Life Among The Dead

by Daniel Cotton

  The brass fitting at the receiving end of the hose is heavy, but at least the cap is off of the hydrant. The city paints their hydrants green, this particular one is splashed with red. The soldier’s hands tremble, working the hose onto the spout. He threads it on as tight as he can barehanded. The firefighting zombies are almost to him as he wraps his hands around the wrench.

  The stubborn valve won’t budge. Dan is straining, trying to move it, but it won’t turn. A gunshot goes off behind him. He looks up startled to see an ex-fireman standing within mere feet; his head has exploded inside the large helmet he wears. Blood and brains cascade down from inside the wide brim.

  Dan struggles again painfully with the wrench, it still won’t give. Another gunshot goes off. He doesn’t look to see where the target is. He has to trust the man he hardly knows. The strain is unbearable, his eyes go out of focus from the effort. The world is blurry as he pulls the tool counter clockwise. The bolt finally releases.

  The hose pressurizes as Dan falls backwards. He must ignore the fuzzy events around him and roll onto his stomach. He covers his head with his arms and wishes he had his old Kevlar helmet now. His eyes regain their focus as he looks towards the fire truck. He can see the hose leave the ground.

  The loops and twists constrict like a serpent as water surges through the long expanse of hose. One loop ensnares a corpse at his midsection and tears him in half when it straightens itself out. The brass nozzle whips around the scene like a wrecking ball smashing in the windows of cars and the skulls of the dead.

  Like the arm of a giant the hose sweeps the dead off their feet leaving them with broken bones. A torrent of water sends one corpse into a brick wall. Water rains down on the street as Dan watches the carnage.

  The nozzle beats against the van denting its hood and putting a nasty crack in the windshield. I hope Bill closed the sunroof, Dan thinks. He knows that the dead are merely incapacitated, not eliminated. He has to move. The soldier keeps an eye on the random assaults from the hose while he begins to close the valve to cut off its water supply. As if in an effort to save its life the hose comes crashing down at the soldier. The heavy end misses his head by inches and strikes the sidewalk, cracking the cement. It is retreating to the fire truck when the valve is sealed. It falls to the earth lifeless, spilling a weak stream of water as it lays still.

  Though soaked, Dan rushes to the red rescue vehicle. Despite his height he finds getting into the cab a bit difficult. He has to put a foot on one of its massive tires and cling to the handles to climb into the passenger’s side. He turns the key and the machines powerful engine roars to life. The transmission is thrown into first and it slowly accelerates. The behemoth plows into the police cars that block the intersection having no problem moving them aside like they are simple toys.

  “I always wanted to be a fireman.” He says satisfied with his brief stint behind the wheel of the beast. Through the open door he can see the white van approaching, behind it the dead are catching up. The horde is on their heels just a half a block away. The fallen fire fighters are starting to rise on shattered limbs. Some crawl towards their prey along the wet pavement.

  It’s a long way to the ground from the engine’s cab and the injured zombies are getting too close. Dan waves Lindsey closer. The soldier steps onto the roof and slides in through the hatch on top. The van proceeds to pass the flaming apartments.

  Dan was right, the road is clear since the traffic had been diverted. They are able to pick up speed and put the dead behind them. The road they desire is only two streets over, running parallel to them. Dan can only hope they can find access to it.

  The beat up van meets mild congestion after they clear the first block and it’s only getting worse.

  “Turn left here.” Dan commands, pointing out a street that appears to be under construction. Along the centerline orange cones have been placed. The right hand side has been torn up exposing the dirt and gravel beneath. The van turns and leaves the asphalt. It rides roughly over the stripped street.

  They are able to pick up speed as they cruise closer to their destination. They pass an undead road worker in an orange vest and hardhat. His ankle is tangled in the cord of a lifeless jackhammer causing him to stumble every time he tries to step forward. He is attempting to intercept the van, but his union with the useless power tool thwarts his success, the van intercepts him instead. His helmet-covered cranium bounces off the front fender as the jackhammer trips him into a crawling position.

  Dan is getting anxious again. The scene at the blaze was a much-needed diversion for him. Home is only a couple blocks away and he’s worried about what he might find there. What if I’m too late?

  “Just two blocks down.” He tells his driver. He can see his building. His body trembles the closer they get.

  “Pull into this alley.” Dan tells Lindsey who complies. “Park under the fire escape.”

  The mob of zombies is long behind them; however, individual dead are appearing from everywhere. Dan doesn’t want to waste any more time. He climbs out onto the roof of the van and reaches for the spring-loaded ladder that leads up to the black steel platforms overhead, it screeches the whole way down.

  Bill helps the ladies up through the sunroof where Dan holds the ladder for them to climb. Barbara and Becka head up first. Lindsey follows after them hefting a steel box. The older gentleman is able to get himself onto the roof after he hands a steel box up to Dan. Bill has two rifles in one hand as he scales the ladder.

  The dead have been filing into the alley while the living ascend the fire escape. They are crowding around the van reaching for Dan. He can feel fingers brushing his ankles. He kicks one in its teeth before climbing the rungs while carrying the third rifle and a heavy box.

  “Do we need any more boxes?” Dan asks Bill after he reaches the platform that holds all the survivors.

  “No, I transferred a bit of everything into these. Should be plenty.”

  Dan has no idea what he is basing that assumption on, but he doesn’t want to go back down that ladder again, at least not just yet. They watch as one undead woman is able to climb up onto the hood of the van. She stretches out trying to get on the roof, but the slick windshield provides her little traction. Her hands grab the bottom rungs of the ladder and she is able to pull herself partially onto the van. The survivors start to climb up the series of platforms.

  “Third floor.” Dan tells them, taking the rear. His foot holds the ladder down against its spring. He releases it causing it to fly up, out of the zombie lady’s hands. She now stands on the white steel surface of the van’s roof as the rungs of the ladder catch her under her chin comically. The final rung knocks her back among her peers.

  More and more dead crowd into the alley while the survivors climb up the stairs. Their feet clank against the metal risers as the dead feet below shuffle on the pavement. The corpses moan as if pleading with the living to come back. The pleas go unanswered.

  21

  On the third floor everyone parts way for Dan. He approaches the window; a curtain is drawn between him and the darkness inside of Matilda’s place, the octogenarian cat woman. He doesn’t hear a sound as he puts his ear to the glass. Something doesn’t add up. He thinks of the symphony of hungry meows he usually hears at 5 o’clock in the morning, as he gets ready for work. She must have five or six of them, he thinks. The little bastards make noise around the clock. Why is it so quiet?

  He knocks on the pane and waits. Nothing. The soldier smashes the butt of his rifle into the glass and uses the muzzle to clear away the shards. He reaches in and takes hold of the white lace fabric that hangs in his way. He yanks down to pull the fabric from the wall. The rod clangs to the floor, he can hear the hardware tinkle against something inside.

  He tries to peer into the darkness and let his eyes adjust. He stands to the side so light can pierce the gloom. The outlines of furniture can be seen on the outskirts of the shaft of light thrown into the apartment.

  Dan sparks
his lighter and enters carefully. A golden glow surrounds him as he proceeds slowly; looking all around with every step he takes.

  Just like his apartment across the hall the kitchen and living room are one space divided only by a short counter. To his right he can see one lonely recliner and a television set that sits on a table that seems a little too small to hold the weight. Its slender legs are bowed outwards.

  The others are crowded around the window as he is passing the kitchen area to his left. They watch him move around a round table, which must serve as the woman’s dining room. He knows the layout; the bedroom should be in the far right corner and the exit straight ahead of him.

  “Looks safe guys.” He calls to the others. They begin to enter the dwelling one at a time. “This is my neighbor’s place.”

  Dan can’t help but think his place is a little bigger than Matilda Fitzgerald’s. She did tell him she had only one bedroom. Perhaps it just looks so small because of the darkness, he ponders, heading towards the bedroom. Their place is a two bedroom. The second is placed in the hall extending to the front door. Dan speculates that if Matilda is anywhere she’ll be in the room just off the living room, he can see the door is slightly ajar.

  His hand reaches for the door, feeling a vibration through the wood, and hearing a faint hum. Dan presses the muzzle of the rifle against the door. The gun’s hand guard is cradled in the crook of his elbow for support since his left hand is occupied by his lighter.

  It takes a minute for his eyes to register. Upon a queen sized bed lays Matilda, upon Matilda lays all her cats. The felines are feasting on her wrinkled flesh. They purr happily while tearing strips of flesh from her arms and legs.

  The soldier lets out an involuntary gasp. The cats pay no attention to the intruder, even when he fights the reflex gagging that creeps into his throat. They munch away perfectly content. The cats don’t stir until Matilda does.

  Their old companion starts to move and the cats sprint out of there like bats out of hell. Their eyes are wide with shock as they flee the scene into the multifunctional room behind the soldier.

  The flickering light glints in the old woman’s eyes. She is attempting to sit up, but her limbs have been so efficiently masticated she is to the point of immobility. She cranes her neck to see the light, and the meat that holds it. Her moan is a cracking rasp; her limp body merely quivers on top of the quilt she had probably made herself.

  Dan remembers how nice she was and how excited she was to hear about their impending bundle of joy. He doesn’t hesitate to pull the trigger. He can’t stand seeing her like this.

  The bullet knocks her skull into the headboard as the gun recoils violently into Dan’s shoulder. His right arm falls to his side numb from improperly firing the weapon. He didn’t have it as tight against his body as he should have, he couldn’t while holding the lighter in his other hand.

  Dan returns to the others, his arm dangles still holding the rifle. The room is washed in the golden glow of several candles that they must have found and lit. The space looks so intimate and out of place after what he has just seen and done. It’s too romantic, like an amalgamation of Valentine’s Day and Halloween.

  He walks through Matilda’s place, all eyes are on him. He shrugs his shoulder a couple times as feeling returns to it. Dan is able to place the rifle on the little round dining table. This comes as a relief to the man; he feared his arm might be out of socket.

  The soldier doesn’t say a word. He closes his lighter then opens it again while licking his fingers. He touches the moistened tips to the metal and it sizzles. The refillable cigarette lighter is hot to the touch.

  “Nobody go in there.” He tells his crew finally.

  “What happened?” Lindsey asks.

  “Matilda, my neighbor, was one of them.”

  “What about the thing that bit her.” Becka pipes up, obviously scared.

  On the counter that divides the kitchen from the living room Dan sees a pill bottle spilled over. Tiny white pellets litter the Formica. The plastic container read: Nitroglycerin.

  “Natural causes.” Dan tells her while he scoops the spilled medicine back into its home and pockets the pill bottle. “Looks like it was her heart.”

  Dan surveys the faces of those under his care. They all look so tired and frightened. This must be how I look to them, he figures.

  “My place is number 314. Other side of the hall, three doors down to the right.” He tells them while plodding to the front door. Its peephole gives him a fisheye view of darkness. “Bring the candles. If you can find more that would be good.”

  Dan stays by the door while the others search for more light sources. Bill readies the spent rifle. Barbara locates a big block of wax with three wicks. The large, red candle smells like Christmas when they light it. Lindsey has found a flashlight.

  They gather at the portal leading out into the hall. The yuletide candle is set on the floor. Dan and Bill take up positions on either side of the door facing each other. Barbara is reminded of police shows on TV where the cops are entering buildings. Lindsey is armed with the third rifle as she turns the knob between the men and cracks the door open. She backs away and aims her weapon.

  Dan uses his foot to pull the door the rest of the way. It swings wide, they wait. After a second the soldier pushes the candle out and the hallway is bathed in amber light.

  “You’re clear on this side.” Bill tells Dan after popping his head out briefly. Dan performs the same move to check the right hand side of the hall. He creeps out slowly following the muzzle of his gun, his keys dangle from his left hand.

  Bill gives the soldier a head start before he emerges, facing left. He crouches on the industrial carpet and covers the rear so Lindsey can lead the remaining survivors out.

  Lindsey stands by Dan as he fumbles in the dim light to find the applicable key. He starts to slide it in when he sees her tense up in his peripheral vision. He pauses. “What’s up?”

  “I think I see something.” She whispers.

  A figure is in the darkness, slowly moving closer to them. Bill leaves his post and gets in front of the pack.

  “Say something.” He commands the shadow. The shadow says nothing. The older man raises his rifle. “Then say good night.”

  “Wait.” Dan tells the gunman. His hand touches the barrel and pushes it to the side.

  “Hector?” Dan addresses the approaching form. “Wave your…” He stops speaking as he switches on the flashlight. He shines the beam upon his own face. “Wave your arms.”

  The beam is then directed at the incoming stranger who has a familiar face. His arms are above his head waving back and forth. The dark haired young man squints as the light hurts his eyes.

  “Hey, Hector.” Dan smiles as the man joins them. “It’s good to see you.”

  Dan opens his door and enters with the new comer of their group. The others file in.

  “God, man! I could have killed you.” Dan can hear Bill say to Hector who says nothing in return. Dan doesn’t care about any of that now. He leans his rifle against the wall and walks with ease through the dark apartment like a blind man in a familiar setting.

  “Honey?” He calls out. The flashlight dances over the couch in the living room. He enters the bedroom, but finds it empty. The bathroom is also unoccupied.

  The survivors settle in giving the apartment the same golden glow Matilda’s had. Dan’s worried expression looks ghostly in the unsteady light.

  “She isn’t here?” Lindsey asks, knowing the answer already. Her voice is low and sympathetic.

  “No.” Dan replies. He has no idea where she might have gone. The others stand at the counter except for Becka who is seated on the couch. Dan passes the crowd and enters the kitchen. Of all the days to have gone out, he thinks. We’re sorry, Mario, your princess is in another castle.

  He walks to the refrigerator. The door is a tapestry of memos and coupons, pictures and greeting cards, all held firmly in place by magnets. He searches th
e collage with the flashlight knowing that if she needed to leave him a message this is where it would be. He discovers a newly posted note that he snatches down letting the lady bug that held it fall to the floor. He reads:

  Babe, I went into labor about a half hour after you left. I tried to call but you didn’t answer. Mrs. Weider is taking me to the hospital. I will see you there. I love you.

  “I must have lost my phone sooner than I thought.” Dan mutters to no one in particular.

  “What’s that?” Bill asks.

  “Maybe at the depot when I got my gear.” He explains to Bill who hasn’t a clue to what he is talking about.

  “I’m sorry, son. I don’t follow.”

  “She tried to call me.” Dan tells him.

  “Heather did?” Bill inquires.

  “Yeah, she went into labor. She’s at the hospital now.” Dan says hurrying through the living room on his way to the bedroom. The flashlight is left on the counter top along with the note from his wife.

  Dan sits on the darkened bed, his clothes still damp from the incident with the fire truck. He opens his nightstand and takes out a slim metal box. He sets the container on his lap and lets his hand explore it, his fingers fit into four indentations. At the tip of each digit is a round button.

  He remembers how Heather had laughed at him for sitting for hours with his eyes closed, practicing for this exact moment. His fingers are in their respective grooves as Dan presses the buttons in sequence. He told her it was important.

  The man sits in near total darkness tapping out the combination. The box unlocks with a click. He opens the lid, finding the 9mm Beretta contained inside. This is one thing he refused to get rid of when they had married, and it made his wife furious. She had insisted on the box.

  The pistol is already loaded. He takes his spare clip out of the box and finds a carton of ammunition in the nightstand. He stands and considers changing his clothes, but opts not to even bother since he will probably just get dirty again. He returns to the others.