide in the shoulders, wearing all black, his dual filter gas mask hiding his face entirely, the dark visor reflecting back the purple of her flashlight. In his gloved hand he was holding a crowbar, gleaming with wet gunk. She took a step back, staring at him.
Kara realized that she’d been holding her machete in an offensive posture, like she was about to strike him, and she lowered the blade.
In a low, husky voice, the man spoke, “UV off. Now.”
“What?”
“UV off. Do you have red?”
“I do, yes.” She switched to red. “But-”
“Follow me.”
“Who are-”
“I said follow me,” he repeated, turning to walk down the steps. “More are coming.”
As if to agree with him, a Wailer cried out somewhere in the night. She turned back, searching for Trap with the flashlight and calling to him. The dog did not come out from behind the counter, forcing Kara to run over and grab the scruff of his neck. “Come on. Come on.”
He walked back into the doorway. “What are you doing? Come with me.”
She turned toward the figure. “I can’t leave him.”
The man’s tone was acidic. “If you don’t move now, you’ll die. Come on.”
“Dammit.” Kara let go of Trap, the dog actively pushing away and growling, digging his paws into the carpet as he resisted being pulled out into the shop. She frowned behind her mask and made for the door, sprinting hard. As soon as she reached the steps, the man was stalking off into the street. She aimed her red flashlight at him, keeping him in her sights. The two Wailer corpses were left splayed out, their skulls bashed in by the look of them. Kara ran down the steps to catch up with him, as he was a good ten feet ahead. She rushed at him, speaking in a hushed tone. “Where are we going?”
“Quiet!” He hissed at her and began to pick up his speed.
She pushed forward and matched his pace, coming up beside him as he walked around a car and paused. When he stopped, she stopped. He was looking around, judging by the way he moved, and he nodded before proceeding forward. His navigating in the darkness without a light astounded her, and she wondered if he had night vision goggles built into his gas mask visor. Whatever his methods, the man was fast, graceful, and when he sprinted, she sprinted.
The red light only traveled so far, Kara trying in vain to get an idea of where they were going. She didn’t recognize the alley they were running down, or the new, smaller side street he was leading her along. The overgrowth of plants was remarkable here, and there were a few bigger cracks in the asphalt that might have swallowed her up had she not been looking.
Keeping the light on him was becoming increasingly difficult as he kept rushing ahead. In her effort to watch her footing, she was losing ground behind him. He seemed to sense it and paused briefly, glancing back with that dark visor before running down another alley.
She jumped over a puddle and swerved around piles of trash. She made it her goal to keep him within ten feet, and she charged forward, her red flashlight scanning ahead whil
e she tried to keep him in her sights. He stopped at the side of a building, near a metal door, and she came up to his side, slowing to a halt. The man opened the door and waved her in.
She ducked inside and observed that it was the base of a stairwell leading up, an old soda machine sat rusting nearby. The smell here was horrid, sickly sweet. Kara squinted behind her mask. As he neared her, she realized that the stink was coming from the stranger. Some of that Wailer bile must have gotten on him earlier.
He pulled the door closed behind them and then went up the first flight, she following after. At the next landing, he stopped, and dug around inside of his pockets. Then, to her surprise, he lit a little candle and held it up. Now, she was able to make out what he looked like much better than outside in the red light. He was taller than her by at least a foot, she wagered, wearing a black zip-up sweater with the hood up. The strange man was wearing a double-filter gas mask, also black, the visor so dark that she couldn’t see through it. His gloves were thick, the utility gloves of a laborer, his jeans dark and tight fitting. The boots he wore were tall and heavy, made of a dull black leather.
He placed the bloody crowbar he’d been carrying in the corner of the landing and then stepped away, toward the next flight up. Kara turned off her flashlight, putting it away and then sheathed her machete while he watched.
“Come on. Hurry,” he said, and then went up the next flight.
“Who are you?” She asked, her whisper echoing in the stairwell as she hustled to catch up to him.
“This is a bad place for questions. Come on.” He continued walking ahead of her and Kara followed after him, watching her footing. As if he had sensed her caution, the man stopped at the top of the next flight and turned to look down at her as she approached. “Step lightly. Fast. But lightly.”
“I am,” she hissed, her voice low.
He tilted his head at her and then continued on, upward, holding the little candle in such a way that the flame wasn’t snuffed out by the speed at which he moved. Kara was impressed that he hadn’t accidentally thrown them into complete darkness yet. She followed the little light, finding him hard to see in the shadows of the stairwell.
She reached the next landing with him and he opened a heavy, metal door leading out of the stairwell. She guessed that they were about ten stories up, another two or three stories still above them. She stepped into the hall on the other side and waited as he shut the door behind them, looking down the corridor as far as the little candle would allow. The light moved as he did, and she heard him sliding metal against metal. She glanced back and saw him sliding a pole through the door handle, through another round latch that had been bolted into the wall beside the door frame.
She frowned. “That thing called for help.”
“Yes, it did,” he said.
“They can’t talk.”
“Oh?”
“Won’t they see the light?” she whispered.
“No, not in here. There aren’t any windows,” he replied. “We’re almost there.”
“Do you live here?”
“Yes. Come on.” He beckoned her onward, turning left to skulk down the corridor. The man didn’t bother to turn around to see if she were following, and went on for about thirty feet before they reached a thick wire mesh fence with bars and poles. It was a barred door, heavy and thick, with rows of latches and sliding locks. “Hold this.”
It surprised her when he handed the candle to her. She took it, waiting and watching as he unhooked the various locks and mechanisms. One lock required a key, which he produced from his pocket. She studied the blockade, not sure what she was looking at for a few moments. Someone, perhaps this strange man, had built this. Someone had gathered the metal fencing from between businesses, from school yards, somehow removed them or cut them from the ground, dragged them up ten flights of steps, gotten the fencing and poles through the little metal door at the end of the corridor, and welded it all together, complete with a barred, metal door in the dead center.
The longer she looked at the mass of wire and steel, the more impressive it became. It wasn’t a single layer, there were multiple layers of fencing, bolted into the floor, extending high into the drop ceiling into the structure of the building itself. Poles were secured with bars, welded fast to more bars, wrapped in something shining and sharp, razor wire. She felt a sudden rush of relief that she hadn’t reached out in curiosity to touch the blockade.
He finished opening the door and let her pass, following after and locking it behind himself. It took just as long to lock the door as it had to unlock it and she stood there watching as he secured the blockade. Nervousness made her throat dry as she realized that wherever they were, he was locking her in. Her savior or not, she was now locked in a dark building with him with no idea where he was taking her.
Kara considered the alternative and accepted her fate. Whatever happened, happened.
He crouched to work on the bottom latches when she turned and sent the soft light from the little dancing flame toward corridor they would traveling through next. It looked exactly like the one they had just left, as it was a continuation of the same hall. Suddenly, she remembered that he wasn’t done with the locks yet and spun to return the light to him. He was standing right next to her and the flame of the candle reflected brightly off of the dark visor he wore. Kara, startled, moved back and then shook her head.
“We’re here,” he told her.
“Where is here?”
He stalked away, disappearing into the darkness outside of the reach of the little candle, forcing her to follow after. She didn’t have far to go, as he had stopped at a door on the right and was unlocking it with another key. As she neared, she saw the remnants of a number and letter on the front of the door. ‘10C’. He pushed the door open and the shadows within pulled on the little flame for just a moment.
The first thing that struck her was the smell, stronger inside. She had gotten a whiff of it just before, but not that the door was open, it was overpowering. Musky and suffocating incense mixed with the sweet and nauseating stink of the Infected. He turned, nodding to her.
She slowly walked in, holding the candle carefully as she used it to guide her way. It was a living space, that was for sure, and she checked the worn carpet floor for obstacles. As she stood there, about five feet from the door, she heard him shut and lock it behind her. Kara felt her pulse quicken, but remained calm, holding the candle out and sweeping the light slowly around to get a look at her surroundings. She could see the shape of a couch, a bed, blankets and clothing in piles on the floor, a desk, milk crates, and a lumpy object she could not identify.
She heard a rough snap, heard the soft crackle of another flame, another source of light appearing from behind her as he lit a match. The strange man passed her by, went to a desk and lit a larger candle. Kara fought the urge to cover her mouth and nose, the smell strong and burning her sinuses.
Of course, he had to cover his scent here, didn’t he? He was fresh meat in the middle of a city that the horde had overrun decades ago, and she doubted that he opened the windows that often to air the place out. She watched him light another candle, this one on top of a book shelf. Kara found herself distracted from the smell, her eyes widening at the sight of all of the books. Books and books and books, stacked high, stacked in short piles.
She looked around the apartment and saw that some of the shapes she had been unable to identify were just more piles of books. There was a red beanbag chair near the beat up mattress in the far right corner, multiple three foot stacks of different sized books lining the wall. Pants, shirts, undershirts, all manner of clothing, hung over the back of the couch, on the cushions, on the bed, or were strewn about on the floor. The windows had been covered up with many, many layers of black tape.
She saw posters tacked up on every bit of wall surface, their images becoming clearer as the man lit another two candles. She stepped over a book on the floor, blew out her little candle, and approached one of the
posters. The image was of a woman carrying a small child in one arm, a flamethrower in the other, and staring off toward some unseen entity. The woman was surrounded by huge pods, and looked displeased to be there. Another poster was covering the top, tacked above the flamethrower woman, and she studied the image of a very attractive young lady posing on the beach in her underwear, some text on the right side urging her to ‘Let loose this summer’.
Kara took off her mask, attaching it to her belt.
“Wow,” she said. “Nice place. Kinda messy, smells bad. But nice.”
“I don’t remember asking you for your assessment, but thank you,” he muttered.
“The smell keeps the Infected away, right?” she asked.
He didn’t reply.
She shook her head. “I’m sorry. That was rude of me.”
He lit incense and she watched him from the corner of her eye. She saw him place the burner on the desk near the bed, lingering near her briefly before taking a seat on his couch, one booted foot on the cushion as he settled into the corner and utilized the armrest. The strange man had not removed his gas mask and she eyed him.
“Thank you for saving my life.”
He made a sound in his throat. “Mm.”
“I can't pay you. I don't have anything to trade, but-” Kara began to unfasten her belt, giving him a quick nod as she clenched her jaw.
“Stop. What are you doing?” He moved to the edge of the couch, gloved palm out. “No. No, you don't need to do that. Stop. I didn't help you for that.”
“Oh.” Kara blinked, fastening her belt again. Her eyes studied his floor.
He leaned back, clearing his throat and shaking his head.
She gestured toward her own face. “You can take that off. I’m not Infected.”
“I will leave it on. It’s better to be safe.”
“Suit yourself.” She shrugged and placed her spent little candle on the same desk he had placed the incense on. She noted the folded pair of reading glasses on top of a book. “But you’d know if I was.”