Intruders (Book 2): The Awakening

by Tracy Sharp

  And now the vibrations were like fireworks going off. Stronger and stronger.

  Heart thumping against her ribcage, she stepped over the glass, crushing the smaller pieces, and ducked, moving through the large, jagged hole in the glass doors.

  It was cold. Freezing. But Chrissy didn’t pull her warm hood over her head. She needed her peripheral vision.

  Not stopping to think about it, she climbed over the ornate, wrought-iron railing and then crouched, looking down only to judge how far down the next railing was. She’d have to hang and drop.

  Six floors down.

  There was no choice. She couldn’t just stay in the panic room and wait for the zombies to finally get in and really trap her, or for the spider-like creatures to decide to come back when they got short on food.

  Or whatever they did with people.

  Trying to slow her trembling, Chrissy lifted one toned leg over the railing. She’d never liked heights. Suck it up.

  The years of ballet class, all those hours of practice, had paid off. Her body was strong and flexible, and able to do many things she wouldn’t normally be able to do.

  All those dance recitals. Every move timed. She couldn’t hear the music, so timing and the feeling of the music through her ballet slippers and spreading through her body felt like flying.

  Her mother dreamed of her one day getting into the New York School of Dance. And she would’ve too, if she’d wanted to. She’d excelled in ballet. Always front and center. She’d had more dance solos than any other dancer in her category she’d met.

  Gymnastics class hadn’t hurt either. The parallel bars had been her favorite. Chrissy hung on to the bar of the railing, bent her knees, and dropped her hands to the lower bar. She lowered her body so that she hung by her hands and then swung her legs until she had enough momentum to swing onto the balcony below.

  She dropped. One boot hit something that rolled beneath her. Her feet went outward, and she fell hard on her tailbone. The ski jacket did little to cushion the shock of the blow. The pain took her breath away and for a long moment she sat with her eyes squeezed tightly shut, taking quick breaths, tears pricking her eyes.

  Finally, the pain subsided, and Chrissy gingerly pushed herself. She still hurt, but her mother wasn’t here to give her an ice pack or some ibuprofen. She never would be again.

  Swallowing the lump rising in her throat, she looked around for the thing that had sent her flying and then landing on her ass.

  What she saw made her want to cry all over again. A child’s toy dump truck.

  Where was the kid who owned this truck?

  She peered through the gaping hole in the glass balcony doors, a hole so similar to the one in her own balcony doors. Those creatures must’ve systematically gone through every single apartment in the building. In all the buildings. And in all the houses.

  It was a miracle she was still here.

  The panic room in their apartment had been specially installed by her father. She was sure the other apartments didn’t have them.

  Still, she had to look. The child could still be in there, alive and hungry.

  She didn’t know what she sounded like when she tried to speak, or how loud she was, but she attempted a whisper. “Little boy?”

  Creeping toward the kitchen, she tried again. “Little boy?”

  Then a child’s face appeared around the corner of the wall. The light was dim, and Chrissy tried to make out his features, but she couldn’t quite see them in the shadows of the kitchen.

  “It’s okay. I can help you.” Though she knew this was laughable. How would she ever get a child out of the building when she’d almost broken her own ass landing on the balcony? “I won’t hurt you. It’s okay.”

  The child tilted his head slightly. Her cousin had told her that she sounded like she was from another country. Like English wasn’t her first language. Maybe he was wondering where she was from.

  He was about six years old. Chrissy recognized him as the nephew of the woman who lived here. Where was she?

  Scanning every corner, Chrissy also kept an eye on the boy. His eyes were vacant and red. Maybe he was in shock. God knew what he’d seen. One small arm had a defect, and ended at where the elbow normally would, with a small, malformed hand at the end. His yellow T-shirt was stained red. His aunt must be hurt in there. The child opened his mouth in what Chrissy imagined was a whine and walked woodenly toward her.

  “It’s okay.” She couldn’t remember the little boy’s name. “What’s your name?”

  He snapped his teeth as he approached, drool hanging from his chin.

  Realization slammed into her. He was dead.

  Oh no, Chrissy whispered, backing up. Oh, no.

  She backed up, and then turned and headed toward the balcony railing. She stole a quick look backward, unable to believe the horror she saw coming toward her. The little boy followed, red-sneakered feet shuffling quicker, small hands reaching, opening and closing.

  Chrissy hit the railing and scissored her legs over. She was vaguely aware of the toes of her boots hitting the narrow concrete ledge. Holding on to the ornate bars, she slid downward, feeling her legs swing below her. The little boy’s head disappeared as she swung her legs back and forth and then landed on the floor of the balcony below.

  She glanced at the glass doors. These broken like the two above it, only all that was left of these were jagged edges. She caught sight of something shifting just inside the doors. She peered behind the silky, thin curtains. Something stirred behind them. An almost insubstantial shape stood there.

  A gust of wind swept over her and lifted the drapes, revealing the figure of a thin woman, brown hair blowing into her face. She lifted her head and her mouth opened in what Chrissy imagined would’ve been described to her as a moan, and Chrissy felt the hair on her head stand up, away from her scalp.

  She kept her eyes on the woman as she moved toward the railing. Again, she swung a leg over, and then the other, but her foot slipped and she felt herself sliding down.

  Chrissy let out a little yelp and caught herself. The iron railing trembled beneath her fingers. Someone was moving on the balcony behind her. The woman was coming up behind her.

  Heart hammering in her ears, Chrissy hung on, swinging her legs. Three more. Three more floors and she could jump to the bottom. Get away from this building of the dead.

  Something touched her fingers, brushed them, and she screamed, looking up. The dead woman’s fuzzy, purple slippers were pressing against the backs of her fingers. But the woman’s knees were moving forward above her. At any second, her fingers would be grabbing at her.

  Chrissy swung forward and felt arms wrap around her legs. She let out a startled scream as she fell forward, against something large and barrel chested.

  She felt his whispers against her cheek, and then his chest vibrated against her back. He wasn’t biting her, and his movements had reason behind them. Friend or foe?

  He was alive, but why wasn’t he letting her go? She tried talking. “Let go of me!”

  The big man’s chest bounced with his laughter. He still wouldn’t let her go. Instead, he was dragging her inside, through the broken glass doors. Still she felt his whispers in her hair. His breath hit her in the face and the smell of old baloney made her gag. The dead smelled better. “Let go!”

  He whispered, and then she felt him giggle.

  And although she couldn’t hear him, she got his message loud and clear.

  He was never going to let her go.

  ***

  His breath was hot on her face and the smell almost made her retch. His arms were wrapped around her and squeezed her so tightly, she could barely breathe. Chrissy tried stomping on his foot, but he’d anticipated this move and lifted her up off the floor like she weighed nothing. She tried kicking backward, but he easily dodged it. She couldn’t reach his arm to bite him.

  How had things gone from bad to worse so fast? All she’d wanted to do was to escape the dead and g
et out of here. Find some other survivors. Figure out a way to stay alive.

  But now there was nobody to help her. She was in some deep shit now, as Rudy would’ve said. The more she fought, the harder he held her.

  She felt him laugh against her, his chest shaking, and Chrissy’s blood went cold. She was never going to leave this apartment unless she was smarter than this pervert. Although panic made every cell in her body want to fight against him, she forced herself to relax and go limp.

  His voice was an obscene breath in her ear, and she didn’t need to hear what he was saying to know what was on his mind.

  Chrissy’s skin crawled over her bones and she focused on slowing her breathing.

  He whispered again, little puffs of fetid air stuttering against her cheek, and a shudder moved through her. Finally he turned her around and looked at her. He locked eyes with her and a dirty smile crossed his face. She wanted to look away, but he was talking to her. She read his lips. “–– try to run. It’ll be fun hunting you. And I will catch you, girlie. There’s nowhere for you to go.”

  She took a few slow breaths and waited. His arms fell away, and she stood stock-still, her legs trembling, her mind screaming at her to run.

  He stood before her, a jack-o-lantern smile on his face. He spoke again, his thin lips moving through the smile. “The halls are full of the dead. I saw what you were trying to do. And you probably would’ve made it down to the ground, but the lawn is crawling with them, too. You’ll get torn apart if you risk it.”

  But she’d get torn apart by him if she stayed. She’d take her chances with the dead.

  Chrissy didn’t need to wait around to find out what happens next.

  She was slight, but she was fast.

  He was large and probably pretty slow.

  But if he caught her, he could crush her with his weight.

  Chrissy mentally readied herself to turn and run, and then something moved behind him. She tried to peer around him.

  He stepped in front of her, speaking. She read his lips. “–– is no escape. There’s nowhere to go. I told you that. You’re stuck with me. And you’ll have to do whatever I tell you to do.”

  She saw a shape coming closer. It was one of the dead. It must’ve climbed up from the balcony below. Maybe it was a good thing that she hadn’t tried to jump. Maybe this big, mean bastard was a blessing in disguise.

  He took a step toward her, a dirty smile stretching his face.

  She took a step back.

  The thing behind him took a step toward him, and another. It was a tall, thin teenager. Logan Fellows. He lived on the floor beneath this one. She’d had a crush on him, with his huge green eyes and quiet rebel ways. Worn brown leather jacket, worn jeans over construction worker boots. Thick, dark hair hanging over those emerald eyes. He’d been hot.

  He wasn’t so hot anymore.

  But he was silent.

  Chrissy got an idea. She placed what she hoped was a flirty smile on her face and lifted a finger to pause the pervert.

  The pervert paused, his face puzzled.

  She slowly unzipped her ski jacket.

  The pervert smiled. His lips said, “Yeah. Oh, yeah. Strip for Daddy, baby.”

  Chrissy didn’t know what music sounded like, but she’d danced for years. She’d seen a few minutes of a stripper scene on a Law and Order episode once. She did a slow sway of her hips and bit her lower lip, opening the ski jacket and winking at him.

  He clapped, his eyes alight with malevolent glee. “Yes! Do it! Take it off!”

  That was when Logan’s teeth clamped down and took a large bite out of the pervert’s neck. His filthy smile morphed into an expression of shock and pain, and his mouth opened in a silent howl.

  Chrissy took the opportunity to run around them toward the balcony. She couldn’t hear if there were more of the dead on the balcony below, but she needed to risk it.

  She had the creepy feeling that if she didn’t get out of here now, like right now, she’d never leave the building.

  Not alive.

  ***

  Chrissy swiped at the tears that squeezed from her eyes. She missed her parents. Her friends. Nobody was answering her texts. They were either dead or had been captured by the insect things. She didn’t want to think about what those things did to people, or where they took them.

  She had to find a safe place to think. Her stomach was growling, and she was thirsty. But now, going to the corner store was an exercise in survival. The dead trudged along, slack-jawed, looking for anything that moved.

  Partially eaten bodies littered the streets. Chrissy tried not to look at them. She kept her eyes turned upward, toward the landscape, to the surrounding buildings, and tried to figure out the best route to take.

  If she could quietly sneak to the other side of the street without being noticed, she could make her way down a series of side streets and get to Market Street, where several stores flanked both sides of the cobble-stoned road. There were fresh fruit and vegetable stands, as well as stores that sold drinks, bagels, and sandwiches.

  Although Chrissy was still terrified, the adrenaline rush that had pumped through her during her capture by the pervert a little while ago had left her trembling and tired. She supposed that she was in a kind of trauma shock. It would stand to reason. The world had ended, after all, and she was one of the survivors.

  Were there more? There had to be. She couldn’t be the last person left on the planet. Could she?

  Still, a thin sense of urgency bloomed inside her chest every few minutes. The longer she was out in the open, unprotected, the more dangerous the streets became. It would be dark soon. Those creepy, crawly things would come out. And she wouldn’t hear them coming.

  Chrissy chewed on a thumbnail as she crouched behind a news stand. She’d made it a few streets away from her building. But she had a long way to go to get to Market Street. It was normally a quick bike ride. But on foot, avoiding the shambling dead, it seemed a hell of a lot longer. One wrong turn and she could run into a group of them, and if she became surrounded by them, she was done. She’d die a horrible, screaming, agonizing death.

  She wished she’d been able to take her bike. Winter or not. It would be faster than walking and quiet. It was always quiet for her, but not for those dead people. The ones wandering aimlessly around the building and in the streets. The main streets were chock-full of them, she’d discovered. But on the side roads and the back streets there were fewer of them. For now.

  Market Street had a sports shop that sold bikes. It’s where her dad had taken her to buy her awesome Thunderbolt. The memory caused her throat to tighten. She swallowed it down and took a deep, shuddering breath. All of her life, she’d had her mom and dad there, cheering her on, encouraging her to do all the things that other kids did. Pushing her to be the best she could be, despite her disability. To be better. And she had been. She had been better in so many areas. Her ribbons and trophies were a testament to that.

  All left behind on shelves in her room, still gleaming and smelling of fresh polish. Mom had kept them shining. She’d been so proud.

  Focus! You can break down later.

  Little gray puffs escaped her mouth as she moved. The chilled air bit into her face as her boots slipped slightly on freshly fallen snow. She wished she was sitting on her alcove windowsill, watching the snowflakes as they drifted in front of the window. That was her favorite spot. She’d sit there for hours, reading.

  Stop! Keep moving.

  Where did she really think she was going? The world had turned into a living nightmare. The dead had taken over, and at night, the lizard/spider creatures came out to play.

  She wasn’t going to end up like the dead, and she sure as hell wasn’t going to be dragged away to God knows what hole by those creepy things.

  Her feet moved faster. She kept to the back streets and stayed behind buildings as much as she could.

  She kept looking behind her, making sure none of the dead were creeping up
on her. Several times she thought she’d sensed one behind her, but when she’d turned to look, there was no one.

  This time, as she paused between two apartment buildings, she turned to look and her heart froze. A woman in a long, stylish overcoat was trudging toward her, her ankles bent outward. She no longer knew how to walk on her high-heeled tall boots. Her blonde hair looked surprisingly good, though. Must be fantastic hair spray.

  Her mouth opened and closed as she made her way toward Chrissy, her red polished fingers reaching outward. Several of the nails had broken and torn.

  Chrissy turned to run, slipping on a patch of ice. Her feet went out from under her and she scrambled to gain her footing again. She settled on a kind of leaping crawl forward. Then her hands slipped and she came down on her chest, her face barely missing the black ice. She turned to look at the woman, a scream traveling up her throat.

  The woman lurched forward, closing the distance, her bent ankles somehow keeping her from slipping.

  Maybe she’s onto something, Chrissy thought hysterically, trying to crabwalk away and failing.

  The woman suddenly dropped, her body still on the ice.

  Chrissy stared, moving backward steadily until her hands found solid ground. She pushed herself back onto her feet and frowned.

  What the hell?

  The woman wasn’t moving.

  She was dead. Like, really dead, this time.

  Maybe they had some kind of best-before-date.

  Chrissy felt a crazy laugh escape her mouth, and then started moving again.

  There were plenty more corpses out there who were still kicking.

  ***

  Chrissy found her way to the back door of a bakery her dad had taken her to for as long as she could remember. Their father-and-daughter Sunday bike rides began with a pastry from Crumbles Bakery. They’d grab a table by the window and watch the bustle on Market Street before they headed to the bike trail.

  At first, she was amazed to find the back door unlocked. Then she remembered that Dan, one of the guys who worked in the kitchen, would take his smoke breaks out there.