by M. D. Massey
* * *
Arriving back, I spot a clutch of zombies surrounding the side of the building, blocking the door. I drop the engine into neutral. The sound of the truck could draw them away, but I have a better advantage to take them down if they don't know I am there. Six on one side and five on the other. Two more than I have arrows for.
Shit.
I grab my crossbow and roll down the window. I scoot my body up through the opening, sitting on the window's edge and leaning against the roof of the truck, pulling the crossbow out onto the roof. At this distance, I cannot tell what is happening inside the restaurant. The zombies all mill about, bumping into each other and the glass windows. I lean my crossbow across the top of the pickup, lining up my eye with the cross hairs.
I set the arrow and squeeze the trigger.
The first one goes down, tumbling like a bag of bones. I take aim again. The two nearest to me turn around at the sound of the arrow releasing. One shuffles towards me in that broken falling manner that reminds me of twisted tree branches. I line up my shot and squeeze the trigger again. The arrow flies through him creating a hole where his eye used to be, flying into the head of the one behind him. Two for one. It pays to practice, I guess.
The remaining creatures on the other side still just continue their mindless movements, skidding against the window, leaving smudges of skin and gore against the transparent panes. The constant banging and shuffling would be enough to drive a person mad.
I have seven arrows left, and I take down the next three. I ditch the crossbow in the truck before I pull myself the rest of the way out. My muscles burn as I lower my feet against the gravel, careful not to make a sound.
There still has not been any movement from inside the building, and my hope is that Rachel has enough faith in me that they are holed up in there as deep as they can get. I pull my knife out from my belt, taking sideways steps towards the first one, plunging my knife into the base of the first zombie's skull. The last one turns, its dead-white eyes focusing on me.
Facing only one of them has never been a problem, not that it would be. Just a quick blade to the head and that is that. This time though, something about my angle, the way the creature lunges, catches me off guard. It grabs a hold of my forearm just as I pull the knife out, giving me no leverage. Its teeth snap shut just inches from my arm. I stumble back trying to keep my exposed skin away from the gnashing teeth. Its fingers are nothing more than dead, grasping bones wrapped in flesh, and my stomach turns flip flops at the sensation.
The zombie's head explodes, leaving a smatter of brain and viscera on my shoulders. Now just a bloody stump, its body crumbles to the ground, fingers losing purchase on my skin. I see Rachel standing outside the door, lowering a shotgun. We make it inside and both turn to pull the booth back in front of the door as quickly as possible before I collapse against the staircase in the middle of the room.
“You okay?”
“Yeah, I'm fine. Marcus?” I ask.
“He's in the kitchen,” she says as she lowers the shotgun to her side.
“Where did you find it?” I nudge my chin towards the weapon.
“I found it underneath the flour bins in the pantry.”
“We have to relocate,” I say as I catch my breath.
She raises her eyebrows towards me.
“The noise of the shotgun,” I explain. “Loud sounds draw them.”
“I didn't know that,” she says with a flicker of regret in her expression.
“No matter,” I say, standing. I found us a vehicle, a pickup truck.”
“Oh, that's good.” She smiles.
“It should be a good vehicle for us. I picked up supplies, too. We can take that gun, but we need to find some more weapons for the two of you.”
“The two of us?”
“He needs to learn.” I cannot look at her directly and I focus on a spot against the far wall.
She nods as another flicker of sorrow crosses her face. “How much more time do we have to get out of here?” she asks.
“That depends on how close they are. When did these show up? How long were they out there?”
“Since this morning, just after sunrise.”
“That's what I was afraid of. We need to move quickly. Do you still have the knife?”
She nods.
“Okay, give me a few minutes to gather my arrows. Then I'll get the truck and pull it as close to the door as possible to get you and Marcus inside. We have to assume that more are coming and that they could be here any second. If we circle back around in two or three days we should have an idea if it is safe to come back here.”
“Right, okay.” She nods, but her eyes trail off behind me to the kitchen.
I do my best to hide the frustration that she had shot the gun. A few more seconds and I could have taken him down, but as things are now we probably have less than an hour to get out of here, if that. I keep my face turned away from her focusing on getting everyone out as quick as possible.
Through the swinging doors, we find Marcus sitting in his nest of restaurant tablecloths underneath the prep table. He found a few kitchen utensils to playing with. He bobs them up and down, adding his own affected voice and giving character to his new found toys.
“It's time to go, Marcus,” I say speaking in a light but firm voice . “Come and see the great blue truck I found for you.”
“Really?” he says as he glances up, his expression lighting up.
“Yeah.”
I turn back to Rachel. “The two of you need to stand ready at the door,” I say. “I'm going to collect my arrows and bring in the truck. Keep watch and come out the front door as soon as I stop. Okay?”
She nods, a quick short movement.
It only takes me a few minutes to pull the arrows from the heads of the inert creatures. The bone structure does not have the same sturdiness as a human. Once they transform over, the body starts to decay at the same rate. No one knows what reanimates them. Each arrow comes loose with a quick pull, but I have to place my foot on the shoulder of the last creature to get enough leverage to tug the arrow out.
Turning, I quickly scan the landscape looking for any kind of sign. The hilliness gives me a bad feeling. I much preferred the flatness of the landscape out west. If one can see for miles, a whole herd could be approaching and we would have hours of advanced notice. Here, they could come over the hilltops and we would have minutes at the most.
I pause, listening as hard as I can to the sounds around me.
There it is. In the far distance, I can just make out the shuffle and scrape indicating the incoming presence of zombies. I train my eyes on the truck sitting up the road about fifty yards away. The urge to run almost takes over, but I fight the impulse. If I step back inside we would all be trapped indefinitely, depending on how many there are. A sizable horde could get stuck, creating a wall around the building.
With a brisk but careful pace, I head towards the truck keeping along the side of the parking lot. I do not want to risk tripping in the thick grass by going directly up the hill. Once I make it to the road, I can see the adjacent valley facing out towards the outer edge of the city. I see them. Not as many as the original herd, but enough to potentially wrap around the restaurant as I feared. They shuffle along about twenty deep.
I trot towards the truck and swing into the driver's seat. Stealth is pointless. By now they already know I am here. My job is to get Rachel and Marcus into the truck and out of the immediate area. I rev the engine and pull forward into the parking lot until I see Rachel with Marcus hiding close behind her through the glass door. Her eyes dart between the truck and the front line of the herd now trickling over the slope fifty yards away. She nudges Marcus forward as I push the passenger door open. He scrambles the few feet into the truck, Rachel swinging in just after him.
As soon as she pulls the door shut behind her, the leading edge reaches the tailgate of the pickup truck. The engine guns and we surge forward. They have already blo
cked the way out of the parking lot as they continue to stream over the hilltop. I turn the wheel and press the gas, spinning the truck almost up on two wheels.
“What are you doing?” Rachel asks in a panic.
“I have to break through. It's the only way.”
“Are you sure?!”
“Just hold on tight.”
When I press down on the gas pedal, I keep my eyes trained on the tree on the other side of the road in an attempt to ignore the approaching herd. Twenty deep is still a significant number. Rachel pulls her seat belt across her chest and over Marcus' lap before she clicks it into the receiver between us. Her arm is wrapped tight around him; he clenches his eyes shut, burying his face into her arm.
I press my foot down on the gas pedal and plow through. The zombies bounce off the bumper and windshield like rubber, clutching feebly towards the windows as we surge past, their slick fingertips unable to grasp the metal surface as the truck pushes past them.
“We're okay,” I say. “We're okay.”
I have overshot the road but I straighten the car back to the pavement and we steady our way down the road back into town.
“You guys alright?” I ask.
“Yes,” Rachel gasps.
Marcus' curiosity gets the best of him, and he wiggles out from under her arm, craning his head around. I press forward as the three of us fall into silence. We are safe for now, but we need to get to shelter. We are putting enough distance between us, and the zombies soon disappear behind us.
I glance over at Marcus who gazes out the window, wide-eyed and restless.
“I have an idea,” I say. “Let's go and get some weapons, and then we'll do something fun.”
“Something fun?” he says, scratching his nose.
“You'll see, but first things first.”
I pull the truck up to what was once a sidewalk, as close to the building as possible. The windows have long since been broken out. “Wait here,” I say. “I'll flush the place and then motion for the two of you.”
I climb out of the truck slowly, holding my knife in one hand and my other resting on the hilt of my bow, I move into the building, careful to step over the broken glass. My first stop is the knives. I circle back and wave them inside.
Rachel picks up a few switchblades, eyeing the large glass case of throwing stars. She hands one of the knives to Marcus, who eyes it warily before he tucks it into his back pocket. I get lucky and find another cartridge of arrows; my brand even. I refill my arrow cache, noticing that I have not lost as many as I had in the past.
“I think there are less of them,” I say.
“Now that you mention it, I think you are right.” She stops and turns towards me, focusing on the empty road through the window behind me. “When it happened--whatever it was that made this happen--there were hundreds, if not thousands, of them. They were everywhere. But now, I don't think we've seen more than fifty this week, outside the occasional herd. I think they are going away from the cities.”
I turn and face the same direction as her. The street is dusty. Waves of heat radiate off the pavement. “It wasn't always this way,” I say. “The world was once alive and vibrant.”
“Yeah,” she says glancing over to Marcus, staring at a wall of flying discs, ignoring both of us.
“Maybe one day it will be again.”
Marcus steps between us and the window, staring out, framed by broken glass and rotted wood. I walk up next to him and watch him try out the feel of his new knife. He flips it around in his hands, opening it and closing it, testing the edge of the blade against his thumb.
“Do you like it?” I ask.
“Yeah,” he replies. I can tell he is hiding his excitement at finally having a weapon. The grin escaping the edge of his lips is a dead giveaway.
“Come on.” I nod my head back towards the truck. Rachel falls in behind us in the pattern we have become accustomed to, with Marcus in the middle for the best protection.
We circle around the corner and down the block, once more pleasantly surprised by the lack of zombies in the area. Even just a few weeks ago they still lined the downtown area. The herd had cleared out quite a bit of them. I pull up to the place I want to show them, parking close and pointing to the revolving door of a large glass building, surrounded by a vacant, paved courtyard.
“In there?” Rachel asks.
“Shh,” placing my finger over my lips. “Through the revolving door and then we will be safe. This building is clear. We'll be safe.”
As soon as our feet hit the concrete we all sprint towards the door, pushing our way through in one segment of the revolving door.
“What is this place?” she asks, helping Marcus to his feet.
“It's a library,” I reply.
They both look up into the huge four-story atrium in the center of the space. Hanging from the topmost level of the ceiling falls a thick wire the length of the building, ending in a large, brass-covered pendulum. It swings as if with a force of its own, over the fenced expanse, slowly moving from side to side. Other than the slight creak of the wire there are no other sounds.
“It is safe,” I say, trying to calm their awed expressions. “I come here quite a bit when I do supply runs.”
“What is that?” Marcus asks pointing to the device.
“That is called a Foucault pendulum. There is a great book about it just over there in the shelves.”
His face lights up and he gazes up at Rachel. She looks at me with a question in her eyes.
“The whole building is safe,” I say. “I've cleared it and secured all the doors. The only entrance is the revolving door and they can't maneuver it.”
“Stay where I can see you,” Rachel says to him before he trots off into the children's area to the left of the atrium. She turns to me. “How did you find this place? It's incredible.”
“I stumbled in here a couple of years ago, running from a herd. That courtyard in front used to be crawling with them. I came around the corner from the other direction on a supply run, but I got stuck. They surrounded me. I nearly fell into the revolving door. The building was empty. I spent some time strengthening the rest of the doors, but so far I have not seen any evidence that they can get through.”
“This place is amazing,” Rachel says as she begins to wander around. She steps into the shelving area, close to where Marcus sits cross-legged on the floor, flipping through the pile of books he has amassed next to him.
Rachel trails her fingers along the spines of the books, pausing over one and pulling it out from the others. It is a book I have read, about a little girl who lives on a farm, but pines for greater things. She gets swept away into another world where everything comes to life in vibrant color. I pull up one of the small stools and sit down, watching Rachel glancing through the pages with a distant smile playing on her lips.
I can tell by the voracity in which Marcus plows through the books that he has not had an opportunity like this for a very long time. He takes in every detail of the pages, carefully placing each book to the side after he finishes reading.
A flash of a lost memory returns to me. A bed, large and pink, piled with pillows and a quilted comforter. A few feet away is a painted white bookshelf filled to the brim with brightly colored spines.
“Are you alright?” Rachel asks.
“Yes.” I blink and shake my head, laughing a little. “Just lost in thought. Oh, I almost forgot. There is one more thing I wanted to show you.”
Rachel watches me with curiosity as I jog back to the small open cafe area. I climb over the counter and spot the boxes in the back storage room. Within a few minutes, I return with a handful of chocolate bars.
Rachel looks at me with disbelief.
“Candy doesn't go bad,” I say. “Go on. Take it.”
We all enjoyed our small respite while Rachel reads us a chapter. We all lounge in the small, brightly colored corner of the library pretending for just a few moments that we live in a different world. Th
e sun hangs low to the horizon. We opt to set up camp on the second floor after pulling the supplies we needed from the truck.
We stay awake for a little while, feeling euphoric from the break in our reality. I have a nudge of a feeling that something is looming, but I push aside my sense of dread to enjoy the small company that we have formed. As dusk settles, Rachel reads to us until Marcus falls asleep, tucked into one of the sleeping bags I had retrieved. Once he is settled, she sits down across from me in one of the plush chairs, adjusting the light of the lantern on the table between us.
We talk for a little while. She tells me about the people she has lost, her husband, his parents, and then when they set out to escape the overrun city out west, the group they joined and then subsequently lost. It all sounds very complicated, yet there is also a strange comfort in hearing it. The battery powered lantern holds a steady glow. Even though she is telling me her past, I avoid giving her any information as much as I can. Rachel finally steps over to her sleeping bag and settles in. Soon her breathing grows steady and even.
I sit for another few moments, watching them both to ensure they have fallen asleep. I creep away, careful to step only on the carpeted part of the stairs to the level below. The books are inviting and welcoming. I trail my fingers over the smooth surface of the spines, lined up on the shelves. The area underneath the balcony is shielded in dark shadows. I find my way to the back wall, away from where the others are sleeping and out of view of the glass doors before I sit against the wall, pulling my knees up to my chest.
The tears come silent at first. The pressure of the day overtakes me and I cannot help but let it. I do not want to wake them. No matter. I have become accustomed to crying silently. The tears flow fast, falling off my chin and staining my clothes, my body racked with emotion. I stay this way, clutching my arms around me, turning to press my face against the wall. I cry myself out until I feel numb and there is nothing left. There is no comfort here or anywhere. Not for me, not for anyone. Not anymore.