by M. D. Massey
“Come on. Now!” I grab Alice by the hand and forcefully pull her away as the posse of undead break the darkness barrier and step into the light.
Loud screams and moans chase after us as we run through the barely lit halls, unsure where the hell we’re going.
3
It seems like we’re running in circles in some big maze designed to watch rats try and figure out how to get to the cheese. Every one of the corridors looks and smells the same—putrid covered walls and that oh so sweet delicious smell of some walking corpse trying to rip the skin from my body. There are crates and drums of who knows what placed irregularly down the halls. If I had half a second and a wild hair, I may be inclined to see if there is anything of use in them.
I’ve nearly used a full clip now, but they keep coming out of every nook and cranny. If something doesn’t happen soon, I’ll be the main course and Alice will be dessert.
“Watch out!” I yell as one of them, more preserved and a hell of a lot faster, comes out of nowhere and steals Alice away from me.
It tosses her to the ground and is on her like white on rice. She kicks with her arms and legs as it gets on top of her. She screams for me to help her, for me to do something, but I’ve got two more barreling down on us that don’t act interested in talking things out. I have completely lost track of how many shots I have left in the Glock and I’m just waiting to hear that dreaded click, click sound.
I pop off two rounds without even aiming and nail both of the bastards in the middle of their heads. They drop to the ground like a girl’s dress at prom and I swing the Glock over to cap the other corpse in the head.
Click, Click!!
Guess I shouldn’t have jinxed myself.
I toss the Glock to the side and look around, trying to spot anything that can be used as a weapon. At first, I almost don’t see it hanging nicely in its grimy covered glass box. Joy! I toss my right elbow like a bouncer in a bar and break the glass, shattering it into smaller pieces that litter the floor below. I rip the axe from its resting place and rear back like I’m up to bat.
The meat-eater is circling her throat, trying to stick its deformed tongue out as if to sample the meal before diving right in. She’s fighting, finally acting like she wants to live. I guess her rollercoaster of emotions is on hold for right now.
With all her might, Alice gets her hands on the thing’s shoulders and pushes it up, slightly raising the thing’s head up high enough for me to go to work.
I swing like Barry Bonds and hit the thing right in the side of the neck, lopping its head clean off. It bounces off the wall beside them and takes a tumble down the opposite way. Its now headless body spits up blood like a clogged fountain.
“Ewwwww,” Alice screams as she tosses the body to the side.
She launches to her feet and gets behind me, panting hard and grasping my shirt as if her life depends on it. We stand there, our backs literally against the wall as the swarm of undead close in on us from both directions. The axe in my hand is taut and the blade drips with the thicker than normal blood of the thing’s head I just teed off. I’m not sure what my next move is going to be, but the next SOB that gets near us will sure as snot become a little lighter.
“What are we going to do now?” Alice asks.
I would love nothing more than to tell her that I have an ingenious plan that I am just waiting to execute, but I’ve never been a great liar, or at least Becky always told me that.
“I don’t know, but whatever happens, stay close and behind me.” I get back in my batting stance and prepare for a homerun derby.
A grate above us falls and smacks into the ground right in front of me. The loud ringing sound of the metal grate dancing on the floor nearly stops my heart. I look up and see a bushy haired man, ragged and worn in the face, extending his arm down from the vent running along this corridor. His hair and beard are black as night and the bags under his brown eyes look like they are being pulled down by weights.
Funny, amidst everything going on around me and it being partially dark down these halls, my eyesight seems to be getting better, sharper even.
“Give me your hand!” he yells, reaching as far as he can.
Again, I’m not at that trusting point yet, but with the undead army looking at me with those hungry eyes, I’m willing to give Grizzly Adams a little leeway.
I drop the axe and swing around, grabbing Alice by the waist and lifting her up, which is surprisingly easy.
“What about you?” Alice asks.
“I’ll be right behind you, now get up there,” I tell Alice as the spry man lifts her into the haven of the vent.
Alice climbs into the metal box above and clears out of view, allowing the bushy haired man to reappear with his arm dangling down like a life line at me. “Come on, give me your . . . Behind you!”
I spin around and find one of the infected coming at me, its spiked arms swinging in all directions and its teeth clenched tightly. It swings its right, spiked arm and takes a stab at my head, buzzing the top of my scalp as I fall to the ground and roll past it. Before it has a chance to move around and track my oh so succulent scent, I gain position behind it and grab its head. Fluidly, I rip both of my hands in either direction and hear the snap of its neck. It loosely moves around like a bobble head and it falls to the floor.
I pick the axe back up and dispose of two more in the worst possible way—something like out of a horror flick that is nearly too gruesome to tell or show. I toss the axe end over end and nail another demon in the head. I’m on a roll.
Feeling somewhat elated and energized, I grab one of the barrels near me and quickly work it over to the vent opening. More of the undead shuffle closer from all directions.
Screw it, I’m close enough. I climb on top of the solid drum. The bushy haired man is still waiting for me. One giant leap up and forward and I snag the man’s hand, dangling like a worm over a pond of hungry catfish. The rejected souls from hell’s gate converge under me and reach into the air, trying to grab my low-hanging feet.
I’m not the skinniest man around and I wonder if this battered man will have the strength to lift me out of the fire, especially since he just lifted up Alice.
“Don’t worry, brother, I got ya,” he says as he struggles to drag me in.
I take a moment to catch my breath and center my thoughts from the chaotic spectacle below. A loud thud rocks the vent. Lying on my stomach with my feet near the opening, I peer back over my shoulder and see a deformed head look inside. One of its eyes has been ripped out and its mouth is a hell of a lot larger and sharper than anything I have yet to encounter. Its skin looks like leather and the smell is atrocious. No two man-eaters seem to have the same scent.
It lets out an ear piercing shrill that sends everyone’s hands over their ears, distorting our senses.
It grabs my left ankle and tugs hard. I slide back towards the opening. This thing is strong and it doesn’t seem like he’s going to take no for an answer. I can hear the other man-eaters below clamoring in hopes that something meaty and delicious falls to their feet.
I lift my right leg up as far as I can and shove my thick-soled boot hard into its face, thinking for sure it will get the hint and let go. Its head snaps back, but its hands remain tightly gripped on my left ankle.
“You’ve pissed it off good now,” the bushy haired man says as he pulls a 9mm Beretta from behind his back and takes aim at the unyielding beast.
I cover my ears with my hands as he chambers off a single round, creating an echo inside that tin can that almost splits my ear drums in two.
Its Kung Fu grip instantly releases my ankle and the vent shimmies a bit as the corpse falls to the masses below. I lift my hands off my ears and raise my head as he places the Beretta behind him.
“Come on, let’s go,” he says. His voice sounds like it’s muffled or something. Probably the ringing from the gunshot that is tickling both my ears.
I nod my head at him, watching as he backs up th
rough the vent and disappears around a corner. Funny enough, through the buzzing sound clogging my head, I can still hear the infected below, moaning and groaning. Right now, I’m just happy we’re up here and not down there.
I leave the flesh-eaters to pine for us and snake my way through the vent. It’s not quiet by any means, crackling and popping as I crawl through. I guess Alice and the bushy haired man have already made it to wherever it is I’m going.
4
After a good jaunt in the metal maze high above Death Valley, I come to the end and see the bushy haired man exiting the vent and dropping out of sight. I’m still leery of anyone I meet, but I’ll take my chances right now with someone who doesn’t act like they want to use me as a chew toy.
I get to the end of the vent and peer out into the space below, finding Alice among a few other women and a handful of guys pacing the semi large room with guns resting on their shoulders. Looks inviting enough I guess.
I turn myself around and drop out of the vent, my boots hitting the grayish concrete floor. I would have figured they knew I was coming, but their startled reaction and their weapons training on my skull say otherwise.
“Don’t move or I’ll put two right in the side of your head before you can even think of objecting to it,” a man says as I feel the barrel of his gun press firmly against my skin. I can’t see his face, but the raspy tone of his voice and the smell of the garbage heap he calls a mouth give me some indication what I’m dealing with.
“Put the gun down, he’s not a threat.” The bushy haired man speaks up as all eyes and weapons are trained on me.
“Tony, you keep that piece glued to his head.” Another man walks towards us. He is fairly tall and moves with a swagger as if he owns the joint. His dirty blond hair is messy, and a half smoked cigar lays nuzzled between his chapped lips. He’s the sorta person that one would make out to be a douche bag, regardless if they knew them or not. “And what makes him not a threat? Look at him; he could be infected like those damn things out there.”
My current attire sure isn’t helping my case any—ripped clothing, blood stained jeans and shirt, and who knows what else they are judging me on. A change of clothing probably would have done wonders.
“So tell me . . .”
“Mike.”
“Mike . . . are you a threat?”
“I’m about as big of a threat as you gun wielding idiots, especially this moron right next to me who forgot to take the safety off his piece and who needs a Tic Tac ASAP.”
I don’t think he’ll actually go for it, but I must’ve sold it pretty well because I catch him out of the corner of my eye checking the safety, taking his eyes off me for a brief second. I lean back fast and smooth and rip the pistol from his hands, slamming my right forearm into his throat and sending him hard to the ground.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. All right, let’s calm down and not do anything stupid!” the man yells out as I glue the pistol to his forehead. The cigar leaps from his now quivering lips and plummets to the floor.
“So . . . I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name,” I say.
“Pete.”
“Pete, do you think I’m a threat?”
The only other gun holder just stands there, his blue eyes frozen in place while the other jackass is still on the ground grabbing at his throat. He appears to be some young kid, probably in his early twenties. I really don’t know if this stupid gun is even loaded, but I take Pete’s nearly shitting himself as a good sign that at least he thinks it is.
“Please, let’s not do this for Christ’s sake. We’re all on the same side here,” the bushy haired man says.
“What do you say, Pete, can’t we all just get along?” I ask, my eyes still keeping a look out for the other two men while the pistol stays against his forehead.
“Yeah, fine, whatever . . . Just get that damn gun out of my face!”
“Sure thing.” I remove it from Pete’s head and spin the gun around, the black grip facing towards him. “Here you go.”
Pete cautiously takes the pistol from my hand and places it in the back of his black, dirty pants. “A.J., get over here and help me.”
The pair helps their less fortunate friend off the ground. Pete and the other two men walk off, leaving me and the bushy haired man standing there.
“I’m sorry about that. Not the friendliest welcome I bet you’ve ever gotten,” the bushy haired man said half heartedly. “I think everyone’s just on edge with everything that is happening.”
“No worries. I would rather deal with them any day than those things out there. At least these guys seem to have their brains somewhat working.”
“They’re good guys, just give them a chance,” the bushy haired man replies as Alice makes her way over to us. “Oh, by the way, my name is Deacon.”
“Nice to meet you,” I reply, shaking his worn hand. Funny enough, I wouldn’t have pegged him for a Deacon. Maybe father time or something like that.
Alice walks straight up to me and wraps her arms around my neck. Her skin is soft as silk and her body seems to be more at ease now. No trembling or shaking of any kind.
“Thank you.”
She presses her ample lips to my cheek, giving me a gentle kiss that says it all. It’s warm and a nice change of pace. I would rather have this than the walking dead outside anytime.
“It’s no problem.” I give a slight smirk. It did feel good to help her, but my guard and attention to everything is still hot. The kiss was a moment of brief comfort, one that I can’t let distract me from the pressing matters that lay beyond these walls.
I smile back and Alice leaves us alone, walking back over towards two other women sitting together across the room.
“Very nice, Mr. Hero,” Deacon says with a smile on his face.
I don’t want to be rude considering what he has done for us thus far, but I don’t want anything going to my head. I’m not a hero or anything like that. I’m just some guy that is trying to keep himself alive in this hellish nightmare, and if I save some souls along the way, then so be it.
“Thanks . . . so what do you know about what’s happening here?” I ask, changing the subject.
“Not much, most of us in here don’t remember anything beyond these walls. We remember our daily lives and some near memories before this, but nothing to the point where we could tell you how we got here. It’s like we were plucked from our lives and dropped straight into here. We have, however, come across a schematic of this complex, we think.” Deacon leads me through what appears to be some sort of storage area. The place is filled with crates and other boxes, worn and tattered to the point of showing their age. The room follows the same decorating style of everything else I have seen so far. The urine stains are void in this room, but the dimly lit web infested lights above barely tear through the darkness that covers much of the area. Plus, the stale, moldy air is still hot on my trail, keeping pace with my nostrils no matter where I go.
“Is this everyone you have come into contact with that wasn’t a raging psycho? I mean minus the three meat heads back there.”
“No, there were a few more of us, but they didn’t make it.” Deacon enters a room near where the women are sitting.
Through bloodshot eyes and with mascara streaking down their faces like some rock band, the women huddle together, trying to comfort the others. Their clothes are filthy, like everyone I have come into contact with thus far, and their bodies look like Alice’s, black and blue, as if some drunken husband lost his temper once again.
This might sound heartless or even cruel, but I look past their obvious signs of hardship and look them over as best I can for any signs of bites or major scrapes. I notice some cuts on their arms and their pant legs have holes forming all over.
The older woman to the right, who is doing a little more comforting to the early twenties girl, looks up at me and just stares. She doesn’t say a word, blink, or even flinch. I’m not sure if it is the pure shock of everything going on or if she think
s I am just dangerous from that little exhibition earlier.
Inside the musty room, the smell of mold and rotten meat mingle, gagging me a little and sending my right hand up to my mouth as I breach the doorway. Deacon doesn’t seem as bothered by the stench, standing behind a lime green desk with skinny silver legs that looks like it has been transported from the seventies. All that is missing is a dookie brown cloth chair on wheels, which I happen to notice in the corner off to Deacon’s right.
“Yeah, the smell is pretty bad. Not sure what it is. Think it’s from all the death and rotting meat infesting this place.” Deacon unrolls a blueprint and smoothes it out on top of the scarred, rough desk top. A small etching is carved into one of the corners.
To my wife, Pam. I love you!
I lean over and glance at the schematic, not sure what all I’m looking at. It is very plain and nearly empty, only showing a few corridors and bays at random points. I think the facility might be underground from the way some of the exit points seem to rip up and out of the surface.
I’m not sure how or why it happens, but like staring at one of those paintings that looks plain but has a hidden message contained within, everything on the blueprint starts to form out of thin air and get into place. It’s in focus now.
“So, what do you think?” Deacon asks. “Nobody here can make heads or tails of this damn thing. We’ve all looked it over and we’re not even sure if it’s for where we currently are.”
“Ok, that’s weird,” I say softly under my breath, taken back a little from the blueprint crawling around like it’s alive. It shouldn’t surprise me though, considering what’s going on and the mere fact that I’m still alive.
“What . . . what’s so weird?”
“Did you not see that?”
“See what?” Deacon asks, confusion clouding his face as he looks down at the schematic. “I don’t see anything different, just the same old stuff. What do you see?”
“I see everything. There is more on here then you realize—locations of every exit, weapons holdings, communications departments.”