“Well? Do you need a personal invitation?” John sneered.
I didn't give him the satisfaction of answering. I moved past him quickly, ducking as he tried to slap me in the back of the head, and slipped to the ground below. We were now completely surrounded by hungry zombies. Every last one of them looked angry and violent and ready to sink their teeth into something warm and bloody as they pushed in on us. I looked around at their faces as they closed the gap between us, moving less than ten feet from where we stood. I no longer saw monsters and enemies. Instead I now saw men and women, completely lost and desperate, trapped in an impossible nightmare from which they were powerless to wake. It made me sad, but it didn't take away the visceral fear twisting in my guts. I knew that Moto and I were at far worse risk than the rest of our party because we'd already been given the antidote before. If we were bitten this time, there would be no coming back. That dark thought floated through my mind like a black cloud, as a terrifying roar came at us from all sides.
Then again, it's not like any of us are likely to live through this.
Being attacked and fighting off one zombie was hard enough. I gulped as I realized that if we went down now there would be nothing left of any of us to find, except maybe our bones – and even those would be picked clean and pocked with teeth marks from where these ghoulish monsters had feasted on our remains. I pictured a blood-covered zombie sitting like a big baby, sucking the marrow from my femur.
I need to get my katana back, I thought, and the others need to be armed as well. That's the only way we're going to have a chance of making it out of this alive.
I scoured the ground for a weapon, hoping to find a gun that had been dropped or even a good-sized rock I could palm and use to defend myself, but there was nothing in sight.
“Let me show you amateurs how it's done,” John said with a hoot. He turned and began swinging my katana wildly around, slicing open faces and cutting off the zombie’s arms that were blocking the way between us and the door to the labs. He let out wild calls and fake martial arts sounds, the kind you'd hear in a bad kung fu movie, all while aggressively hacking his way through the crowd. Unable to think for themselves, the zombies simply kept coming. A guy with gray skin, and pus boils covering his forehead like braille, took the place of the woman John had just beheaded.
He's mocking us, I thought, but it's far worse than that. He's enjoying this attack way too much. It's like he gets a rush out of murdering people.
In fact, John seemed to possess a fervor I'd never seen before as he brought the sword up over his head, then forced it screaming down into the faces of the undead. It went beyond pleasure now, beyond a lust for power. This was cathartic for John, but not because the zombies had taken something precious away from him. On the contrary, it seemed that John's life kept improving as everything else got worse. This was about taking revenge on everyone who had ever doubted him or tried to stop him from getting his way. John was projecting the faces of his real enemies onto the undead, and letting his wrath come pouring through. Beads of sweat burst from his forehead as he powered through the biters that stood in his way, nearly swooning as the last zoms standing by the door fell in defeat. We were huddled together, moving in his wake while trying to avoid his wide swings. Desdemona shoved us forward as John turned and waved his free hand to his men, letting them know they were next.
“Let's go! Move it!”
The men wasted no time charging through the door and into the darkened hallway, leaving us exposed to a growing horde of zombies that were closing in on us. Neither John nor Desdemona needed to tell us twice to get inside. The only way we stood a chance of surviving was to risk running head-on into more of the undead, and pray that John's men would be able to take out any threats before we locked ourselves in. We dashed inside and John slammed the door. Almost at once we heard heavy thumping sounds as the zombies began to throw themselves against the door and pound on it in anger with their fists.
“That was a little too close for comfort,” John laughed.
“You did great, baby,” Desdemona cooed. “Now let's take care of Franco.”
The corridor leading inward was pitch black. The lights had been shot out before we'd gotten inside. Some other battle had taken place here. There were dark, wet-looking streaks on the walls that could only be blood. Lucky for us there were no signs of the living or the dead.
But there will be, I thought, as I remembered seeing several zombies go in earlier. They didn't just vanish. They are still here somewhere, waiting to sink their teeth into us!
Up ahead, the hallway intersected with another, causing light to spill out. I could see John's men crouched into fighting position. Both had their guns out in front of them, right arms stiffly jutted out, right hands holding the weapon, with their left hands cupped underneath to provide stability. They moved cautiously forward, alertly turning in slow circles, ready to do battle with whatever came at them. When they were certain that the rest of our path forward was unobstructed, they stood up and waved at us.
“All clear,” the lead man stated.
“We're heading west,” John instructed him. “Make a right down the hallway that’s still lit up. That will take us back across to the viewing chamber. We're sure to find Franco there.”
Behind us a fresh round of unholy screams rang out. Enraged zombies pounded hard on the walls, making the ground beneath us tremble like a small earthquake and the hairs on the back of my neck to stand up straight on end. I could see hints of sunlight coming through the door from where the hinges threatened to give way.
“Time to go,” Desdemona sang.
We didn't waste a second. Benji took off, and Moto and I followed him, chased by John and Desdemona. For a moment, I wondered if we'd be able to just keep running and slip away from them once and for all. It seemed like there might be a possibility of doing just that, until the door behind us buckled and the undead began to pour into the hallway with us. Desdemona shrieked loudly, kicking at them as she backed up into John, who began driving my katana through the lifeless faces of the oncoming horde as rapidly as he could manage, all while fearfully backing away.
Up ahead I saw the shadows behind John's men beginning to stir. Before I could shout a warning, three adult male zombies emerged from the darkness and pulled one of the neo-Nazi's down. He dropped his gun in shock and let out a loud scream of fear as they tore into his neck and bit at the top of his head. John's other soldier turned and began firing wildly, hitting both the zombies and his fallen comrade in the process. I froze in place as he turned around, his eyes glazed in fear, unwittingly pointing his gun at us. Moto held up his hands, and tried to block Benji and me.
“Whoa now,” Moto said coolly. “Take it easy. We're with you, remember?”
The guy looked like he was thinking about it a moment.
He's contemplating gunning us down anyway, I thought. You can see it in his eyes. He looks terrified. I'll bet there's even a part of him that would be happy to take out John and Desdemona right now, and just abandon the cause.
“Francis!” Desdemona shouted, knocking him out of his murderous stupor. He snapped his head her way, and waited for further instructions. “Pick up the other gun and start heading west now!”
Francis, I thought. No wonder he didn't tell us his name before.
He did as she said at once, leaning over to grab his fallen pal’s weapon, then darting off into the well-lit corridor to our right. I could smell the rotten flesh of the advancing horde again filling up the hallway, permeating my senses and making me involuntarily gag.
“Hurry up,” Moto urged, “before they overrun us and eat us alive.”
He took off running after Francis, and Benji and I followed. I could hear the clack of Desdemona's shoes as she followed behind us, and knew John was right on her heels. We passed room after room before moving through the big double doors I had remembered seeing earlier when being led back to our cell.
“We're close,” I said. “I recogniz
e this hallway.”
“You're right,” Benji agreed, coming to a stop. “There's an office up ahead where I took my physical when I enlisted.”
“Why are you stopping?” Desdemona shrieked. “Do you want to get us all killed?!”
“We have to block these doors off,” Benji replied, “otherwise they will just corner us wherever we end up, and break down the door.”
“He's right,” I verified. “I've seen them knock over entire buildings before.”
“So what's the point, then?” John asked.
“It will buy us time,” Moto explained, jumping in. “Hopefully long enough to get what you came for, and get the hell out of here.”
John looked rapidly back and forth between Desdemona and us.
He thinks it's a trick, I thought. But he can't figure out what the angle is, because there isn't one.
“Come on, man,” I yelled. “We're running out of time.”
“Well, what do you suggest I do about it?!” John yelled back.
“There are file cabinets and a big heavy metal desk in that room,” Benji instructed, pointing to the examination office. “We could prop them up against the door and create a barrier between us and them. They wouldn't be able to knock it over or go around it. They'd have to take it apart one piece at a time.”
“That's impossible,” Desdemona sneered.
“Exactly,” I said. “Which is why it will work.”
“Okay,” John said, jumping in and trying to sound like he was still in control. “Get in there and start moving them out. And remember this, if you try to pull anything you won't live long enough to regret it.”
I didn't bother trying to explain that we'd all be dead in that scenario. There wasn't enough time to play games now. Benji pulled the door open and Moto and I dashed in, pulling the desk out and carrying it as quickly as we could to the double doors. Benji asked someone to help him move the big metal file cabinets, and Francis tucked his guns into his belt and went to pitch in. Desdemona looked petulant at the idea of breaking a sweat, like a cat being offered a bath. She slunk behind John, who made a big show of telling us where to put the furniture and how to stack it. With great effort and strain, Moto and I managed to tilt the desk on its side. By a stroke of luck it neatly covered most of the passageway, and there wasn’t enough room for a person to fit through. Benji and Francis had leaned the file cabinet against it, anchoring it into place. The muscles in my arms and back were screaming from moving the desk. I was sure I had lifted it wrong. I bent over and put my hands on my knees as I harshly panted.
“Took you long enough,” John chastised.
An unearthly howl erupted from the other side of the barricade as the doors shook. One had already found us and I knew more would be coming soon, drawn in by the tortured cries.
“Is that enough to hold them off?” Desdemona questioned. “It doesn't seem like enough. Maybe you should put more of those cabinets behind it just to be sure.”
Resentment shot through me, but I bit my tongue.
Don't give them the satisfaction of knowing they're getting to you, I thought. They don't deserve it.
Working in teams, we quickly piled up the rest of the furniture in the room. The doors rattled like crazy, but showed no sign of giving way. Benji's plan had worked.
“All right,” John called to us, puffing his chest up again and doing his best to still look in charge. “You know the way. Quit stalling.”
If we'd been expecting a reprieve, or even a word of praise for saving his life, we knew right then and there it wasn't coming.
Not in this lifetime anyway, I thought, as I turned and began slowly marching to what could only mean my certain doom. I felt tired and defeated, despite having just outrun a horde of zombies. My shoes felt like they were filled with lead as I followed Francis up the last stretch of hallway, and back into the viewing chamber once more.
Once again, I froze in shock at what I saw. Franco was curled up into a ball, laughing like a madman when we came in. It was a strange and unnerving sight to see him broken.
“Why didn't it work? It was supposed to work! He said it would work,” Franco mumbled, before launching into a fresh round of giggles.
“He's lost it,” I concluded.
“Step over there with the others,” John instructed, motioning toward the soldier, Francis, who had his guns out and pointed at Benji and Moto. John put my blade up against my left shoulder and turned it to move me out of the way quicker. I felt the metal bite into my arm and draw blood as I scurried to avoid having it cut off. John sauntered over to Franco and looked down on him, his face a mixture of disgust and pride.
“Alone and unarmed,” John gloated, leaning over and picking up Franco's gun. “That's just how I was hoping to find you.”
“What are you doing?”
“What does it look like?” John waved the gun around comically. “I'm burning you. You should have seen this coming. The fact that you didn't says a lot about you. I mean come on, man. Get a clue! The real question here is what the hell are you doing? And where's my old pal, Haki?”
“See for yourself,” Franco blurted, letting out a titter of giggles like a rapid string of high notes being played on a piano.
We all turned at once, and followed his line of sight. The thick glass of the viewing room had been punched out clean, like a clear chunk of bulletproof ice the size of a car windshield. Jagged, star shaped glass spread out in a wide radius from the gaping hole, glistening like a fresh spray of powder blown from winter pines. On the ground, in the middle of this mess, was a tattered carcass made of flayed skin and bloody, shredded clothing. It was Haki, there was no one else it could be, and yet still my mind couldn't seem to wrap around the reality of what I was seeing. He looked deflated and lumpy, like a stuffed animal that's had its guts ripped out. His eyes were solid black and lifeless. Blood poured from his ears and nose. He was missing his lower jaw and his long pink tongue hung out, but it had turned scaly and purple, like something from a child's darkest nightmare.
“You're kidding! That's Haki? What happened to him?” John took a moment to scratch the side of his head with his pistol before pointing it back in Franco's direction.
“It's the serum,” Franco moaned, coming to his senses. “The effect doesn't last. In order to maintain itself, the host has to continue to consume fuel at an almost impossible rate.”
“And by fuel, you mean people?” Benji asked.
“Anything living will do, but yeah,” Franco replied somberly, looking lost in thought. “The problem is, sooner or later it's going to run out, and when that happens the biological agent will begin to eat the host in order to survive. By the time I got here, he had already punched his way out of the room. Fortunately, he was halfway back to his normal size by then. Shortly afterward, he fell over and twitched for a long time. I think he's gone now.”
“So much for your big weapon, huh killer?” John laughed cruelly. Desdemona joined him, the sound of her cackling was like nails on a chalkboard to me.
If there is one thing that unites them, it's their love of other people’s suffering, I thought.
“Guess you're not so smart after all, now are you?”
The 'told you so' tone of his remarks seemed to set off Franco, who immediately launched into an angry tirade.
“You think you can betray me? You're nothing! You like to go around telling everyone you were in the special forces, but we both know that's a lie. You were in the reserves, for crying out loud! That's all you ever were. A weekend warrior at best. You don't have the discipline it takes to see something like this through,” Franco challenged.
“That's what I've been telling him since it started,” Moto chimed in, sending John into a fit.
“Shut up! Both of you! Or I'll start with your fingers and toes, feeding them to my pet monsters outside while you're still alive.”
“I take it back,” Franco said, straightening up as if things had suddenly taken a turn for the better. He took
a moment to get to his feet, and then dusted himself off. He was like an actor finishing a long performance as one character, and switching immediately into another. He cocked his head at John as he strutted like a proud professor watching a particularly difficult student finally coming into his own.
“I always knew you had a spark in you, I just could never get it to come to the surface. That's why I kept pushing you. That's why you're standing where you are right now, instead of ruling over a few blocks of forgotten suburbia in the middle of nowhere. You will never have to apologize for being greedy, not to me. I applaud your ambition. In fact, I want to reward you for it. Together, we’ll make sure you get everything you deserve and more. I promise you that, friend. You have my word.”
“Why thank you,” John sarcastically replied. “Coming from you that means exactly nothing to me.”
John made a big show of loading a round into the Glock's chamber and pointing it back at Franco's head.
“You've put up a good front,” Franco said in a condescending, but friendly, tone. “You've proven your worth of taking on more responsibility, of being my right-hand man, but this has gone far enough. Lower your weapons and I'll make you my new commander. You'll continue to oversee the horde and troops, keeping spoils and plunder beyond your wildest dreams, as we take down California town by town.”
John looked hard and seriously at Desdemona, who returned the glare.
It's like they're communicating telepathically, I thought.
After a tense few seconds with my guts twisted up in knots, John broke his stare and began shaking his head. Desdemona's wicked grin told me all I needed to know about what he was going to say.
“Gosh,” John said, the familiar, charismatic 'ah shucks' smile returning to his face. “That is one heck of an offer, buddy. I almost wish I could take you up on it. I really do. But you see, here's the thing. The misses and I just have our hearts set on declaring ourselves King and Queen of California and, thanks to you helping me assemble a gigantic zombie army, that's exactly what we're going to do. But don't you worry for a second. I'm not going to forget about you. I'm not like that.”
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