Endurance

by Jack Kilborn

  On her right side, Deb was confronted by; a man with a spine so twisted he walked on all fours; a tall, long-limbed teenager whose eyes were too close together, bloody acne covering his face like a crust, two more men like Grover, with flippers for hands and deformed skulls, and a gigantic, muscular hulk who didn’t appear to have any neck.

  Deb grabbed her dropped mountain climbing leg, which was lying next to her. Then she crawled out of the blood pool. Her prosthetics were still too slippery to stand up. She assumed a kneeling position, raising the artificial leg like a weapon, realizing she had no chance at all of getting away.

  The pimply teenager reached for her, his hands stained with dried blood—probably from picking at his face. His reach was so long Deb was unable to hit him even as his spidery fingers encircled her throat.

  And then the teen’s head jerked to the side. His eyes—mere millimeters apart—crossed. He flopped to the side, his head bouncing off the floor.

  Coming in behind him, someone else reached out for Deb.

  Florence.

  “Give me your hand,” she said.

  With the older woman’s help, Deb was able to stand up. Once Deb was vertical, Florence lashed out her foot, catching a freak in the jaw, knocking him away.

  Deb followed Florence through the hole she’d made in the wall of attackers, walking carefully because her treads were wet. The tiny burst of optimism spurred by Florence’s rescue attempt faded quickly when Deb realized there was no place to run.

  We can’t get away. There are too many of them.

  Florence didn’t seem deterred by this. She kicked and punched like Jackie Chan’s grandmother, and for the moment the freaks gave her a wide berth.

  “We should try for the front door,” Deb said. They were now standing back to back, both of them swinging at the surrounding horde.

  “I’m not leaving without my family.”

  Someone crawled up to Deb, someone with stunted legs like Teddy. He grabbed Deb’s Cheetah, pulling her off balance. Deb smacked him in the face with her mountain climbing leg, the spiked end flaying off a few layers of skin.

  “Deb!”

  She looked up, at a door that opened behind the staircase.

  Mal!

  He looked like hell, and was missing his left hand, and they were both probably doomed, but damned if he didn’t smile when she met his eyes.

  Following him through the door were two women. One looked like a younger version of Florence. The other was thin and dishevelled but brandishing a scalpel like she wanted to cut the whole world’s throat.

  Our odds just got a tiny bit better.

  Mal pushed his way through Eleanor’s children, reaching Deb, giving her a quick, gentle caress on her cheek before he wielded a scalpel of his own and began slashing at the oncoming wave of freaks.

  For a moment they held their own, and Deb thought they might actually have a chance.

  But more of the brood came down the stairs, shuffling toward them like zombies. And even more came through the door under the staircase, dressed in antique clothing.

  How many of them can there be?

  Then Deb saw something that could be the game-changer.

  Eleanor is here.

  The matriarch stood next to the stairs, arms folded, looking smug.

  It’s like chess. If you capture the king, the rest of the pieces stop attacking.

  Deb headed for Eleanor, swinging her mountain climbing leg like a club, clearing a path. Eleanor saw Deb approach, and must have sensed her intent, because she hurried up the stairs. Deb wasn’t good on stairs, but she got ready to follow, to hunt down the old woman and an end to this madness.

  Apparently, someone else had the same idea. Shoving Deb aside, the thin woman with the scalpel tore upstairs after Eleanor. Deb fell over, and found herself being pawed and groped on all sides by losers in the genetic lottery.

  “We have to go back to the basement!” Mal yelled. “We can’t hold them off up here!”

  Someone pulled Deb’s arm—Florence again. She dragged Deb across the floor, to the doorway under the staircase. Mal and Florence’s daughter followed. The door led to a small room the size of a closet, an iron ladder descending into the floor. Deb’s hopes sank even lower.

  I’m even worse on ladders than I am on stairs.

  “You go first,” she told Florence.

  Florence hesitated. “Can you manage?”

  “If I don’t, gravity will.”

  Florence sped down the ladder. Her daughter was next, leaving Deb alone with Mal. The freaks closed in, shuffling en masse like a giant wave about to wash up against them.

  “Ladies first,” Mal said.

  “You go.”

  “No time to argue.”

  “I... I can’t.”

  Deb knew she would need to scoot down backwards, feel around for the rungs. It was dark, and she had no idea how high the ladder was. Mal could go faster, even with one hand. He should—

  And then Mal shoved her. Deb teetered, stepping backward, her leg missing the floor and dropping into the hole.

  She fell, crying out, insane with panic, and then something snagged her hand and stopped her.

  Mal. Holding onto me from above.

  “Catch her!” Mal yelled.

  Then he let go of Deb’s hand, and once again the crazy panic feeling took over, staying with her even as four strong arms broke her fall.

  Rather than feeling relief at still being alive, Deb stared up at the ladder above her, willing for Mal to come down.

  He didn’t.

  “Mal!” she yelled. “MAL!”

  There was an unbearable silence.

  Then Mal began to scream.

  # # #

  Kelly couldn’t quite comprehend what she was seeing. The dead were stacked around her like cords of firewood, almost as high as the ceiling. Most were dishevelled, their skin shrunken and mummified. Others were practically skeletal. They towered on either side, threatening to topple over and bury Kelly in an avalanche of corpses.

  Cam got to his feet and kicked something aside. The object rolled away into the darkness, but not before Deb could make out its long hair and two hollowed-out eye sockets.

  He just kicked a human head.

  “The flame is blowing toward me,” Cam said. “There’s a way out.”

  “We need to get Mom.”

  “I think I see your dog.”

  Cam hurried ahead. Kelly had to follow, or else be left in total darkness. She reached her arms out in front of her, not wanting to bump into anything while chasing Cam, and then felt a sharp pain in her heel just above her gym shoe, like she’d caught it in something.

  She immediately lifted her leg up, reaching for her calf—

  —touching something greasy and furry. Something that squirmed when her fingers touched its pointy nose.

  Oh my god it’s a rat!

  Kelly had held rats before; one of her friends had a rat as a pet. But that one was tame and cute, and this one was biting her ankle.

  She stabbed at the creature with her scalpel. It dropped off, squealing, just as Kelly felt another one run up her other leg. She jabbed that one as well, but then there were more of them, running over her feet, bumping into her from all directions. The scalpel wasn’t enough.

  “Cam!”

  Kelly ran forward, wanting more than anything to get the hell away from there, and then she was pressed up against the pile of corpses, her face mashing into someone long dead. Thick dust—dead flesh?—rained down on Kelly, getting in her eyes and nose.

  “Cam!” she said, and then bent over and vomited when a flake of something putrescent landed in her mouth.

  More squealing, and then there was light again and Cam appeared, stomping on rats, breaking their backs and kicking them aside. He took Kelly under the arm and said, “Hurry! I found your dog!”

  They stumbled through the corpse maze, rats on their heels, and then Kelly felt a fresh, clean breeze on her face. The smell was glo
rious. She glimpsed the full moon in the distance, through a barred iron gateway which was pushed open. There, next to a tree—

  “JD!”

  The dog didn’t look at her. He was hunched down, his teeth bared, staring at something in the dark.

  Kelly began to run to him, but Cam caught her shirt, holding her back.

  “Wait,” Cam whispered.

  A moment later, Kelly understood Cam’s caution.

  Slinking out of the woods, approaching her dog, was a mountain lion.

  # # #

  If it’s the last thing I do in my life, I’m going to kill that bitch.

  Maria headed for the staircase after Eleanor, but a familiar figure blocked her way.

  George.

  His powdered wig was on crooked, and the Revolutionary War uniform he wore was stained with blood splotches and gunky styptic.

  “I din’t get to stick it to y’all earlier. But you ain’t gettin’ away this time.”

  He reached for her, his lips curled in a snarl. Maria let him grab her, pull her close.

  How about I stick it to you instead, asshole?

  And then she rammed the scalpel so far into his bloodshot eyeball the tip touched the back of his skull.

  George crumpled to the floor. Maria pulled out the scalpel, which came free with a sucking/slurping sound, then darted up the stairs. For a fat old lady, Eleanor could move like a gazelle. Though Maria had done her best to maintain an exercise regimen in captivity, she knew she was malnourished, and the transfused blood in her system zapped her energy even further. By the time Maria got to the third floor, she was winded, and Eleanor had disappeared into one of the rooms.

  Maria began with the closest one, Zachary Taylor.

  Immediately on entering, Maria was gut-punched by emotion.

  Cribs. There are half a dozen baby cribs.

  And some of the babies are cooing.

  Maria’s mind flashed back to when she first realized she was serious about Felix. She hadn’t ever planned a future with a man before, and for the first time she had to share an intimate, personal, and ultimately shameful admission.

  “I want to have kids with you. But I can’t. I have this medical condition. I’ll never be able to bear children.”

  Felix’s response was one of the best things anyone ever said to her.

  “Then after we get married, we’ll adopt, and some lucky kid will get to have the best mother in the world.”

  Seeing all of these cradles made Maria’s heart catch in her throat. How many times, lying on the dirt floor of her cell, had she dreamed of one day holding a baby? Of playing peek-a-book? Of changing its little diapers and tickling its little chin?

  Slowly, reverently, Maria approached the nearest crib, peeking over the side.

  She immediately recoiled. The child had bug eyes and an obscenely large mouth, which was currently wrapped around a piece of raw chicken. It looked up at Maria and hissed, baring pointed teeth.

  Unable to stop herself, she checked the next crib. The child had something on its face that looked like a beak, and it was gnawing on its own foot, drawing blood.

  The next one was a set of Siamese twins, joined at the face and sharing the same center eye. They saw her and made a sound like a cat being stepped on/

  The next one—

  Perfect. This baby is absolutely perfect.

  Fine, brown hair. Wide, expressive eyes. The cutest little nose. The child saw Maria and cooed, reaching out a chubby hand. She held out her finger, letting the baby grasp it, and for a moment Maria forget where she was, and who she was, and all the horrors of the past year, along with her current situation, vanished from her mind.

  You’re so precious.

  Then, from behind her, Maria heard the unmistakeable sound of a shotgun racking. Without even thinking, Maria snatched up the baby and spun around.

  Eleanor had the gun pointed at her. Maria raised the scalpel.

  “Drop it, or I’ll kill the baby,” she lied.

  Eleanor smiled. “Go ahead. She ain’t one of mine. Came with a couple who stayed here a few weeks back. Her parents didn’t properly adjust to our accommodations, and they’re no longer with us. But that little girl is the right blood type. Plannin’ on bleedin’ her when she gets a wee bit older. Then let my boys have some fun. But I can live with the loss.”

  Someone came in the room behind Eleanor. Harry, whose harelip was so severe it practically reached his eyebrows.

  What do I do?

  What can I do?

  Nothing. I can’t do a damn thing.

  “Either kill the child or set ‘er down,” Eleanor said. “Either way, you ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

  Maria took a deep breath, then let it out slow. She went to put the girl back in its crib, but the infant clung to Maria’s shirt collar, refusing to be put down. When Maria disentangled her perfect little fingers and laid her on her back, the baby began to cry.

  “Shh,” Maria said, tears welling up. “It’s okay, little one. It’s going to be okay.”

  But Maria knew it wouldn’t be.

  Then Eleanor stomped over and hit Maria in the stomach with the butt of the shotgun. Maria crumpled to the floor.

  “I saw what you did to my transfuser machine,” Eleanor said. “It’ll take me a week to get another one delivered. You’re gonna pay for that, little lady. Pay dearly. I’m gonna punish you the old-fashioned way.”

  But Maria wasn’t listening. She was looking up at the crib, realizing that was the last time in her life she’d ever get to hold a baby.

  Then Harry grabbed her.

  # # #

  Letti shoved the woman with the artificial legs aside, reaching out her arms to catch Mal, who was screaming as he fell. He came down face-first, but Letti was ready for it, keeping her back straight, bending her knees, grasping him tight just inches before his head cracked against the ground.

  “We have to go,” Florence said. “Now.”

  She was right. Eleanor’s brood was coming down the ladder.

  The four of them hurried into the next room, shutting the door behind them. Letti, Florence, and the legless woman—Letti remembered that Mal called her Deb—began to stack boxes against the door, moving as fast as they could.

  “Where’s Kelly?” Florence asked.

  “She disappeared with JD and Cam.”

  “They must have gone through here,” Mal said, poking his head into the room with the suitcases. “Maybe they found an exit.”

  Letti hefted a particularly heavy box of pills, dropping it on the pile. “Okay, let’s go. Right now. Come on, Florence.”

  “No,” Florence said.

  Letti stopped and stared at her mother. “What do you mean, no?”

  Florence came up to Letti, and did something completely out of character. She held her daughter’s hands.

  She hasn’t done that since I was a kid.

  “Someone has to stay here and hold them off so you can get away,” Florence said.

  Letti shook her head. “No way. We don’t have time for this. You’re coming with us.”

  Florence smiled, but it was a sad smile.

  Oh, no. This isn’t happening. She isn’t going to do what I think she’s going to do.

  “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry, Letti. I was stubborn. I thought I knew better. But the fact is, you’re more important to me than anyone else on the planet. I wish I realized that sooner.”

  “We can do this later, Florence.”

  “There’s not going to be a later, Letti. Not for me.”

  Letti took her hands back, folding her arms across her chest. “If you stay here, then I’m staying with you.”

  Florence shook her head. “You need to be there for your daughter, Letti. Like I should have been there for you. I’m sorry I wasn’t at your husband’s funeral. It’s my biggest regret.”

  A lump grew in Letti’s throat.

  I waited so long to hear her say those words. But not here. Not now.

  �
��Florence...”

  “Tell Kelly I’m sorry I wasn’t a bigger part of her childhood. And I’m sorry I won’t get to see her grow up into the amazing woman I know she’s going to become, because she has you as a mother.”

  Letti’s eyes got glassy. “No. You can tell her that yourself, when we all get out of here.”

  The door shook, toppling some of the boxes.

  “I’m not going to get out of here, Letti.” Florence said. “But you are. And you’re going to live a long, wonderful life, taking care of my granddaughter.”

  She’s not doing this. Don’t let her be doing this.

  “Florence... please...”

  Florence touched Letti’s cheek, wiped away a tear.

  “Of all the things I’ve done, Letti. All the soldiers I helped to heal. All the hungry I helped to feed. The vaccines I gave. The dams I built. The villages I helped to save. Of all the things I’m proud of, the thing I’m proudest of most of all is you. You’re the best thing I’ve ever done with my life, Letti.”

  The tears came fast now.

  “Oh… Mom…”

  “I love you so much.”

  “I love you too, Mom.”

  They hugged. A final, desperate, loving hug.

  “I always wanted to grow up to be just like you,” Letti said, sniffling.

  “You grew up to be even better.”

  More boxes toppled, and the door opened a crack.

  “Let’s go!” Deb implored.

  Mal shook his head in agreement. “We really gotta get out of here.”

  Letti tried one more time. “Mom... please... don’t do this.”

  Florence gently pushed her away. Then she winked.

  “It beats dying of cancer. Now go find Kelly, and let your old mother kick some ass.”

  The door opened halfway, and the freaks began to slide through. Letti watched Mom turn around and face them, knife in hand, standing tall and proud.

  Then Letti followed Mal and Deb through the door, not looking back, not able to see even if she did because her eyes were blurred with tears.