We all laughed when Marcus, with typical Boston / New York rivalry, said, “Man! I ain’t visiting New York City ever again! New Yorkers were bad enough; now we got to deal with freaking radioactive, zombie New Yorkers! Peace the fuck out!”
Connor said, “Marcus, watch your language in front of the ladies! Thanks, Ash, that makes me feel as good as I can for now.”
“You’re welcome Connor, how are you doing, you too Marcus? Don’t worry about the swearing Connor; my Dad and brother are both ex-military, foul language is an installed upgrade for them.”
Laughing, he says, “I feel fine, I’m just really bored.”
Marcus adds, “Me too, right as rain in here. I’m glad I have my tablet though. I can keep busy playing some games.”
“How much time do they have left?” I ask Nikki.
“Just under an hour and a half,” she replied, getting stereoscopic groans from the bored men in return.
“Gentlemen, you know the rules, you’ll be free soon enough.” said Martin, receiving a “Yes sir” from both.
18
Martin explains, “Ashleigh and I are going get some weapons and supplies I left in my vehicle and to see if we can find any more survivors.”
Seeing the fear and apprehension on Nikki’s face, he continued, “Don’t worry my Dear, you know I’m former SAS, and Ashleigh comes from a military family, she knows how to take care of herself. We will be as quiet as mice in slippers.”
Stopping Martin in the hall, “Thank you for not saying anything, I appreciate it.”
He replies, “Nikki knows something is up, she just doesn’t know the what, or why, yet. She knew as soon as we collected you from the room on 21. Your hair had grown back, and she said you felt stronger than Connor.
Nikki may come off as gruff and a bit hostile, but she’s one of the smartest, most perceptive people I know. You’ll get more out of her by being frank and honest vs. playing games.”
Heading back to Room 4, we went through all the security gear that Connor and Marcus had collected. It was all too big for me, but he found some ballistic nylon and Kevlar gloves that fit. I put on my leather jacket and tightened the laces on my boots. Martin checked his Glock and reholstered it.
He apologized, “I’m afraid I do not have another weapon for you, at this time.”
I smiled coldly, “No worries Doc, it appears I’m a living weapon now.”
To punctuate this, I went through all the rooms until I found what I wanted. With almost no effort, I tipped over the hospital bed in the front room and ripped off one of the heavy wheeled legs. The thick steel leg was about 2 ½ feet long and felt durable and deadly. I’d say it was heavy, but to me, it wasn’t. It felt like I was picking up a child’s toy hammer. I felt thrilled, electrified. I wanted to pay these undead assholes back for messing with my life.
As we walked to the stairs, Martin said, “It appears you are just that, my dear. Remind me to thank God you are on our side!” while shaking his head in awe.
“I’m not sure God had anything to do with what’s happening here, or he’s even listening right now. I’ll go first so you can put a bullet in my head if you need to.” I replied as I let the cold overtake me. I embraced it, let it permeate my entire body. I felt a frigid fire course through my mind, my muscles flexing as if an icy entity was testing them out for the first time.
I took this getting ready time to try to figure out what I could do. It was very odd to know, but also to not know Tae Kwon Do. The Dwit Bal Sogui or Cat Stance, or the Ahp Sogui or Walking Stance; my mind said I had completed these and other moves hundreds, if not thousands of time over the years, but I had never physically done them before. I was concerned even with all my years of gymnastics I would hurt myself trying to do them for the first time.
The same could be said for the other hand to hand fighting techniques and weapons usage memories filling my head. If fact, the duality of knowing and not knowing, played out across just about every memory now. I even experienced it with things I had done, but Adachi or Myers had not.
Sighing inwardly, I told myself my crazy train wasn’t just off the rails; it had already crashed and burned.
Changing the subject to clear my confusion, I asked, “Stairs or Elevator Doc?”
“We’ll take the stairs down, give me a minute.” Martin walked over to a phone at the nurses’ station and hit some numbers. He spoke into the phone for a few moments, then hung up. A few seconds later I heard three soft beeps from the floor’s wall speakers, followed by Martin’s voice.
“This is Martin Schofield, I’m with survivors on the 22nd floor, and it is clear of all hostiles.
Please meet us here, if you can. If not, call Ms. Nikki Wilder at extension 22101 and let her know where you are. We will make every attempt to get you. Thank you, be safe.”
I opened the stairwell door and asked, “Where are we headed Doc?”
Martin said, “Down, to my car in the executive parking garage. That text message I received after dinner last night was from an old SAS military friend.
We had a prearranged code to warn each other about a cataclysmic event: a flood, an earthquake, a terrorist attack. Never in my wildest dreams would I have thought it would be a zombie apocalypse. I’ve got other weapons and gear we will need when we have to leave the building.”
19
Heading down, I took my gloves off because they were interfering with my grip. Stuffing them into the inner pocket of my jacket, I felt something. I pulled out a large key ring with two smaller rings. The smaller rings each contained two keys and one plastic tag.
I asked, “Martin, are these yours?” examining the keys and tags with him.
All four keys had a big H on them with the normal lock/unlock/panic buttons on the other side. The first tag read, “In Exec Parking” on one side and “H1” on the other side. The other was the same except the tag said H2.
Martin said, “I’ve never seen those keys before. It appears you may have a guardian angel of your own, my Dear.” I put the keys back in my inner pocket and zipped it shut.
Just then we heard movement below, accompanied by a quiet moan. “It looks like we have some company,” I said.
At the 16 ½ floor landing, we see an office chair, and a body holding the fire door to the 16th-floor open.
I turn to Martin, “Wait here, cover our retreat.”
He looked apprehensive but nodded.
Slipping quietly down the stairs, I approach the body and chair. Opening the door to remove the obstruction, two zombies are there to greet me.
I take my first good look at them. Both are males; their skin is an unhealthy looking pinkish-gray that seems to sag on their bodies. The one on the left was missing a large piece of his scalp. Old black blood from the wound’s creation paints the area, but the wound is dry.
The other zombie’s left arm hung in tatters, its hand missing. Both lock onto me with eerie, emotionless, but predatory eyes. It’s very disturbing to look at them. I also note their eyes are clear – not the hazy, cataract-covered eyes of Hollywood zombie lore. I surmised that they couldn’t hunt if they couldn’t see; or, it could be that they were this year’s model zombie, just off the assembly line and the decay process hadn’t caught up with them.
I was only speculating from all the zombie-lore I picked up from having an older brother and a dad who were almost obsessed with the genre - books, movies, TV shows, everything. If it dealt with zombies, they consumed it. Now that I think about it, I bet deep down inside they are probably ecstatic that it happened. I hated all of it. I’m not sure how I made it through my childhood without Xanax, Prozac, or at least some serious time in a counseling chaise after the crap I had to watch.
I returned my attention to the two zombies as they approached me, noticing that their demeanor changed as they got close. The one with the missing scalp looked to be turning away from me, but he was already within striking distance. Remembering what I learned from my forced zombie-lore indoctrination
, I aimed the bed leg for its head. With a loud crack, its head all but disintegrated from my strike, covering me with a level of vileness a 27-year-old woman should never have to come in contact with.
Note to self: Check your swing a little for the next one!
I advanced on the other zombie, dispatching it with little effort. I quickly grab the corpses and the chair, throwing them back through the doorway.
Hearing a new noise as I moved the office chair, I look up and freeze when I see three zombies running towards me! I’m dumbfounded at what my eyes are observing, but my brain refuses to accept. “Zombies don’t run!” my mind screams!
I’m jolted out of my preoccupation with a fragmented zombie paradigm when Martin yells, “Ashleigh! Shut the door!” Shocked into action, I slam the heavy metal fire door shut just as these new, fast zombies crash into it.
The door shudders and flexes within its frame, the sound of the impact echoes up and down the entire stairwell. Within seconds, we hear a noise that can only be described as if the whole building has started to moan. With the second hit by this terrible new zombie, the door rattles even more.
I exclaim, “I’m not sure how long this door will hold. Looks like we’re going to see what I can do sooner than later. Be ready to run if I go down.”
Martin replies indignantly, ”I’m not going anywhere.”
The next teeth-rattling hit did even more damage to the already battered door.
I chide him, “Don’t argue with me! These things are fast and seem as strong as I am! Unless you’re a crack shot, you won’t last a minute with one of them, never mind three!”
Knowing the door will probably not survive the next hit, I ready myself for a fight. For the first time since I awoke to this nightmare, I feel the cold and warm presences at the same time. My heart rate and pulse slow, and I feel calmer than I have in over 24 hours.
The door buckles and folds as the top hinge fails. One of these new, fast zombies looks at me and hisses, its eyes full of rage. Lowering its body, the creature continues its assault on the damaged door. The final hit destroys the latching mechanism, slamming the damaged door open on its three remaining hinges.
Moving forward as the latch fails, the zombie catches the rebounding door in the face. I use this to my advantage and launch my attack. Darting forward, I swing my makeshift mace in a roundhouse right to left motion. The creature recovers enough to try to dodge my blow, which ruins another zombie paradigm of mine.
“Until true death, zombies accept punishment without responding to it.”
The heavy metal leg slams into the left side of the monster’s face, crushing its cheekbone and eye socket, and knocking the dangerous new zombie back into the damaged door. One of its brethren pushes past the injured zombie to attack me, only to receive a 9mm hole to the left side of its skull, causing it to drop immediately.
Stepping into a defense posture, I feel myself moving by memory, but not they are not my memories – but then again, they are mine. Righting itself, my attacker ignores its broken face and ruined eye, and launches itself at me again. With a quick sidestep, I bring a booted foot down hard on the outside of the creature’s right knee with a satisfying pop. Falling to the floor, the zombie spins to press its attack. Martin’s gun roars again, and the top of the zombie’s head explodes from the round’s path of destruction.
The third zombie stood in the hallway, tilting its head in an odd, dog-like fashion. The monster appeared to be trying to figure out how to get to this dangerous new food source. Joining me on the landing, Martin uses the creature’s hesitation to put a bullet through its right eye, allowing it to join its friends in eternity.
Turning to congratulate Martin on his marksmanship I see his face contort into a mask of terror as he attempts to bring his gun up into a firing position.
Martin is knocked back onto the ascending stairs, as I’m slammed into the wall and down the stairs by another one of these super-zombies. Engaged in a life and death struggle, we both roll down the concrete and metal stairs to the next landing. I scream as my right forearm breaks from the impact with the stairs, causing me to drop my makeshift mace. The strength of this new super-zombie is undeniable and appears to be on-par with my own.
We fought almost face to face, the monster on top, trying to bite anywhere it could. I grabbed its neck with my good hand to keep it at bay. I have no idea what a second exposure to the virus will do to me. Would it complete the process, making me into one of them?
The monster growls and rakes my face with its nails. I scream from the pain as the blood runs from the deep furrows in my nose and right cheek. With my left forearm still wedged under its chin, I feel an almost animalistic urge overtake me. I use my rage to push the zombie back far enough to spin out from underneath it. Bolts of white hot pain radiate off my broken arm as I try to gain an advantage. I growl back the pain as I roll the zombie on its back and pin its head to the floor.
Before I can comprehend my actions, I dove forward and sank my teeth into zombie’s exposed neck! My teeth rip through the grayish-pink flesh, my mouth fills with the creature’s black blood. I gag at the foul taste, but instinct forces me to swallow the putrid liquid. After the first mouthful, I drink with euphoric abandon. I am the predator it is my prey. After a few minutes, I sit back and close my eyes. I can feel my body accepting the virus-tainted blood.
While one of my new passengers touches me with a cold presence, it is nothing compared to the icy fire that races through my veins. Thankfully, I don’t seem to have any new memories. Standing up, I shake with raw power. My body feels like an over-charged battery.
My right arm tingles at the break point. I stagger from an explosion of pain as my body sets the bones back in the correct location, the tingle and pain become a buzzing of healing energy. A thousand angry bees dance their way across the scratches on my damaged face. Touching the deep scratches, I feel them close under my fingertips.
I quiet moan from my attacker informs me the drained zombie is still “alive” at my feet. I retrieve my bed leg mace and cave in the side of the creature’s head.
Looking up the stairs, I watch Martin pivot his weapon between me and the damaged door. He is breathing heavy enough to be panting. His face tries to mask the disgust and terror.
I say quietly, “Martin, it’s still me, and you’re still too old to eat,” with a small smile.
He visibly relaxes but backs up the stairwell as I move to join him. Saying nothing, I keep my movements as non-threatening as possible.
Through the open doorway and see approximately a dozen “regular” zombies shuffling towards us.
I say, “Be right back.” and step through the doorway.
Even though there are 14 of them, they are no match for me. Wading through them almost effortlessly, I almost feel sorry for them as the last one falls. Seeing a tipped-over towel and bedding cart against the far wall, I grab a few towels to get some of the zombie gunk off me.
Wiping myself off, I join Martin on the landing. I ask, “You okay?” eyeing the pistol still in his right hand.
With eyes slightly less haunted than before he replies, “I think so.” as he returns the Glock to its holster and leans heavily on the wall.
“You fed on it,” he says as much to himself as me.
I just nod and say, “Yes, it was instinctual, as soon as I got close to its neck. I was damaged and had to do it. I had no more control over it than you scratching an itch.”
Martin cautiously steps closer to me and says, “I’m not sure what to make of this situation, but we need to continue in our quest for survivors and the extra weapons. Can I ask questions as we move?”
I’m about to says yes, but start to cry, as the gravity of what I just did sinks in. Martin moves forward to embrace me, but hesitates, placing a hand on my shoulder instead.
I cry out, “Don’t touch me, I’m a monster!” brushing his hand off and turning away from him. Grabbing me, he turns me to face him, his eyes showing both the p
ersonal shock and professional curiosity of the moment.
Quietly he says, “I’m just as confused and terrified as you are right now. I cannot even wrap my mind around what you just did. But I am working very hard on remaining your friend; please give me time to understand.”
I nod, motioning for him to wait where he is. I take the next few minutes to drag all the corpses in the stairwell into the 16th-floor hallway. Martin nods in agreement, as we move to clear the floor and look for survivors.
20
I head right, taking the lead on purpose. One, to bear the brunt of an assault by any more of these new super-zombies. And two, so Martin has a chance put a bullet in my head if I became dangerous. Yes, life royally sucks sometimes. But until I figure out what my new life is, I won’t endanger anyone unnecessarily.
This floor was one of the research areas. Offices run around the outside perimeter of the building as well as intermittently along the inside, with most of the floor’s center mass containing various laboratories, and a few medical rooms.
I take the outside right of the hall, with Martin following about ten feet back on the inside. The doors on my first three offices are wide open, so other than a tactical look inside; we quickly pass by. The first closed door is on Martin’s side. I have him step back as I open the door and enter, quickly closing it behind me. A low moan followed by the sound of metal hitting flesh and bone tells him all he needs to know.
Exiting, I close the door again. We passed a large lab, the glass windows showing us it’s trashed but vacant. The lab’s automatic door quickly explains this vacancy and the origin of most of the undead on this floor.
I hear a noise as we approach the first corner office. Closing my eyes, I concentrate like I did to hear Martin’s heartbeat. I make out the rustle of fabric, breathing, and quiet muttering from within the room.
I whisper, “Someone’s alive in there. I can hear them breathing and whispering.”
The Ashleigh Rhodes Chronicles (Book 1): Dark Rhodes Page 6