Life Among The Dead

by Daniel Cotton

  The old man gets to his knees and lowers himself to the ground. He reaches in for the light, but is unable to get it. The way his shoulder is against the wall makes it difficult to extend far enough. He will have to get even lower.

  A pair of pinchers nips his hand. He has to ignore the pain to reach the light. He knows they will need it pretty soon. His fingers are brushing the flashlight; he can’t get in far enough to grab it. All he has managed to do is push it deeper by a couple of inches. The dead are still moaning in the hall of black stone. They will be upon them soon.

  “Have to do it.” Bruce surrenders and drops completely to the floor so he can shove his arm as far as it will go. His face is touching the backs of the scarabs and he can feel hundreds of tiny bites being taken out of his flesh. The wounds burn as he grits his teeth and searches for the light. All he finds is more pain.

  Rash can hear Bruce grunt and groan in his struggle to get the light. The zombies are closing in on them. She is taking small steps backwards away from the approaching dead. Her breathing is loud and irregular from fear.

  “Rash don’t move.” Bruce rasps. “That drop off is around here.”

  She freezes in place, her rifle is in her hands as she watches the darkness. She is relieved when a beam of light whips out of nowhere. He found it! It starts to move around like a raver’s glow stick, she can hear the sounds of a struggle.

  Once free of the little hungry creatures, Bruce encounters another type of flesh eater. He had closed his hand around the aluminum casing of the light, and then dead hands enclosed around his shoulders. He rolls onto his butt and put his knees between him and the unseen corpse. He holds the shadowy ghoul at bay with his forearm under its chin. The zombie strains to take a bite out of its prey. Bruce can’t reach his guns, but is able to sweep the corpse’s legs out from under it.

  Bruce holds the dead thing’s face to the floor of the cave. He can hear the beetles that inhabit the darkness munch away at the dead flesh in a frenzy. It won’t kill the zombie; it just makes Bruce feel better.

  The flashlight beam slices away the darkness and reveals to Bruce more dead on the way. He holds the zombie to the floor of ravenous bugs while he gets his shotgun in his hands. He hits the ghoul three times with the butt before it goes limp.

  “Rash, cover your ears.” He says in a normal tone, the echoing tunnel makes it sound like a scream. He tosses the light to her and gives her a few seconds before pulling the trigger. He knows they will come straight at him. Although blind they are following the smell of the blood that trickles down his face.

  Rash grabs the flashlight from the floor. One of the beetles nips her hand. The small wound burns like hell, she can’t imagine how Bruce was able to sustain so many. She covers her ears with her hands just as the muzzle flash erupts. The booming of the shotgun’s report shakes the cave walls, rocks rain down from the unstable formation.

  Bruce had fired the weapon not only to slow the dead with buckshot and buy them some time, no matter how fleeting, but also to call in an air strike. Loose stones fall from the ceiling and pelt the dead and the living alike. Unlike the dead, however, Bruce and Rash can cover their heads. Bats are flying around frantically now, as Bruce stays low and crawls to Rash. The unevenness of the zombies’ gait causes the flying rodents to strike them. They see using sonar and tend to expect the objects in front of them to remain stationary. If the object moves into their path, they collide.

  Bruce grabs Rash’s hand and directs the light to the floor. Just a few feet from her is a ledge. She can’t believe how close she was to falling over the edge without even knowing it.

  “Head to the left where it’s narrow and jump.” Bruce tells her. He holds the flashlight for her while she leaps across the unknown. She can’t see the other side and is literally going on blind faith.

  Her feet meet the other side of the rift. She stumbles forward catching herself on the cavern wall.

  “Move right.” Bruce whispers across. “Carefully.”

  Rash hugs the wall as she moves along the ledge. Her guiding foot probes out to make sure they will tread on solid ground before she takes each sideways step. Bruce has to wait for her to make progress before taking the leap himself. He shines the light and can see she is almost clear of the landing zone.

  The old man is at a disadvantage, having to carry the toolbox full of ammo across with him. It isn’t something they can afford to leave behind. It’s now his turn to jump.

  Rash watches the beam of light fly through the darkness in an arch over the void. It pauses in midair and falls at an angle. She hears the old man grunt and the tool box clatter down the deep hole below them.

  Bruce was airborne when hands grabbed him around the waist. He and his assailant now hang from the ledge. The king is as desperate to hang on as the zombie is to eat his flesh. Bruce loses the flashlight. It rolls off the ledge and falls into the crevasse. He watches the beam rotate like that of a lighthouse, growing smaller. He is trying to kick the hungry corpse off of him, but the cold dead hands won’t give up. The cadaver is climbing its meal so it can sink its teeth into him.

  Rash hears the struggle and knows her friend is in trouble. She takes one of the two M-16s she is carting on her shoulder. The light is gone; she fires a shot towards them, well over where she suspects their heads might be. With her first shot she hopes to be able to see what’s going on by the flash.

  A single white strobe of light shows her that Bruce is hanging by his fingers and a zombie is on his legs. She aims closer to the cliffhangers and fires again. The dead man is higher, Bruce is losing his grip. She saw a brief glimpse of his face. The strain of holding the added weight is getting to him, plastering his face with a grimace of exertion.

  Rash gets to her knees and finds Bruce’s hand. She grabs onto him and pokes around with the gun barrel, hoping to feel out the zombie. Bruce is groaning and the zombie is answering with its moans. The other dead are following suit, continuing to wail miserably until they reach the end of the road. Their moaning becomes cut off as they walk off the edge.

  Rash finds what she hopes is the zombie weighing her companion down. She fires the rifle and is relieved when the flash reveals the dead man’s head flying backwards from the blast. Bruce is free to climb up now. She helps him onto the narrow cliff.

  “Thanks.” He says, winded from the work out. “Now comes the tough part.”

  In perfect darkness they must move along the slip of rock. Bruce whispers to her to make sure she is feeling around before she steps. There are sections of the ledge that are too narrow to step onto. They have to step over these. The wall their bodies rub against starts to curve around and the ledge starts to go downhill.

  “Is this whole fucking state downhill?” Rash complains.

  “No, just half of it. The rest is uphill.” He explains. “You’ll want to watch your…”

  “Ouch.” Rash bumps her head on a hanging piece of rock. She questions whether it’s called a stalagmite or a stalactite, and then decides it doesn’t matter. She punches the unfeeling stone, cursing at it.

  “Sorry.” Bruce apologizes, wishing he had warned her sooner. “We’ll have to duck as we go. Hold the ceiling if you have to.”

  Rash isn’t sure if she is grateful for the lack of light or not. It helps her not to see how far the vertigo-inducing drop is, yet she wishes she could at least have some light to follow. Her breathing comes in ragged gulps as her lungs try to take in oxygen through all the tension.

  “We’re going to start curving the other way now.” Bruce tells her. She doesn’t know if that’s a good thing or not. She is starting to freak out and just wants to get out of this cave. She presses herself harder and harder against the cave wall. The rough surface provides friction that slows her progress.

  “You should be passed the crevasse.” Bruce tells her. “Keep your hands in front of your face.”

  She doesn’t ask why. The old man seems to have the memory of an elephant. The soldier continues to wa
lk along the wall, just in case he has forgotten how far the ledge really is. The ceiling starts to get lower. She feels out with her foot to make sure there is no drop off before getting onto her knees to follow the shrinking hall of rock.

  Rash is getting concerned as she feels the ceiling getting lower and lower. She is practically crawling, and it is still getting smaller. Bruce bumps into her when she stops to inspect the area.

  “We have to crawl through.” He whispers.

  “Any bugs?” She asks.

  “No,” He says “Just a very tight tunnel. Those beetles are only found under the bats. They live off of their shit, and the occasional unfortunate one that happens to fall to the floor.”

  “That’s sad.” She hates bats, but hates bugs even more. She thought the sleeping bats to be rather cute. “Why don’t the bats just fly away?”

  “They don’t fly like birds. Most can’t take off from the ground.”

  Rash didn’t know that. She starts to crawl on all fours through the tight opening that continues to compress. She wonders if she has to do it on her stomach.

  “How low does it get?”

  “Pretty low.” Bruce says. She can hear his clothes rustle. He is un-slinging his weapons. “They still teach low crawling in boot?”

  “Yeah.” Rash says, not sounding too happy about the fact. “I always hated it.”

  Her rifles are across her elbows as she squeezes into the hole. Her body scrapes along the roof and the floor while she wiggles her way through. She wishes she had asked her guide how far it is, but now that she has started, she can’t get enough air to ask. She is claustrophobic on top of all her other fears, and nearing the point of hyperventilating.

  Bruce pushes his weapons ahead of him, finding the passage even more challenging than Rash does. His advanced years and girth prove he isn’t a kid anymore. There is a dramatic difference between the Bruce of today and the boy who used to explore these caves with his brother.

  Rash can’t breathe at all now. Her chest is caught between a literal rock and a hard place. She must exhale every molecule of air from her lungs to advance. Once she moves forward, she won’t be able to intake any air until the cave widens. If it does widen.

  She thinks about quitting, but knows there is no other way out since the dead are probably still entering the cave. She finds spots where she can take quick puffs of air. For the first time in her life she is thankful for having small breasts. She stops worrying about herself, and wonders how the hell Bruce is doing this. He’s much wider than I am.

  The king has absolutely no room to breathe. His chest threatens to permanently lodge itself into the tight space. He wiggles and writhes to force his way through. The rough rock wall is digging into his clothes, tearing them to shreds. The abrasive topography is rubbing his skin raw, sharp points cut gouges into his flesh. The cold stone floor is rubbing against his nipples and it feels like they are being taken off with a belt sander.

  Bruce knows he can’t stop. Stopping would cause his body to relax, and that would expand his torso beyond ever getting out. He must keep moving if he ever wants to see daylight again. His lungs are screaming for air.

  Rash finds the end, the ceiling opens up and she emerges for a well-deserved breath of air. There is light shining high above her. It dimly baths the chamber, making everything around her look gray. It’s the most beautiful thing she has ever seen, having just been completely blind. The brief amount of time she has been in the cavern feels like an eternity. She hears weak wheezing from the small tunnel she just exited.

  “Bruce, come on.” She calls in. “We’re almost out.”

  The old man doesn’t answer. She can see the weapons he had pushed ahead of him. She grabs them and tosses them out of the way. She enters the tunnel headfirst and feels for him, his hand is extended. She pulls, but he won’t budge, his body is wedged in very well.

  Rash sets her knees against the sides of the tunnel and yanks with all her might. She fears she may pull his arm out of socket, however, figures he would prefer to be free. A dislocated arm can always be fixed.

  Slowly she makes progress and is able to see his head enter the dim light. It’s like he is being born again. His head breaches the opening, and as soon as he is able to breathe, he screams out.

  Rash pulls Bruce clear of the tunnel that had almost killed him, helping him stand against the wall. His shirt is in pieces, she can see the mess the rough rock made of his chest. Every spot of exposed flesh is raspberried, little beads of blood bubble from the abrasions. His head turns and she is able to see his face in the low light, half shrouded in a dark mask of blood.

  “It was a long fucking time ago.” He admits to his age. He pushes himself from the wall and looks up to the point of light above them. “There’s the exit. We gotta climb. Careful, the rocks are loose.”

  They begin up an incline that seems to be made of large pieces of gravel. The rocks shift under their feet; some get displaced from the pile and tumble down the hill. Rash is in the lead, very eager to get back to the outside world. The slow pace frustrates her.

  “It’s slow going.” She calls down to Bruce.

  “It’s fine,” Bruce says back. “I’m enjoying the view.”

  Rash shakes her head, she knows he must be feeling all right if he’s already joking around again. “Your fucking brother better be home.”

  13

  Bruce exits soon after his companion and dusts himself off. He looks down at his beat up body and ruined clothes. “I look like hamburger.”

  “This isn’t secluded.” Rash states. “Which one is Wall’s?”

  “What do you mean ‘which one’? There’s only one…” Bruce looks up at the property his folks had left to his brother and him. His eyes are wide with disbelief. There should have only been a large blue house on a huge stretch of land. Now, many homes are set up like a neighborhood. White picket fences line yards and driveways.

  “What the fuck?” Bruce can’t believe it.

  “So what, He sold off some land, or rented it?” Rash tries to help the old man come to terms.

  “What the fuck?”

  “Maybe he needed the money?”

  “What the fuck?” Bruce’s childhood memories have been divided up and paved over. People had built their own memories on top of his. He looks around and tries to figure it out. My mother used to have a garden underneath that white house. Dad’s old Mustang is now a minivan. The tool shed where I discovered masturbation, and later lost my virginity in, is now a jungle gym. “What the fuck?”

  “He never told you?” Rash asks, putting a hand on her friend’s shoulder.

  “No.” He answers. There is plenty he hasn’t told Wallace yet and probably should have. “I haven’t been back here in years. Wall always came to my ranch.”

  “Why?”

  “Bad memories. And, Nancy never really took a liking to me.”

  “Who’s Nancy?” Rash asks.

  “Wall’s wife.”

  “It’s still very impressive.” Rash tells him as she looks over the land. Bruce’s brother must have made a killing on the profits.

  “Our folks died, and left it to Wall and I. We own the quarry too. Well, Wall does. I sold my half to him. I wanted to travel and get out of here. I came back fifteen years ago, but I kept seeing…” He trails off and starts to walk towards the big blue house.

  “Seeing what?” Rash asks. Bruce just walks a little faster, ignoring her inquiry. She protests for the answer. He isn’t telling. His mind is preoccupied with one thought. If Wallace is alive, I’m going to kill him.

  As they near the front door they see bodies lying on the lawn, grass has grown around the corpses, and flies are buzzing above them. Windows have been broken inwards. The neighboring houses are in a similar state.

  This is the aftermath of an attack; they can’t venture a guess to how long ago it took place. Bruce examines one of the bodies for clues, but can’t gather anything from it, he doesn’t watch enough TV. Bruce kic
ks the bloated form, disturbing the flies and rupturing the corpse’s abdominal cavity releasing a noxious stench. The cloud of flies had dispersed only to reform seconds later. Maggots thrive in the open sores of the corpse’s skin. The winter had preserved the dead, now they are starting to rot.

  Bruce wonders if they had been hit the night of the bicentennial. I bet everyone came up her to celebrate as one big block party. He doesn’t think the dead citizens would be able to get up the hill. He imagines someone must have been bitten, and then came up. If that was the case, Wall would have cleared the remains after the siege, if he is all right.

  Bruce tries the door and finds it to be locked. He takes that as a good sign. He fishes in his pocket to retrieve his keys. He unlocks the door and motions for Rash to stay back. The old man would prefer to enter with his .44, but since it’s empty, and all their ammo is now at the bottom of a very deep hole, he has to settle for Dan’s M-16.

  Sour smelling air greets him as he opens the door. Light enters through the windows that have been stripped of their dressings. It is very quiet in the house. The only sounds they hear are the shell casings that rattle under their feet, and their own heartbeats, thundering in their ears.

  The walls are pocked with bullet holes of varied size. Bodies lay on the floor in their way as they proceed through the home. Around each corpse a dark stain has formed, soaking into the carpet. The process of advanced decomposition is causing the dead to release their bodily fluids.

  Bruce still knows this home. He thinks he knows where he will find Wallace. He bends down and picks up one of the casings, AR-15. It’s the civilian version of the M-16. He drops the brass shell and continues through the living room, a room that is improperly named considering the cadavers that now inhabit it.

  The prodigal son leads the way to a long hall; the passage is barricaded with heavy pieces of furniture. At the end there is a door that leads to Wall’s den. That is where Bruce wants to go. That’s where his guns live, if his memory serves. Like SWAT officers they creep to the blockade. Bruce pauses before climbing over.