by Ash Parsons
My heart falls that it’s empty.
I’m glad there are no zombies, but I was really hoping to find Siggy and Blair there.
The hall is bookended on either side, each long expanse of tile leading to similar exit doors.
I dart through the door Linus is holding open and immediately hit my knees again.
Again, not as smooth as I would have liked, but at least this time it didn’t hurt.
Much.
“What are you doing? Come on!” Annie hisses at me.
Linus has braced the open door with his shoulder and foot, holding it steady for me as I jam the key back into the hole.
Righty-tighty.
I twist and twist.
“Good,” Imani whispers, encouraging me. “God, you’re so smart, June.”
Whatever.
But I can’t help both the instinct to contradict her, and the charge of pride that rushes through me at her praise.
“Go, June!” Rosa urges.
Righty-tighty, righty-tighty, righty-tighty.
“Have you guys lost your minds? Let’s go!” Annie takes five steps back toward us.
The hex stops turning. I shift to the other hole.
Linus rebraces the door, and I jab and twist, feeling for the indent and lock confirming that the key is in place.
Righty-tighty, righty-tighty.
Behind me is the empty backstage area.
Well, not precisely empty.
Have the zombies billowed the curtain more? Has any one of them moved through the gap, past the chain link and the curtain?
Can they feel the fresh air from the hall?
Is there a zombie backstage now? Spotting us standing, and me kneeling, like a sitting duck, here in the doorway?
Don’t look.
Just turn.
I mean, just turn the key. Don’t turn around.
Turn, don’t turn.
My inner voice is very helpful.
A huff of humorless laughter puffs a stray hair away from my mouth.
The key stops turning, the ratcheted tightness gone.
I scramble up to my feet and step back.
The backstage area isn’t empty anymore.
A single zombie has found his way through the curtain. He’s tall with a wide, jutting jaw like an ice scraper.
He looks at us, somehow seeing through the clouded, bloodshot mess that are his eyes. His mouth opens and his arm jerks up and out as he rushes toward us, gasping, a wretched, rattling groan sounding out of his throat.
Linus’s crisp, normal speaking voice breaks the spell of shocked fear.
“Not today, thank you,” he says, speaking with perfect British diction as he swiftly pushes the door closed.
There’s a double clunk as the locks at the top and bottom of the door fall into place.
Then there’s a thump, and the thump repeats and repeats as the zombie knocks into the door.
I can’t help the titter as it flies out of my mouth, powered by extreme relief, and the fact that it was actually funny.
Imani giggles, too, squeezing my hand, and we lean into each other for a second, a lean that’s like a hug, a little.
She puts on an upper-crust accent.
“Not today,” she says, and dissolves into helpless giggles.
“Thank you,” I finish. And we laugh.
Linus smiles, then laughs, too.
“Y’all are messed up,” Annie says, shaking her head at us.
Linus wipes his eyes, and sticks out his hand.
“I’m Linus. Thanks for saving us . . .” His voice trails off, waiting for me to introduce myself.
I feel the blood rushing to my cheeks, and at the same time also draining from my head.
Feeling a little dizzy, I take his hand and shake it.
“June.”
“Thanks for saving us, June.”
He turns and shakes Imani’s hand.
“Imani,” she says.
“Pleased to meet you, Imani.”
The camerawoman nods at them. “I’m Rosa.”
“Mia Fontaine.” The woman in the edgy black-and-red business suit steps forward, improbably pulling a business card out of her pocket and handing it to me.
“When we get out of here, give me a call,” she says. “I can use quick thinkers like you.”
A blush of pride rushes to my face along with the sudden ridiculous image of me bowing out my arms, cowboy-style, touching the brim of my nonexistent hat at Mia in response to her praise.
“Okay, thanks.” I look at the card. Apex Management. There’s an address in Los Angeles, and a phone number.
I slide the card into my back pocket, like the ace it is. I mean, maybe she’ll give me an internship or something if college doesn’t work out.
After we get through all this.
“And I’m Annie, y’all know that,” Annie Blaze says. “And I cannot even believe that we’re in some kind of biohazard outbreak.”
“Zombies,” I say. “It’s the zombie apocalypse.”
“Sure feels like it, huh?” Linus says, shaking his head.
Imani and I glance at each other. I can feel her wondering at his reticence to call it what it so clearly is.
Maybe it’s just too scary? Or he’s wanting to be scientific? Precise?
It doesn’t matter what we call them. Zombies or infected. It doesn’t change what’s happening now.
“Well, at least we have familiarity on our side.” Mia cocks an eyebrow under her pinup bangs, looking impossibly cool. “I mean, we’re all zombie aficionados, right? We know what to do if anyone does.”
“Right,” Rosa agrees. “I’m sure there are lots of little groups like us all over the center. Fans who know what to do now.”
Imani grabs my hand and squeezes, and I know she’s thinking the same thing I am.
Siggy. Blair.
“All right, squad, let’s get going,” Linus says, his voice warm. “I for one want to get out of this scene and into my luxury trailer. You’re all invited.”
“Right, we’re definitely putting that in your next contract,” Mia agrees.
I glance up and down the white hall. There’s nothing back here, not even a potted plant or a trash can. I wish there was something, anything I could push up to the door to help hold it closed.
We have to rely on whatever mechanism the hex key disabled.
I reposition the backpacks, feeling both reassured at their weight and also completely ridiculous, wearing the Mickey one on the front like it’s a baby.
Imani steps close to me, her face drawn in concern.
“Do you think they’re okay?” she asks me. “Siggy? And Blair?”
“Absolutely,” I say, my voice firm. “They know as much about zombies as we do. And you saw Blair. She knew to get on the stage. I’m sure they’re just right up ahead.”
Imani nods. Her eyes take on that determined light, the same one from when she was hurdling over rows to come back for me.
“We’re going to find them,” she says.
I pick the set of doors farthest from the front of the convention center and lead the way down the white-tiled corridor.
16
Moving swiftly down the hall, I realize my first impression was correct; there are no windows set into the walls. No windows looking outside, none looking into other rooms. The only window in sight is a narrow one set into the door at the bottom of the hall.
At the top of the hall on the opposite end is a solid door that probably opens into the lobby.
We pass a few other windowless doors with various names or description plates beside them. I don’t read any; too busy formulating a plan on the go.
“Okay, that way,” I tell the others while pointing to the door with the window a
t the bottom of the hall. “It’s the far, um, left side or Park Street side—whatever direction it is—of the convention center.”
“Southeast,” Imani says. “That’s the southeast side of the building.”
Standing next to her, Linus does a subtle double-take, clearly surprised and impressed at the technical precision.
Trust Imani to know it like she has a compass grafted to her hand. I feel myself stand a little taller, proud just to be her friend.
“Right,” I agree. “That’s the door to the stairwell. On the ground floor that side of the building has the loading docks.”
We rush to the door at the end, and it has a narrow window, crosshatched with wire inside for added security.
It looks out onto the top landing of a wide industrial metal staircase, painted gray.
“Wait,” Imani says as I put out my hand to the lever door handle.
“What if they’re in there?” she asks, ebony-dark eyes widening.
My hand freezes, hovering in place.
“We don’t know where they could be,” Annie agrees. “Maybe we should just stay here.”
“What?” I whip around. “We can’t stay here, we have to find the others—”
Annie interrupts me.
“Why? Who says? We can just stay here. You got us out, you locked them in, there’s no windows, this area is safe.”
Linus rounds on her with incredulous eyes.
“You can’t be serious. Have you even watched the show you’re on?”
“What?” Annie says defensively. “What’s wrong with my idea?”
“Well, for one thing nowhere is safe,” Linus explains.
Huh.
They don’t really act like a couple, do they?
“All it takes is for that door to fail, if enough zombies push on it who knows? And what happens then?” Linus says.
“Right,” I say, backing him up. “Not to mention that we don’t know what’s behind any of these other doors, maybe a zombie is there, and what if they come out somehow?”
“Well, we’d run,” Annie says.
“Where?” Rosa asks.
Annie gestures impatiently at the stairwell door. “We can go down to the first floor then. Go out the loading docks or whatever.”
“Right, so let’s at least check it out, huh?” I ask. “Let me just tiptoe out there now, while we’re not being chased by anything, and I’ll check out the lay of the land.”
I don’t say that I have no intention of coming back.
Siggy is still out there somewhere.
Siggy, and Blair.
And I suddenly want to see them, both of them, with a rush of feeling in my heart like a stretch, like a flood. My friends from childhood, Siggy, my goofy doofus, and Blair.
My prickly friend. Who hurt me.
But it doesn’t matter so much now, does it? Not when it’s life or death. Not when the chance to mend our friendship might never come now. Not if anything happens to them.
Or us.
Where did they go?
I have to find them or follow them out, if they got out already.
“It’s a good idea,” Linus urges her. “Better than running into the unknown.”
“Oh, shut up, Linus,” Annie snaps.
Rosa’s voice is measured and soothing. “We can be ready to pull June back and close the door if we need to.”
Annie crosses her arms under her chest again.
“Okay,” she sighs. “Go ahead. Fine. Whatever.”
“Good girl, Annie,” Mia says, checking her phone for a signal again.
“Mia, I swear to God—” Annie doesn’t finish the threat.
“Let’s keep together, everyone,” Imani says. “Rule one: We only fight zombies, right?”
I put my hand out to the lever handle, trying to feel steady in spite of my heart hammering in my chest like a runaway train.
Or something that isn’t a mixed metaphor or whatever.
Holding my breath, I push the door handle down silently.
It goes, and I feel the metal tongues pulling back into the door, feel it start to give as I gently press with my shoulder.
Then it stops. A solid stop. Something is blocking it.
“I said you can go ahead.” Annie’s voice is sharp like an ice pick.
“It’s blocked!” I crane my neck, shifting first up on my toes, then down low as I look through the window, trying to get a glimpse of what might be blocking it on the other side.
I push more, and Linus helps.
We try to be quiet at first, but end up slamming it with our shoulders, hard.
A loud bang resounds through the stairwell on the other side of the door, and down the hall for our efforts.
The door doesn’t budge.
“Well, that’s anticlimactic,” Mia quips, her voice dry.
“Okay, so we stay here.” Annie pulls her cell phone out of her tight pleather pants pocket, and swipes it on. “I’m going to try 911 again.”
We’re surrounded by cinder blocks and tile, so I don’t need to check my phone to know it’s useless.
“No signal,” Annie says. “Still.”
“No, none of us has one. I imagine it’s the corridor,” Linus says.
“Try the Wi-Fi,” I tell her. “Maybe we can use Skype.”
Annie starts rapidly swiping through her phone.
From the other side of the door is a loud groan.
“Oooookay,” I breathe, lifting the microphone stand arm, ready to jab.
“Let’s hope whatever is blocking that door can’t be easily moved,” Rosa says.
As a group, we back away from the door.
“The Wi-Fi is down!” Annie snaps in frustration. “This thing is useless.”
She glances at me and Imani, seeming to register for the first time that we are armed.
“I need a weapon,” she says.
Through the narrow stairwell door window, I see a woman, a zombie, with long hair snarled in clumps in front of her face, almost like someone grabbed her by the hair, trying to stop her. Or trying to bite her.
The zombie sees us and opens her mouth, showing blood-slicked teeth and gray gums.
“Linus should have a weapon, too,” Annie says. “You should give him your weapon.”
I don’t know if she’s talking to me, Rosa, or Imani, but it doesn’t matter.
Imani and Linus beat my response time.
“What? Why?” Imani asks.
“That’s not necessary, I assure you,” Linus says.
“He’s a man,” Annie plows forward. “He’s stronger and stuff.”
“That’s regressive BS and stuff,” I snap.
“Seriously,” Imani agrees. “I am not giving up my weapon just because you didn’t think of getting one yet.”
The zombie woman on the other side of the stairwell door slams her body at the window. So far, the door hasn’t budged for her either.
That’s . . . lucky, I guess.
“If you want a weapon, keep your eyes open for one,” Imani says to Annie and Linus, her tone at once scolding and gentle.
“Certainly,” Linus agrees. “Here.” He trots a few feet behind us to the emergency station.
“This will work.” Linus pulls down a fire extinguisher.
“Okay, what am I supposed to use?” Annie asks.
“That.” I point to the bright-red box hanging near the fire extinguisher mounting.
“A defibrillator?” Annie scoffs. “What am I supposed to do with that? Hold up, zombie, while I put electrodes on you. Sure. Great. CLEAR!”
She mimics lifting her hands and stepping back from an imaginary body on a gurney, like in one of those hospital shows.
I refuse to let her make me feel foolish.
&n
bsp; “It’s something. You can get a better weapon later,” I say.
“Fine,” Annie mutters. She walks to the red box and yanks it off the wall.
“Guess you’ll have to wait until we’re out of the hall to find something,” Annie says to Mia.
“I’m not worried about it,” Mia replies, in supreme nonchalance. “I’ve got mace in my purse anyway.”
“Will mace even work on zombies?” Linus asks.
“I guess we’ll find out,” Mia says, fishing the small aerosol can out of her slim bag.
“We’ll find something better soon,” I tell her.
“Consider yourself on the payroll.” Mia smiles, a gorgeous predatory curve. She really does give the impression that she’s completely in control and assured.
Annie hugs the plastic box over her chest, more like the box is a teddy bear, rather than a shield or weapon.
For some reason, we’re still creeping backward from the stairwell door. As if a sudden break for it would bring more attackers down upon us.
Or like sudden movement would break the spell of fragile safety we’ve found in the hall.
“What’s the plan?” Linus asks me, glancing back to the stairwell door, where the zombie woman is still going nuts, banging on the door with her arms, face, and shoulders.
“That noise is probably going to bring more zombies,” I say. “More zombies means more chance they’ll get through the door, no matter what’s blocking it. We can’t stay here.”
“Agreed,” Linus says. “No stairwell means no loading docks. I propose we try the other door.” He points to the top of the hall.
“I think that opens to the ballroom lobby,” Rosa says.
“We can at least check it out, see how it looks out there,” Mia agrees.
“We can’t call Siggy,” Imani says. “If only we could call or text.”
We’ve almost reached the middle of the hallway, where the closed, labeled doors wait.
They must be offices, or closets, or something like that.
“Hate to inform y’all,” Annie says, and her voice is tense with fear, “but that ballroom lobby? It’s full of zombies. They came from there.”
“Maybe, or maybe they’re all in the ballroom now,” Linus argues.