The skinny boy creeps to the hatch above the hall, holding the rafters overhead. He gingerly makes his way through the white foam and thick hot air. His hope is that a new perspective will give him inspiration.
The temperature continues to rise in the dark and claustrophobic level. Sweat drenches their clothes. Becka feels a drop run from her armpit down her side and gets a shiver. She watches her one last friend gaze down the hatch.
Stevie smiles. The dead in the bedroom have entered the hall. It looks like they’re leaving, he thinks with delight. My half assed plan worked. The mobile dead turn their wobbly heads, scanning the hall like a group of palsy patients who have all lost their keys. They just mill about in the corridor, not leaving.
“Anything?” Becka whispers into Stevie's ear after a slow journey over to him.
“No.” He answers.
They watch the creatures pace, the floor creaks with every step the dead take. The two living souls gasp when they see Derek join them. He walks with a lopsided limp due to his ankle injury. His clothes have been ripped in areas and the flesh below has been reduced to what looks like bloody hamburger. The ghouls have eaten away his chubby cheeks leaving their pal with a permanent, unsettling sneer.
Becka looks away. Stevie balls his fists in anger. He forces himself to calm down. He knows an outburst will just exacerbate the situation.
The cheerleader who despises, yet tolerates, being the top of the high school food chain is wishing she hadn’t ditched this weekend. Anywhere but here. She cradles her head in her arms as they rest on top of her knees. A vibration in the foam makes her look up. She sees her friend Stevie creeping back to the hole Derek had made in the floor.
Becka sees Derek pacing with his new friends below. She remembers when they were kids; the three of them did everything together, even bathe. She knows the pudgy boy would have loved to have joined her in the shower. Maybe she should have let him. Either one of the two loyal men would have been a better boyfriend then the string of stupid jocks she always dated. Derek had died a virgin, Stevie will too.
Stevie has his head lowered into the master suite, hoping to spot some sort of weapon. The boy had noticed that when the whole house shook from that weird tremor, the dead had toppled. As if the rug was pulled out from under their unsteady feet. He wonders if he can use that somehow, maybe there’s something in the bathroom I can use to make an explosive. It just may buy us a few seconds. His mind works away as the dead enter the room, Derek and his new peers are all moving to the bedroom continuing their constant search. The boy has to quickly recoil so he isn’t seen. He almost falls into the breach when his hand slips in the insulation.
Blood is soaked into the white cloud around the hatch. Becka can see a trail of it leading to the other opening, between the halos of light that spill up from below. She follows the sanguine line all the way to Stevie, knowing what she has to do.
“How is your leg?” She whispers.
“Better.” He reports. “I wrapped it with a piece of my shirt.”
Becka is seated facing Stevie. He has his injured leg elevated on a mound of fluff like they had taught them in health class, keeping it above the heart is supposed to help stop the bleeding. He isn’t too concerned about the wound’s insistence on bleeding since he has always been a slow clotter. He wasn’t a hemophiliac like his mom always treated him, just not a fast healer.
Becka’s hands find his legs in the dark. They creep up from his knees to his hips. Her slender fingers walk inward to his fly, undoing his pants. The boy is shocked by her unexpected actions and is about to say as much. Her finger is laid across his lips to keep him quiet. Becka pulls his pants down to his mid-thigh, taking his white briefs with them. His stiffening penis is freed in the hot air. She takes it into her mouth.
The boy breathes hard with pleasures he had never known. This is his first sexual experience with someone else present, and it’s with the one person he has always wanted it to be with. Within seconds he is ready to explode, her lips remain around him as he releases. Stevie’s body spasms, the joy creates an incredible pressure in his ears that temporarily deafens him.
Becka spits into the fluff and wipes her mouth. She looks at her friend who lays back in the soft insulation; his head is foggy with bliss. She is working her own pants off and laying back. The man sits up and sees from the dim light entering the space that Becka is partially naked, he is pretty sure he knows what she wants.
The cheerleader watches Stevie stand, a slender silhouette against the glow from the hole behind him. He struggles to get out of his pants, hopping up and down not worried about the noise he makes. He turns slightly and she can see his penis is already erect and ready for more. The eager teen is trying to pull is pants off over his feet, but the fabric is tangled.
Becka’s foot slides between his legs and finds the denim. She hooks it around the material and she pulls hard towards her. Stevie falls backwards through the hole and into the bedroom below. Before the boy can so much as scream, she collects her pants and moves as far from the craters in the floor as she can. She travels deep into the darkness wading through the thick air and foam. She weeps as he starts to yell. In his panicked, pain filled shouts he calls to her for help. She can’t help him.
11
The sun feels good, as Dan lies looking at the cloudless sky. It has really warmed up since that morning. He had heard snow was on the way, but from the looks of the weather he isn’t too sure. They have been saying the winter is supposed to be a rough one. He reluctantly gets to his feet. A new house brings new possibilities, he thinks while moving to the dwelling’s red exterior. His ears are still humming from the explosion.
The soldier is hunched below the gate that divides the alley. He slides along the house to the corner. Peeking his head around into the backyard he doesn’t see anything moving. His gun is in his hands as he proceeds through a simple enclosed patch of land. A swing set, complete with a slide, is set up near the back fence. Beneath the seats he can see gashes of brown earth where kids have worn away the grass with their feet.
On the patio he finds a sliding glass door just like all the other homes he has visited on this street today. It’s locked. He wants to find a phone, or a car. Both would be perfect, he wishes to himself.
He leans against the wall putting the glass portal to his left and draws his knife. The soldier slides the blade into the jam where the door meets the house, right below the lock. The heavy steel pops the latch on his second pry, the door glides open on its rollers.
Leading with the barrel of his weapon he stealthily enters the house. It seems clear on his first impression. That’s what you thought last time, dipshit. He scolds himself. Accustomed to the dreaded tension in his chest he takes a slow tour.
He looks under the dining room table and checks all the blind corners. Dan opens every door and examines each room thoroughly before moving on to the next. There is no motion in the living room, den, or the bathroom. He barely notices the unremarkable furnishings. His focus is on safety. He wants to be sure there are no zombies before he can confidently declare the home secure.
The first floor is devoid of danger. The front entrance is even locked. From the front door he looks out at the dead and sees they are still traveling left. They must be on their way to the last house I blew up, Dan thinks. While watching them pass he notices that there is a car in the driveway. All I need now is the keys.
His ears no longer hum as he scrutinizes the area. Where would I put my keys if I lived here? He ponders. His eyes wander over every flat piece of furniture. No keys to be found, but he can hear something. He believes what he detects is the faint sound of crying.
He hasn’t seen or heard a living soul since that morning. He wants to call out to whoever it is, but he knows he can’t risk making a lot of noise. He strains his ears trying to locate the weeping person. The man follows the sound to a staircase leading to the second floor.
He takes the stairs. Each step creaks with a differ
ent tone. The more he ascends, the louder the crying becomes. He stops just a few risers short of the upstairs hall. To either side he has a blind corner. His rifle is poised as he whispers a brief salutation.
“Hello?” He waits.
“Who’s there?” Answers the timid voice of a little girl.
“My name is Dan.” He introduces himself. “I’m alive.” It’s all he can think to say that might reassure the frightened child.
He hears a click to his left, a door opening. It slides along the carpeted hall with a light shushing sound. Dan pokes his head around the corner and sees the girl walking slowly towards him. As soon as she sees the soldier she starts running to him. She looks all of ten years old and is wearing a long pink nightgown the billows a mere quarter inch over the floor giving the illusion that she’s floating.
Dan kneels and receives her in midair as she bounds into his arms and holds him tight. Her red hair tickles his face as she rests her head below his chin. He lifts her off of her bare feet. Her tears of fright become those of joy, Dan’s eyes water as well. It was nice to see someone who didn’t want to eat him.
The two remain in the comforting embrace for a moment, survivors happy not to be alone anymore. The moment is ruined by another click behind him. Dan recognizes the sound, a gun hammer being cocked.
The well-meaning intruder slowly lowers the girl to the floor. He raises his hands over his head and turns to meet a less welcoming survivor. His own weapon was slung over his shoulder when he knelt to pick up the child. Before completing his rotation Dan offers the scared looking kid a wink to let her know it’s all right. She is retreating back to a small linen closet that served as her hiding place.
Dan is looking along the wall as he turns, trying to find a way out. He sees a partially opened door not too far from where he stands. He can’t see inside, but knowing it’s an option gives him hope.
He now stares into the dangerous end of a double barrel shotgun. He takes a few steps back feigning shock, he wants to get as close to the door as possible in case he needs to use it.
“You’re one of those things, aren’t you?” The woman wielding the heavy rifle inquires. She wears a plain white nightie. The situation, and her stern expression, makes her very unattractive. Dan can see however, if she tried, and her hair wasn’t in rollers, she could be quite fetching.
“No ma’am.” He responds. “I am a soldier.”
“Why are you here? Are you trying to take away my miracle?”
“No, not at all. I am here to help.” Dan has no idea what she is referring to.
“Get out.” She says, nudging the twin barrels of the weapon to the stairs for affectation. “Leave us alone.”
Dan can see only one hammer is pulled back. He needs to reason with her.
“Can I use your phone?” Probably not the way to go, he realizes after asking.
“I said get out!” She screams taking a step towards him, putting the barrels even closer to his head.
“Ma’am,” He tries a soothing, calm voice. “The streets are filled with zom…” He can’t finish his statement. He watches her body tense as she prepares herself for the gun’s recoil.
Dan dives for the door as the barrel erupts a hail of buckshot that scatters and strikes the wall above his head. He slams his shoulder into the wood and tumbles into the room. He scrambles to close the door, but he can’t find a way to lock it. He draws his knife and stabs it deeply into the floor so she won’t be able to open the threshold. For now.
“Get outta there!” She screams from the hall, pounding on the door. She knocks her body into it. The door won’t budge past Dan’s blade.
She’s going to wake the whole fucking neighborhood, Dan worries. Her bellows become a stream of incoherent curses and insults peppered with demands. Almost subliminal under the woman’s tantrum Dan can hear the little girl crying again.
He crouches in a room of blue. Everything is colored the same from the walls to the furnishings. He had dove into a nursery. Stuffed animals are lovingly posed on top of a tiny dresser and a changing table. Dan wonders what color their nursery will be. Heather and Dan wanted to be surprised. They have a room primed and ready to go.
In the corner he spots the crib. An infant lies inside stirring from his slumber due to the noise. The boy’s mother continues to pound on the door. From his size, Dan judges the tyke to be about four or five months old. The soldier is drawn to the crib. He just can’t help but look.
Dan wants a boy even though he always tells people that he doesn’t care as long as it’s healthy. All future parents say that. He admires the baby in its blue romper. The little guy rocks his head back and forth as he tries to get himself into a crawling position. It is such a tranquil, innocent sight in a world gone to shit.
“There you go.” Dan encourages. “Almost.” He ignores the woman’s battering at the ingress as he watches the child sluggishly lift his sleepy head from the mattress.
The angry woman slams her entire body into the wood. Dan knows he won’t be able to ignore her for much longer. He knows that the knife can’t hold her out forever. He also knows that the dead outside must have heard her and are getting curious. They’re probably coming up the walk right now.
Dan turns back to the child to say goodbye. The infant stares at the interloper blankly. His face is pink from sleep. His eyes are a mesmerizing blue. It lunges at the side of the crib.
The boy is pressing his face hard against the bars, reaching for the soldier. It doesn’t cry. It just lets out a weak, high-pitched moan. His empty eyes don’t blink and never waver from their target. He’s hungry.
Dan surmises that the pink hue of his cheeks is where the blood pooled after the child had died. He moves to the door where the woman with the shotgun is still screaming. The zombie baby tracks Dan’s movement. It tries to stand on its undeveloped legs, failing. It never stops reaching, no matter how much distance Dan puts between them.
“Don’t you dare hurt my baby!” The woman screams from the powder blue door Dan now stands by.
“Ma’am,” Dan speaks, not taking his eyes off the undead child. “He’s awake.”
She is quiet for the first time since he met her.
“I will open the door.” He tells her. “But, first I am going to need you to surrender your gun.” He waits for her response.
“OK,” She agrees. “Anything.”
The soldier wedges his foot at the base of the door while he pulls his knife out of the floor. He eases the barrier open, allowing just enough space for the rifle to be passed through. It enters the room butt end first. He takes it and moves aside.
The mother barges in, pushing the door aside with her elbow. She heads straight to the crib and scoops the little monster up into her arms. Dan is about to speak up, she throws him a dirty look while cooing her child. Her “miracle” Dan assumes.
“You must be hungry.” She says to her son whose hands are absently batting at her face. She unbuttons her nightie and exposes her left breast. Her son is trying to hold onto her neck but his motor skills aren’t that adept yet, and never will be.
“Be patient, sweetie.” She tells him softly while guiding his head toward her nipple. It latches on greedily.
“Here you go, Damien.”
Dan is halfway out the door when he turns.
“I’m just going to use your phone.” He tells the nursing mother. She ignores him. He hears a window break down stairs. Dan closes the door leaving them to bond.
“Relax baby, the bad man is gone. Ouch! I think someone is getting a tooth.” The mother says and starts to sing Damien a lullaby.
In the hall Dan opens the closet door and without a word he grabs the little girl’s hand. He leads her to the room the woman emerged from. They pass the stairs and see zombies ascending. The stairs creak as they climb slowly, moaning sadly. The woman’s surprisingly melodic voice chants a soothing song. Dan ushers his new companion into the room and closes the door.
The master bedroom
has a king sized bed in the middle of it. The other furniture is being pushed against the entrance. A large dresser is moved first, then Dan hefts the nightstand from the right side of the bed and props it next to the relocated wardrobe. Last, he slides a heavy hope chest from the foot of the bed across the carpeting.
Creaks and moans get louder and louder. The barely audible lullaby gets overpowered by the creepy sounds of horror. Dan cracks the double barrel shotgun open and finds both shells have been spent. I know she only fired once, Dan wonders. This raises a question Dan has to ask the girl, but he isn’t sure he has the tact for it. He debates exactly how to broach the query. It may be too hard for the girl to answer.
“Where’s your dad?” He blurts.
“Mommy shot him.” She tells him what he had figured. “He came home from work with his arm wrapped up… Then he turned into one of those people.”
Dan listens to her story as he searches the room’s closet for more shells. He reaches up to a high shelf and blindly feels around in case they are hidden.
“Daddy works at the hospital. They needed him to go in this morning. He came home feeling sick.”
Dan opens the drawer of the nightstand he had left by the bed. He wants the girl to keep talking, he looks at her and nods that he is listening. What she is saying doesn’t quite add up yet. He doesn’t think Damien was bitten.
“Daddy took a nap and woke up as one of them.”
Dan realizes he must check the furniture he had moved against the door. He starts with the hope chest.
“Mommy was upset because Dammie died last night.”
Life Among The Dead Page 5