When he is more composed, Derek pushes the hatch down. He wants a peek at the second floor, and the light will help him check on the other boy.
Becka creeps over to Derek wanting to be close to her friends and the light. Her psychosomatic itchiness has gone away. The dim shaft of illumination from the hall reflects off the white insulation, almost blindly. It reveals Stevie lying in a fetal position. His knees are to his chest held tightly with one arm. The other arm holds his ankles to his bottom.
In the hall they can see the intruders. They all stare up at the hatch with vacant eyes that hold no intelligence. Their faces are slack and without feeling. The figures pace the hall reaching up as if they could grab hold of the kids. Their movements are slow and clumsy like those of drunken people.
“Close it.” Becka says backing away.
“Stevie, do you want to see before I close it?” Derek asks. Stevie says nothing. The hatch is pulled up and all is black again. They stay close to one another. Listening to the dead and hearing each other breathe. Their new positioning allows Becka to almost see Derek in relief against one of the small vents.
Silence washes over the trio again in the timeless void. An eternity is passing slowly in their claustrophobic negative space. Becka is on the verge of a panic attack. She can feel it build in her stomach. Her legs twitch as her hands fidget blindly with some round pebbles she located from random piles that are scattered on top of the foam. She has the urge to scream to let out her anxiety instead she tries to lighten the mood.
“Aren’t you guys going to argue about what they are?” She asks with a nervous laugh.
“Not this time. I think we can concur. Right, Stevie?” Derek nudges the lump in the blackness that constitutes his pal. The lump does not respond.
“Stevie?” Derek’s hand finds his bony shoulder. Not even a shake arouses a reaction.
“Steven?” Becka calls out in the dark. Her voice fails her half way through his name. Becka and Derek can feel the foam move as the lump sits up with a groan.
“Fuck!” Derek lets out as he jumps to his feet and moves away as quickly as he can. His head thumps on a rafter hidden in the shadow that envelops them. The pain does not deter him. The heavy boy wades through the knee-deep foam in retreat. “Becka get away from him. He’s one of them!”
He had traveled several yards deeper into the dark. The knock to his head throbs with the beat of his heart. Faster and faster. He doesn’t know if Becka has gotten clear of Stevie or not. He heard movement, but it could have been him. Derek futilely scans the darkness as he holds his hands out for defense. Below he hears the dead moaning louder in response to his screaming.
“I am not a zombie.” Stevie states.
“Yes, you are.” Derek retorts without thinking.
“Do they talk you dick?”
“Sometimes.” Derek knows he is acting foolish. He sheepishly returns to his compatriots.
“Why are we up here?” Stevie asks. “I thought your room locked.”
“You have seen enough movies to know that higher ground is the safest place.” Derek defends.
“Finally, your dorkiness pays off.” Becka teases.
“Hey!”
“I say it with love.” Becka lies back in the soft cloud. This is just what they needed at a time like this she thinks to herself.
“Sorry if I scared you guys.” Stevie apologizes. “This really hurts.”
“What hurts?” Inquires Becka.
“My ankle. I think I caught it on a nail on the way up.” Stevie touches the wound in the dark. He makes a hissing sound through his teeth as his blind inspection causes the gash to sting. “I was holding pressure on it, but it just won’t stop bleeding.”
“Are you sure it was a nail?” Derek tries to say without suspicion, but fails.
“Yeah, I’m sure. What else could it be...? Don’t even say it.” Stevie shakes his head. He can see where Derek is going with his question.
“What now?” Becka is lost.
“He thinks one of them bit me.”
Derek is already treading through the foam again, away from his peers in the furrow he had plowed before.
“We need to be sure.” The frightened boy says in a high pitched and panicked voice.
“I am not going to become a zombie.” Stevie defensively states.
“You might. Was it a nail or not?” Derek is screaming.
“Yes!”
The dead below are moaning louder again. Becka needs to calm her friends.
“Guys.” She says patiently. “Please. Let’s just…”
“I promise I won’t become one.” Stevie says. Though he can’t be seen, Becka can hear in his voice that he is on the verge of tears.
“Get out!” Derek bellows.
“What?” The wounded boy’s question comes out as a wet sob.
“Derek,” Becka tries. “Be reasonable.”
“No! Fuck reason! It’s my house and I want him out.” Derek ignores the fact that his breathing is becoming labored. He pushes past the warning signs of an impending asthma attack. He wants to cast his friend out of the crawl space.
“Derek, please.” Becka is miserably failing as mediator.
“I want him out! Out! Out!” The adamant youth stomps the boards below him with every word to punctuate his point.
Becka faces her friend in the dark. She is about to speak to where his voice flies from but is blinded by a sudden flash of light that glares off the insulation like snow on a sunny day. A loud crack had accompanied the light. As she regains her sight she notices the light is emanating from the ground. Her restored vision also shows her that Derek is gone.
7
The growling is getting louder. The yard is enclosed like the last house, as he presumes most of them are in the neighborhood. Narrow alleys flank the beige dwelling on either side. He can see the passage he is near is blocked at the middle by a wrought iron gate. He is unable to see the far alley, where he suspects the sound is coming from.
The soldier remains crouched on a lawn that needs mowing. The owners had probably given up the chore for the season. Among the over grown grass Dan can see spots that are dug up, and piles of dog poop. Other than that the yard is bare, just a plain of grass, no trees or flowers.
Dan holds out his weapon with its single bullet loaded in the breach. He walks sideways towards the next fence keeping his eyes on the blind alley. Inch by inch he traverses the yard.
A large doghouse is erected in the alley, a dark shape moves within its opening. Dan’s breath catches in his throat. Judging from the shelter, the beast inside must be enormous. Growls echo from within the doghouse.
The snarls turn into a high pitch wail as the canine charges from its home. Its lips are curled back to bare the teeth of a dachshund. The wiener dog rushes the soldier who has invaded its territory.
Dan chuckles in relief at the petite hound that is closing the distance. It can still bite me, He realizes. He rushes to the fence. Within mere feet of the next wall, an unseen force trips him.
The dog bounds at the man who starts to crawl backwards, away from the yapping monster. Dan’s back meets the wooden barrier between neighbors. He won’t waste a shot on the mongrel; instead he draws his knife and shields his face.
A few feet away and closing the dog stops abruptly with a yelp. It flings itself backwards in a graceless somersault, landing on its side. The dog lies there briefly before slinking back to its home. The mutt coughs as it pulls the chain that had cut its attack short behind it. Dan can’t help but to laugh at the poor creature’s acrobatic misfortune. He often thought about getting a dog. Dachshunds are supposed to be pretty nice.
“Poor thing must be hungry.” He says pausing to dig into his pockets. He locates a few chunks of beef jerky that one of his guard buddies had divied out that morning. The man’s wife had sent him out with two pounds of the dehydrated treat.
“Here you go, Low-rider.” The scraps of protein are tossed near the dog’s shelter.
Dan notices it is painted the same beige color as the house. During his act of kindness Dan discovers something is missing from his pockets. His cell phone.
“I put the jerky in the pocket with it…” He retraces his steps in his head as he searches his other pouches. The fatigues have several pockets, and he slides exploratory fingers into each one. Nothing. He searches the yard where he had tumbled and finds nothing but the cause of his tripping. A sprinkler head pokes out of the ground partially erupted.
“Could have fallen out this morning.” He searches each compartment again and goes so far as to unfasten his flak jacket to inspect the pockets of his uniform blouse.
“Damn it!” Dan wants to call home. I pay good money each month for something I seldom use, and now that I need it… He debates whether he should try the beige house. Do people even have home phones anymore? He asks himself. He and his wife each only had a cell phone. He looks at the house. Behind a sliding glass door he can see three figures looking out at him. In turn they advance only to rebound off the glass as the clown had at Jimmy’s.
“Nobody’s home.” He decides to go on to the next house, telling himself not to worry. He has to assume he will find a phone. He wants to know if Heather is ok, and he wants to let her know that he is ok, and that he is coming home.
“Don’t worry.” He assures himself again as he climbs the next fence. He pulls himself up and crests the top. Dan straddles the wooden barrier and glances into the next yard. It is very extravagant compared to the last two. There are birdbaths and fountains. Lush hedges line the border. He can see a patio area that is covered by an awning. Screens are set up facing the neighbors for privacy. He can’t tell what’s behind the partitions from where he is perched.
The soldier glances back to the tiny beige house and sees the stumpy-legged dog has emerged. It sniffs the offering and starts to nibble on one of the pieces. Dan smiles before dropping into the neighbor’s yard.
His feet sink into lavish, expensive sod. He proceeds immediately towards the house. The home is painted in a nautical theme, sky blue with a navy blue trim. Nautical stars are adorned over the windowsills. There is even an anchor stuck into the ground at the corner.
Dan must make his way around a hedge bordered patio. Steam gently rises from the awning’s roof in wispy curls from a hot tub that resides underneath. The rim slowly reveals itself as he moves quietly past the screen.
“That would feel nice about now.” Dan remarks. He thinks differently when he discovers someone is already using the tub. An old man occupies it, watching the soldier pass. On his head he wears a skipper’s hat. Dan stops in his tracks.
“Hi there.” He feels embarrassed. “Sorry to intrude, Sir. Can I use your phone?”
The motion is barely perceivable, but Dan sees the man nod.
“Great!” The soldier is elated. “I just need it for a sec. I want to call my wife… Do you need help?”
The old man is trying to get out of his bath. Dan approaches, but the old salt determinedly surfaces on his own. He stands up dripping wet. His old wrinkled skin is pale and pruny from the water. He wears only a pair of navy blue shorts with little white anchors printed on them.
“Nope. You got it.” Dan nods. He watches as the geriatric captain of the tiny sea takes a step towards the rim of the tub. His trunks are starting to slip down from the weight of the water.
“Oops.” Dan gives a slight snort of a laugh. We’ve all been there, he thinks as he notices the old man isn’t pulling them up.
The trunks continue their journey down. Flesh starts to come away with the sodden cloth. Meat sloughs off the Admiral like boiled chicken from the bone. He becomes skeletal from the nipples down before Dan’s eyes. Within his cavity his innards remain intact, colorless from being simmered, and held secure by a thin membrane of connective tissue.
Recoiling from horror Dan is walking backwards as the old man continues to try to get out of the bath, his arms reaching for the soldier. His legs are without muscle and are now just immobile frail sticks. He topples over the side, landing face first on the grass.
Undeterred by his useless legs the old man of the sea pulls himself along his proud lawn using only his arms. He creeps towards Dan leaving a trail of chum in his wake as his bag of organs ruptures.
He wasn’t nodding, Dan scolds himself. He was trying to get up. He can see the water in the tub, brown and brackish with chucks of the gentleman floating on the top like stew.
A wave of nausea hits him as he turns on his heels away from the scene and sprints to the next fence. He vaults it not letting his disgust get in his way. Dan drops into the next yard without a glance down.
He can hear the old man weakly moan, and his bones scrape along the ground. Dan tries to push the imagery of what he had just witnessed out of his mind as he sits with his back to the fence. He can’t stop the memory from replaying when he closes his eyes. He throws himself to all fours and vomits.
8
Derek lays stunned. All he can remember is the ground giving out under his feet and then the sensation of bouncing. He stares up at the hole his body had made in the ceiling. He is in his mother’s room. He smiles, considering how lucky he is to have landed on the bed and not hit a single one of its four posts. The wooden columns on each corner are tipped with sharp teardrops.
He wants to call up to his friends and laugh about it, but he realizes he is down with the zombies. The shock is gone, now he is paralyzed with fear. He hardly dares to breathe let alone move. He cautiously turns his head to look at the door.
Footsteps creak along the floor, as the moans get closer. He can hear hands on the door and the knob is being jiggled. Can zombies open doors? He asks himself in a panic. His mind searches the infinite database of his knowledge on the subject and comes back inconclusive. A virus of fear infects the computer of his brain.
It doesn’t matter if they can or not, Derek concludes. It doesn’t latch. The door's bolt was painted over by some previous tenant; it doesn’t even close all the way. The portal is held shut by the carpet. All they have to do is push it hard enough. He hears the door slide over the ridges of worn carpeting.
The boy knows he doesn’t have much time. He eases off the mattress on the side furthest from the door. He lifts the comforter wanting to crawl under the bed. His plan is foiled due to all the stuff stored underneath.
The door rubs along the rug as it opens a few more inches. Derek starts to pull out packages wrapped in red and green paper; all bear his name on little festive tags. He moves aside his Christmas gifts and wiggles his body into the tight space. The door jolts again swinging wide open. Derek hears it strike his mom’s dresser. He stifles a groan as he squeezes his body in trying to make room for his legs.
The sound of moaning fills the room accompanied by heavy awkward steps. Feet shuffle along the yellow carpet. Derek is on his stomach facing the foot of the bed. He shifts the remaining presents aside so he can see.
Feet aimlessly pace the room. They absently kick the discarded boxes in their search of the meal they had heard. He watches one travel to the side of the bed he had crawled under. Derek compacts his body the best he can, trying to get in the exact middle. His mom’s unused rowing machine prevents him from performing this task perfectly. He can’t push it out more. The thing is too heavy and it has rubber feet on the bottom designed to prevent such an action. He resolves to cram himself against it as much as he possible. The hefty boy wriggles his body into the nooks and crannies of the machine until his shoulder is painfully pinned between metal and wood.
Stevie and Becka look down through the new hole. They witnessed their friend disappear under his mom’s bed. They dare not shout down, now that the dead surround him. They watch helplessly as the things travel in pointless circles. All the two above can do is watch and hope.
Watch and hope is all Derek can do as well. He sees them moving around the room noting that some of them are barefoot, some are in slippers, and one appears to be wearing combat boots.
Dust bunnies attack the boy, disturbed by his presence. He must fight off a sneeze. His eyes water to the point of blindness. He has to pinch his nose to avoid letting it out.
Above Derek, Becka starts to cry softly. She is worried about him, He’s down there alone, with those monsters and we can’t help him. Stevie thinks he has a plan. He moves to the hatch they had entered and opens it. The skinny boy lowers his head down into the hall.
“Hey!” He screams. “You undead douche bags! Come and get me!”
Derek can hear Stevie yelling. Is he in the hall? He wonders. The feet are now heading towards the door.
“You smelly fucks!” He can hear. “Yeah, I’m talking to you.”
Derek slowly pulls his body out from between the rowing machine and the bed frame. His circulation returns slowly with the sensation of pins and needles. He creeps out from under the bed and looks over the top towards the door. He can see the zombies in the hall looking up at the hatch.
“So, what are the prerequisites of becoming a zombie? Prove that you are as dumb as you are ugly, and that you can smell like shit?” Stevie continues his barrage.
Looking up Derek meets Becka’s eyes. She extends her hand down as far as she can. The boy carefully steps onto the mattress his arm reaches to her. Their fingertips barely touch. He has to hop, making small bounces at first until he builds momentum trying not to make too much noise in the process.
Derek and Becka finally clasp hands. The girl struggles to raise her portly pal. She has to grab onto a floor beam buried under the insulation to prevent being pulled down. She manages to levitate him a few feet, but can’t get him any higher. Derek is starting to slip away from her.
He scrambles to climb up her arm, but his sweaty palms cannot find traction on her smooth skin. He falls, landing on his feet. They sink deeply into the air springs. One of the support boards beneath the box spring snaps loudly under his weight. During the landing his ankle had rolled painfully, he is now off balance and falls knocking over his mom’s nightstand. He lies in a heap on the ground just a couple feet from the bedroom door.
Life Among The Dead Page 3