by Joe Augustyn
Cat was now fully alert. The gunfire had triggered a surge of combat adrenaline. For a moment she thought she was back in Afghanistan. Then she remembered the hell they were in.
***
Five cubicles and a million miles away, Kerri heard the gunshots and the shattering glass and knew immediately what had transpired. She cursed herself for trusting the unstable teen, and knew her own situation was now much more precarious.
I’ve got to get out of here now. She turned and moved deeper into the maze, holding her Glock at arms length, using it to probe her way from one confusing cubicle to the next. The gun barrel banged into invisible glass panels and poked through open doorways.
Her angst grew darker with every step. Through the glass panels around her she caught glimpse after glimpse of creeping corpses, and knew it was only a matter of time before her luck ran dry. Suddenly she spotted Emma with her arm around Cat’s waist, moving at a brisk pace. They appeared to be just a few cubicles away, hustling forward with gutsy determination.
Kerri almost shouted to them but thought better of it, knowing it might confuse them and would certainly draw the ghouls. Instead she rushed forward to join them—and crashed face-first into a pane of invisible glass. Stunned and reeling in pain, she stood wavering for a moment, cursing herself for acting impulsively and letting down her guard.
Taking a deep calming breath she resumed her trek more judiciously, carefully probing with her gun until she found the next doorway. Stepping through it she looked in the direction she thought her companions would be. They were no longer in sight. She realized they could be anywhere in the maze—she could have seen them reflected through a dozen misleading mirrors. Stifling a curse she turned and poked at the panels around her, eager to find the next doorway. She felt more alone than ever and regretted leaving the group.
She finally found an opening and stepped through it—and collided with a body that blundered out of nowhere. As they crashed to the floor, Kerri hit her head against a mirror, stunning her. She landed awkwardly, trapped face-to-face beneath a corpulent woman.
The corpse gazed at her through soulless eyes. Her face was a swollen ruin of gaping bite marks, purple-tinged flesh bitten through to the bone. Her odor wasn’t pleasant but it wasn’t very strong. She was obviously a recent kill. With half her skin chewed away and her hair encrusted with gobs of dried purple blood it was hard to tell her age, but she was grossly overweight. Her massive body crushed Kerri’s torso to the floor, one arm pinned beneath her body.
The woman’s head twitched as she smelled Kerri’s living hormones and her lips curled back in a hungry snarl. A weird sound rolled from her throat, part longing moan and part death rattle.
Kerri pointed the Glock at her head but hesitated, realizing the sound of a shot would bring more zombies, and the woman’s dead weight would be impossible to lift.
The woman lunged for a bite. Kerri dropped the Glock and grabbed the woman’s hair just in the nick of time—holding her head back, keeping her snapping jaws at bay. The pistol bounced off her hip and slid to the floor beneath her. She squirmed and twisted under the dead woman’s bulk, struggling hopelessly to free her legs and her other arm. In desperation she tried to reason with the once living thing. “Please… you don’t have to do this… Get a hold of yourself…”
The massive corpse wiggled like a rabid walrus, frantically chomping its jaws, trying to bite Kerri’s face or her forearm. Its one track mind was driven by a solitary instinct. To feed.
Kerri pressed her mouth and her eyes shut as flecks of rancid mucous showered her face. She didn’t know how the infectious agent was spread and she wasn’t taking any chances. She soon regretted dropping the pistol, realizing it would’ve been better to have used it and risked her chances with the noise and repercussions. Now she was trapped, one arm nailed to the floor, the other quickly tiring. There was no way she could release her grip on the woman’s hair and retrieve the pistol without getting bit.
The dead woman thrashed her head wildly, inflamed by the smell of pheromones in Kerri’s fear-induced sweat. She was obviously impervious to any pain that Kerri’s desperate grip on her hair might be causing, and was not losing any energy. It was clear to Kerri that she herself would tire long before the resurrected corpse did. Despite their clumsy lethargy and uncoordinated movements, whatever energy was animating the dead transcended the normal limits of human power.
She thought about yelling for help, but knew Emma was barely holding it together and Cat was in no condition to come to her aid. And there was no way they’d make it through the maze in time to rescue her, even if they were in shape to do so. She was much more likely to get them killed.
She clung tenaciously to the dead woman’s hair, wracking her brain for a solution to her deadly dilemma. Her regret about dropping the gun took a bleaker tone. Now I can’t even kill myself.
A shadow darkened the cubicle. A man shuffled into the doorway, and for a moment Kerri had hope. His face looked normal and his dark eyes glittered. For a moment she thought he was alive. Then he turned his head, and she saw that half of his face was gone.
He staggered into the cubicle and the cloying stench hit her. He sank down slowly beside them, watching with vague fascination as Kerri struggled to hold the woman’s head back, her overtaxed muscles trembling with pain and exhaustion. He eyed Kerri in wonder for several seconds, processing the odd mix of stimuli radiating from the struggle… then he sank his teeth into her arm.
56
Ryan shot through the water like a tadpole—and bumped into an unexpected obstacle. His head hit first, then his shoulder, bouncing off the zombie’s upright legs. Bewilderment flooded his mind and he reached out and groped for an answer. His hands brushed well-padded thighs.
In an instant a jumble of questions flashed through his mind: Is that Bronski?—why is he standing exposed on the sidewalk?—or the Sheriff?—no—how could he have gotten here so fast?—then it must be—!
Pushing off from the meaty obstacle he splashed to the surface—and found himself looking up at the grotesquely bloated corpse of a man in a loud Hawaiian shirt. He was a walking horror, the skin missing from his face from the eye sockets down. He still had one eye remaining but it hadn’t seemed to notice Ryan yet.
The teen’s startled gasp remedied that. The monster looked down then lunged with both hands—but Ryan was quicker, kicking himself away and sweeping his arms in a frenzied backstroke. The zombie flopped forward but his greasy bloated fingers slipped off Ryan’s legs. He reared up again and toddled after him, splashing through the water with hellish determination. Ryan floundered clumsily, trying to plant his feet to gain more traction while frantically paddling away. His only saving grace was the strong flow of water, slowing the fat man’s progress.
A gunshot brought the zombie to a halt, taking a chunk of its head off.
Ryan dove out of the way as the hulking body flopped forward into the drink, revealing Bronski with his pistol in hand. The huge body bobbed on the water like a sleeping manatee.
“Come on, kid,” Bronski shouted. “Move your ass.”
A second shot rang out, coming from up the street. The high-powered round hit the water next to Ryan and ricocheted skyward. Bronski ducked back into cover behind the house. Ryan dove beneath the surface and swam past the floating corpse, his heart racing, afraid that the swollen carcass might spring back to its semblance of life and grab him.
After what seemed like forever he broke surface again, safe in the driveway next to Bronski. The trooper grabbed his collar and pulled him upright on his trembling legs. “You alright?”
“Yeah,” Ryan sputtered, spitting out water he was sure was contaminated with the zombie bug.
“You sure?” Bronski pressed, subtly scanning the boy for signs of a bite. “He didn’t hurt you, did he?”
“I’m okay,” Ryan said sharply, wondering what Bronski would do if he had been bitten. A potpourri of emotions washed over him—fear… anger… grudging a
cceptance—as he imagined Bronski coldly putting a bullet in his brain.
A woman wearing a nurse’s uniform sloshed into view nearby. Her ears were gone and her face was devoid of flesh. Her naked arms had been stripped to her half-chewed muscles. She turned and stared at them but before she could change direction, Bronski fired a shot into her head. As she floated away he stole a peek up the street and saw a handful of corpses heading their way. If they didn’t move back into the street immediately they’d soon be cornered in the driveway.
“We have to go right now. Same drill. You think you can make it all the way to the next corner this time?”
“Do I have a choice?”
Bronski shot him the stink-eye, determined to keep the boy on track. “Well you can stay here and die if you want. Otherwise keep your head down and don’t stop swimming until you reach the next street. And try not to swim into any strangers.”
“How will I know where I am if my head’s under water?”
Bronski grinned. It wasn’t a stupid question. “You got me there. Let’s go.”
57
Kerri’s scream echoed through the mirror maze like the cry of a dying banshee. Emma’s blood ran cold as she heard the utter despair and unmistakable finality. Cat straightened up, fighting the grogginess that was seeping back into her mind. Both knew they had just lost their best hope for survival and wouldn’t live much longer without their fiercest personal efforts.
Emma gazed ahead down the narrow, dimly lit passageway created by her misspent bullets. They had passed through four shattered cubicles already, slowed by the jagged remains of glass in the framework, and had three more cubicles ahead of them.
Something clunked loudly nearby. Glass tinkled. Thuds and bangs and ghoulish exhalations came from everywhere and nowhere at once—maddening nebulous sounds.
Emma stole a glance at Cat. She was looking pretty hopeless, her face nearly pale as snow and her eyelids drooping. For a fleeting moment Emma became concerned that Cat might turn into one of them and she thought about abandoning her. We’re both going to die anyway. But I might have a chance on my own. And if she turns…
She immediately felt guilty and dismissed the selfish idea. Then she remembered the Sig in the tac bag and dug it out. She looked at Cat again. The trooper was barely conscious. From somewhere nearby came more disturbing sounds—shuffling footsteps kicking broken glass… wet gristly sighs…
Temptation again reared its ugly head. Two shots and it’ll be over. One for her and one for me. We won’t have to suffer. Or come back as one of them.
A zombie stepped into view in an adjacent cubicle. The sight of it shocked Emma back to her senses. “Cat. Wake up. Here—breathe!” She shoved the vial of vapors up to Cat’s face, pressing them roughly against her nose until she heard her sucking in air.
The zombie lurched toward them, but slipped on a large piece of glass and slid to the floor.
Cat finally stopped inhaling and shook her head. “I’m good. Let’s go.”
Emma tightened her arm around Cat’s waist and they continued down the passageway, stepping gingerly over the slippery shards on the floor and squeezing past big glass fangs sticking out of the woodwork.
Leaden footsteps thumped nearby, seeming to be coming from just the other side of the mirror on their right. Emma stepped up the pace, clutching Cat tightly, not giving her a chance to slow them down. Time seemed to stand still. Her senses were pitched, eyes scanning rapidly in every possible direction, ears peeled for any telling sound. The cumbersome footsteps kept pace, and their pattern grew more complex. It wasn’t just one set clomping along now—there was more than one zombie on the move. The sounds could be coming from anywhere in the confusing maze with its echo chamber walls—but they sounded dangerously close.
An acidy spark of paranoia surged through Emma as they reached the last broken panel and were faced with several large shards too big to squeeze through. She turned and found an open doorway, but just as she started to drag Cat through it a zombie stumbled into view in front of them, blocking their path.
Cinching her arm around Cat’s waist Emma swung the Sig up and opened fire. The cadaver fell back but another lurched into the cubicle.
Emma whirled back towards the broken panel and knocked the remaining shards out with the barrel of her gun. As soon as they fell away she pulled Cat through the opening.
The zombies were right behind them, slowed only by their clumsy dead muscles. Emma heard them coming and bolted forward, dragging Cat with all her might. Glass crunched under their feet and they nearly slipped.
Suddenly a zombie appeared in front of them—stepping from an open doorway.
Emma stopped in her tracks as it turned and looked their way. Its face was a lacework of puffy stab wounds, a broken knife blade still stuck in its cheek. She raised the Sig again and fired. The bullet snapped the thing’s head back and it crumpled in the doorway.
Emma hoisted Cat over the fallen body. “Come on,” she pleaded desperately, “Lift your feet!”
The pain in Cat’s arm was excruciating but it kept her awake. Her legs felt like putty but she was moving on autopilot, resolved to keep pace with her unlikely savior. They stumbled over the twice dead corpse and slammed into an invisible pane of glass.
Emitting a garbled cry, Emma turned and groped frantically for the nearest opening. Zombies appeared through the panel to their left. Emma found the open doorway on her right and steered Cat through it. But as they hurried into the cubicle she saw more zombies coming toward them on tottering legs.
She looked around quickly for another way to go. There were none—they were trapped between two groups of zombies coming from opposite directions and mirror panels on either side. Her heart was pounding like a steam engine. She raised the Sig and fired several times at one of the mirrors. The glass exploded and crashed to the floor. The cadavers were already entering the cubicle when she hurried through the opening, dragging Cat with her.
Emma stumbled to a halt as the floor rose at an unexpected angle and she realized they were standing on the bottom of a ramp. There were no more mirrors in front of them—just the plywood wall of the funhouse.
She looked up the ramp and saw the exit door at the top of it. “Come on, Cat.” Her words dribbled out in a grateful sob. “We’re getting out of here.”
Cat grunted drunkenly and limped forward, making an effort to fight the sedation that was bogging her down. Emma strained to hold her up. Every step up the ramp was a battle.
The zombies stumbled clumsily through the opening behind them, oblivious to the glass shards slicing into their arms and their thighs. They turned toward the sound of the women’s footsteps on the hollow wooden ramp and staggered after them.
The women reached the door. Emma slammed her hip into the brass bar lock. The door slammed open—but instantly rebounded, punching back into her pelvis.
Emma cried out in pain and looked down. A thick chain was draped around the bar, looped through a bracket on the wall nearby. She gazed at the chain’s massive padlock in horror. The Sheriff’s words at the cemetery ran tauntingly through her mind: If I shoot it I’m more likely to seal it with hot lead than open it.
She turned to see the phalanx of zombies staggering up the ramp. Raising the Sig she fired several shots, driving them back as the lead corpses tumbled backwards.
Mumbling a desperate prayer, she turned back to the chain and opened fire.
Sparks exploded in the darkness. Bullets ricocheted wildly around them. Cat tensed, suddenly wide awake and terrified.
Emma fired again. And again.
The chain fell free, sliding to the floor in a clatter. Exhaling a cry of relief Emma slammed her hip against the brass bar again. This time the door flew open.
A zombie’s hand grabbed her arm. Emma shoved it back and threw herself forward, pulling Cat through the open door. The zombie lurched after them but the door slammed shut in its face.
Fighting back choking sobs, Emma helped Cat to th
e railing and braced her against an upright post. Her knees were trembling uncontrollably and her head was dizzy with adrenalin. She leaned out from under the overhang, sucking in a lungful of cold crisp air, and looked up at the charcoal sky. Lightning flashed, almost blindingly bright. Rain pummeled her face, icy and clean. She looked at the ersatz devil barker doing his thing near the door, his voice blaring from the speakers overhead. She felt like she was stuck in some weird fuzzy nightmare.
What the hell is going on? None of this makes any sense.
Fumbling for the smelling salts she took a quick whiff to clear her head, then jammed the vial under Cat’s nose. A fist thudded on the closed door behind them.
“Breathe, Cat, breathe!”
Cat sucked in a breath then opened her eyes, confused by the icy droplets splashing her cheek… then amazed as she looked around at the colorful lights of the overhang and the rain teeming down on the pier and realized they were safely outside.
Their elation was short-lived. Emma spotted more zombies wandering towards them across the pier and knew they were far from safe.
“Come on.” She slipped the Sig back into the tac bag and tightened her arm around Cat. “Time to go.”
58
Sheriff Leeds finally realized he’d been hornswoggled. It had been almost half an hour since the trooper and the boy had slipped into cover in the driveway and he hadn’t taken his eyes off their hiding place for more than a few scant seconds. On top of that, he noticed that the Resurrecteds wandering past the spot where the pair were supposed to be holed up weren’t reacting the way that they should be. They just kept moving past the driveway down the flooded street. Not hesitating. Not even turning their rotten ravaged heads to look into the driveway. Surely one of them would have taken notice if there was living meat nearby.
I’ll be damned. Those sneaky bastards managed to slip away somehow.