by A. R. Wise
I hoped if I lit the flower of cigarettes with it facing up that it wouldn't set off the alarm immediately. My plan was to light the cigarettes and then throw the detector out into the street, away from the alley, to draw the zombies to it. If I could get it to start beeping outside I could then sneak away when the zombies weren't paying attention. However, if the detector chimed too early, while I was still inside, then my luck had officially run out.
"Here goes nothing."
I lit the first cigarette and the fucking alarm went off immediately.
There wasn't time to do anything but throw it out the back door and hope the zombies were tricked into thinking that some delicious, screaming treat had rocketed itself out the back of the ice cream parlor and into the street.
To my unadulterated glee, that's exactly what they must have thought. My plan, despite not working like I'd hoped, worked perfectly. The horde chased the detector as it rolled into the street and away from the alley.
I gave it a minute to make sure my escape was clear and then slipped off the edge of the loading dock. The alley was paved but littered with shards of glass, rocks, and the other debris. My foot crunched down on a crack pipe and I cringed at the sound, but the creatures were too enraged by my detector distraction to hear me. I moved slowly away from them at first, but when I was a comfortable distance I broke out in a sprint.
The smell of decay faded as I neared the end of the block where the alley was split by the street ahead. My mother and I had spent several afternoons shopping along 23rd Avenue and I knew the area pretty well. I was coming up to Venture Street. A few blocks down would be the Arkland Art Museum and then the Arkland Park, which was where we would always stop to eat lunch beside the statues of a family that I used to climb on. There were a lot of trees in the park and I thought I could use them as cover to avoid the spying eyes of the helicopter that was still out there somewhere.
A gunshot rang out from behind me. It was far away, but the sound was unmistakable as it echoed through the alley. It didn't sound like the rifle that nearly destroyed my bat. It was a pistol, but it was too far away to worry about. I guessed that it came from the Baylor Projects and assumed someone was still alive there. Later, I would find out the shot originated in the pharmacy where Laura was fighting to keep herself and Annie alive. I was only a couple blocks away from her, and if I'd turned around to investigate the noise I could've saved her, but I didn't. I charged across Venture Street and into the next alley where I ran the rest of the way to the Arkland Museum.
I could hear mechanical movement nearby. The sound of construction vehicles beeping as they went in reverse and creaking as their gears grinded under the strain of their load seemed shockingly out of place in the dead city. After encountering the helicopter, I wouldn't have been surprised to find a strong military presence here, but construction vehicles didn't make sense.
I came to a sudden stop as I turned the corner and stared across the street to Arkland Park. The entire park was leveled and in place of the trees stood massive stacks of long, black, plastic boxes. The containers were about seven feet long and three feet tall. They were stacked on top of each other three high and the rows stretched across the entire park. There were forklifts rolling along the street that carried more of the containers and set them in place upon the stacks.
A large group of men in white hazmat suits crowded the side of the park closest to me. They worked within a small area that hadn't been stacked high with crates yet. Everything moved in a precise order as if part of a military exercise. The men stood in rows with a series of opened, black containers between them. The boxes were carried along a conveyer belt apparatus that stretched along the dirt and the men that flanked it dumped bags of white powder into the crates as they passed. Then, at the end of the line, the final group pulled the boxes off, put a lid on them, and clamped them shut.
Forklifts waited to collect the closed crates and carry them off to be stacked. Then they turned right, along 22nd Avenue, to circle the park and come back. One of the returning lifts was headed up the street and I had to duck behind a dumpster to avoid being seen. The entire process moved like a well-choreographed industrial plant.
To get to my Mom's apartment I had to turn left and move past the park, but that would be impossible without being seen. The buildings that lined 23rd were all pressed against each other in a continuous stretch of brick which meant I couldn't sneak between them. If I could get into the back of one of the shops I might be able to make my way through it, then across the Avenue and into another shop. It was certainly a better plan than running past the workers in the park. After getting shot at by the military and dealing with the cops in Hailey Bay the day before, I didn't trust anyone anymore.
The doors that lined the alley had been painted with symbols similar to the ice cream parlor that I'd moved through earlier. Each door that I tried was locked, but I continued my way back up the alley, checking each door as I went. Finally, I found one that had only been painted with the black 'X' symbol, and not the white overlay. It was unlocked and I gladly went in.
It wasn't a store, but rather a dark hallway that led to another door on the other side. A stairwell went up on my left, with the bottom at the front of the building. I assumed it led to apartments or offices that sat atop stores on either side of the hall. It was a common thing in the city for offices and apartments to sit above stores that lined the shopping areas. It was similar to the apartment building my mother lived in.
There was a supply closet beside the rear entrance and I went in to check for anything that might be useful. The door's hinges were old and squeaked as I opened it. Inside was a large area that sat beneath the stairwell. The shelves were filled with cans of paint, cleaner, and other maintenance tools that I didn't have much use for. Even still, I filled my backpack with screwdrivers, a hammer, and I was about to take a box opener when I heard footsteps on the stairs above.
I froze and listened. They were steady, human steps and I felt confident that whoever was moving above me was alive. Then another person followed behind the first. I glanced at the door to the supply closet, which opened outward, and cursed myself for not closing it. I set my backpack down and held my barbed bat in anticipation of a fight. I could hear them talking to each other as they came down the stairs.
"How many more?" asked one of them.
"Thirteen," said the other.
"Where's Alpha?"
"Last I heard they were finishing up the teens."
"Christ. This is going to take forever."
They stopped at the bottom of the stairs. I inched closer to the door and leaned against the wall. If they passed my way I hoped they would simply close the door and move on. I didn't want to risk closing it myself and causing the old hinges to whine again.
"All things considered, we're doing all right. It's a big fucking city."
"You have family round here?"
"Just a cousin. He was sent over to Camp 34."
"Where's that?"
"About twenty miles north. How about you, any family nearby?"
"Yep. I've got a wife and a baby on the way."
"No shit? I didn't know that. Congratulations, man."
"Thanks. It's still a ways off, she's four months now. We had a place on the south side, but they moved us out a few weeks ago when they put the call out. I had to go to the Barracks and she got sent to a camp."
"Where'd they put her?"
"Camp 8, right over by 3rd Barracks."
"Oh, nice. Do you get visiting privileges?"
"No. She's not cleared. No civies are as far as I know. I got to see her, but they made her wear a hazmat suit the whole time. I guess it's okay for us to not have our gear on, but they're afraid the people that are infected could pass it on to others."
"How long do you have to be exposed to catch it?"
"I don't know. Lots of the guys have been taking their helmets off, so we'd better hope it's not an airborne contagion. Hell, even Cap's got his helm
et off most of the time."
"Weird that they make the civies gear up then."
"I guess."
I could smell their cigarette smoke. I imagined they were sitting at the bottom of the stairs, taking a break before moving on to another building.
"Did you hear that Vince found a baby in one of the apartments?"
"No shit? Did he, you know?" I heard him shift on the stairs as if making a motion with his hands.
"Yeah."
"That's fucked. I don't know if I could do that."
"What? You'd make me do it?"
"Could you? I mean, if we found one. Could you kill it?"
There was a pause. "Wouldn't have a choice. You'd have to. Better to put a bullet in it than let it turn."
"I guess. Still, though, I'm not sure I could pop a baby."
"You can't think of them as alive anymore."
"If it were infected I'd do it, no problem."
"They're all infected by this point."
"You know what I mean. If it were dead already."
"That's just it though, man. They're all dead already. That's how you've got to look at it."
"I guess."
I heard him stand up and the wooden stairs creaked as he moved.
"Come on, get your gear back on. We need to get moving."
"Yeah, fine. I hate this fucking helmet. It's so damn hot in these things."
Their voices became muffled as they slipped their masks back on. I strained to hear them.
"Paint the front," said one of them. "I'll get the back."
I tensed again as the man walked my way. The sweat on my palms made the taped handle of my bat slick as I nervously grinded my grip on it.
The door to the closet slammed shut as the man walked past. I'd been holding my breath in anticipation and as he walked by I finally breathed a long sigh of relief. I could hear him spray paint the door that led to the alley and then come back into the hallway. He fiddled with the latches that locked the door as the other man came back in from the front.
"Hurry up," said the one at the front of the hall.
"I am," said the one at the rear, just outside the door to my closet. "This lock's being a pain in the ass."
The one at the front started to walk our way. "Put some muscle into it, you pussy."
"Fuck off," said the one trying to lock door. "Hey, did you check the closet?"
"No." The second one was standing right outside my door. It sounded like he took over for his friend as they tried to lock the back door.
"You sure? Cause the door was open like it'd been cleared. I closed it up again because I wasn't sure."
They paused and my heart pounded as I held my bat, ready to fight.
"I never cleared it," said one of them. His tone had changed from a minor argument to cautious assurance.
They knocked on the door with three hard pounds. "Anyone in there?"
I didn't answer.
"All right," whispered one of them. "On three."
"One."
"Two."
I prayed.
"Three."
The door swung open and a flashlight beam pierced the darkness. I stayed pressed against the wall as they peered in.
"Empty," said the one that dared to take a step in. "We must've just forgotten…"
He turned my way to leave the closet as he talked and his flashlight shined in my eyes. He made a startled noise right before my bat smashed into the plastic face shield of his canister shaped mask.
The man fell lifeless and his flashlight bounced across the floor into the shelves. His plastic face shield was stuck to the barbs on the end of my bat and ripped free when he fell. I turned to face the other one, who screamed as he fumbled with his gun. He had been tricked into thinking the building was safe and wasn't prepared for my attack. His gun was lowered and now he struggled to fit his thick, gloved finger back over the trigger.
I leapt out of the closet and swung the bat at his hand, but he moved away and my strike flew wild. He screamed out for me to stop, but I only paid attention to his gun. I dropped the bat and grabbed onto his right hand with my left. Then I put my right forearm over his throat and my right leg behind his. With a swift, hard twist I pulled him down, over my leg, and he fell to the floor beside me. I kept a tight grip on his left wrist and when he fell I grabbed onto it with both hands. I twisted his arm so that his elbow faced up and then I stomped down on it.
His elbow crunched and then popped with a disgustingly violent jerking motion as his arm bent backward. He wailed for help and I worried there was someone nearby he was trying to alert. I had to silence him.
His gun had skittered down the hall, and shooting him would've caused even more noise than his yelling. I had to keep him quiet some other way.
"Shut the fuck up," I said.
He continued to screech.
I saddled his waist and pulled off his mask while holding my fist back in a threatening stance. I told him to quiet down again.
He continued to scream.
He had blue eyes and blonde hair that had been matted by the sweat from wearing the hazmat gear. He was young, not much older than me, and had a couple days worth of blonde stubble on his chin and cheeks. If he were to let himself grow a beard it would've been a pathetic one. The young man glared at me as I tried to calm him down.
"Shut up or I'll beat you to death. Do you hear me? Shut up."
"I'll kill you," he said. He'd found my bat.
He clumsily swung the bat with his left hand. The face shield that was stuck to the barbs hit me on the right side of my head. It hurt, but if it weren't for the shield it would've hurt a hell of a lot more.
I grabbed the bat with my right hand and forced it down on his neck. He let it go and started to punch my side and push at my chest. His legs bucked beneath me and his broken right arm flailed around uselessly. I pressed the bat down until his voice choked to a whisper.
He grasped at my face and I stretched my neck to the left to avoid him. He desperately tried to grab onto me, but I continued to push down on his throat.
His face started to turn purple and his eyes swelled while the veins at his temples flared. Foam escaped his mouth as his throat collapsed beneath the weight I inflicted. He clawed at the bat, but I was much, much stronger than him.
I let myself commit an atrocious act of violence. I would like to pretend it was an accident, or he had it coming, or that this was the only way I could escape, but that wouldn't be the truth. I killed that man, that young man, in the hallway of the office building because I wanted to. I wanted him dead because he was my enemy.
He quivered beneath me and when I dared a glance at him I saw his eyes burst into crimson flowers as the veins broke near the edges. His tongue was rigid and blue. It stuck out of his mouth as if made of bone. Then he went limp and all fight escaped his corpse.
I dropped the bat and fell off him. I scrambled away, as if he were a diseased, disgusting creature, and up against the wall beside the closet door. I stared at the man I'd killed and I began to cry.
I was a murderer.
I was the bad guy.
CHAPTER THREE - CAPTAIN'S ORDERS
It was self-defense.
That's how I reasoned what I'd done. The corpse sat silent at my feet because I fought to survive. If I hadn't killed him, he would've killed me. Or at the very least, he would have alerted someone that I was alive. I didn't have any choice but to kill him.
I killed him.
I killed him.
I sobbed as I stared at his corpse. I'd killed several zombies by that point, and killing a man shouldn't feel much worse, but it did. It devastated me. Do soldiers go through this when at war? Do they look at the men fighting against them as humans, or do they look at them as zombies? Do they collapse in tears after murdering their first enemy? Or do they cheer like I did after knocking the head off that creature back at the salvage yard?
This boy died at my hands. We might've been friends if the world hadn't fa
llen apart around us. He was dead now, and I killed him.
"I killed you."
I know shock played a part in my emotions at the time, but the sight of that man's eyes exploding with bright red veins as I choked the life out of him has haunted me. Even in moments of levity, his dying eyes return to burst in my imagination. I'll never be free of them.
The sound of a forklift driving down the road broke me out of my stunned malaise. I grabbed my victim's feet and dragged him into the closet with his friend. Then I picked up the flashlight and inspected my first victim. His face was severely mangled from my attack. His eyes were open and snorting breaths escaped his shattered nose. Blood gushed out of his wound and pooled inside his mask. I turned him to his side to keep him from drowning in his own blood and then found his pistol beside him.
A morbid plan formed and I undressed my second victim, whose mask was still intact. I noticed his name patch on the front of the suit, "Williams."
I slipped the plastic disguise on and then searched through my backpack for items that I could carry in my pockets. I kept a screwdriver, hammer, and the two guns. The hazmat suit had a belt with a holster for one of the guns and I tucked the other into my pant's pocket. I didn't have room for anything else and had to leave it all behind, including the bat that I'd used to murder that boy. I set it against the wall and was glad to be free of it.
Finally, I took the can of white spray paint and left. I unlatched the locks on the back door, which were rusted and difficult to work, and casually walked down to the next door in the alley, which hadn't been painted white yet. I guessed that the two men had been tasked with clearing the buildings. I made a few marks on other doors to trick people into thinking they'd made it further down the block than they actually had. That way it would take longer to find their bodies.
I went back into the office hallway and fiddled with the difficult latch to lock it. It took me a few tries, but I managed to get the old thing to cooperate. Then I walked to the front entrance. I strolled out and planned to pass to the other side of the street and make my way through another building to continue my trip south.