by R. K. Weir
"I wouldn't do that if I were you," the Gas Man says, his words sounding far off and distant. My head whips around, only to find nothing but an empty hall behind us. "You don't want to know what's behind that door."
My mind registers the sound accompanying his voice. It's being carried to us over the light buzz of static. I lift my gaze up and sure enough, in the top corner of the hall, just above the door is a camera, below it a speaker. My heartbeat settles slightly when I realize he isn't nearby. I tap Rocket's shoulder and point towards the camera. She turns her gaze towards it.
"Yeah?" Rocket calls out. "Well you don't wanna know what we're gonna do once we find you!"
I don't think he can hear us, but we start walking towards the door again anyway.
"No! Please! You have to listen! You can't open that door!" he says, sounding more agitated the closer we get.
"What's the bet he's hiding in there?" I ask, the grip on my switchblade tightening.
"I'm liking the odds" Rocket says.
"You have to trust me! I'm trying to help you!" he cries.
"Help us!" Rocket shouts back. "That's rich!" Then she turns to the camera and sticks her finger up.
She holds that position while I reach for the door handle. Twisting it, I'm surprised to find it unlocked. But I don't stop to give it any thought, I just throw the door open, or at least, I try to. It opens a fraction but then I find it pushing back against me. I smile at this, imagining him on the other side, trying desperately to keep us out. I push against the door harder.
"If you open that door you're going to die!"
I shift my gaze up to the camera, because now that I know he's on the other side of the door, that he can hear me, I want him to see me too.
"The only one that's going to die today is you!" I'm surprised by the anger that projects my voice, but that surprise quickly transfers back to the door when I feel the pressure on the other side easing up.
"For God's sake, opening the door is the only way they can get out!"
At first I think he's moving away, giving up and letting us in, but then I see the fingers, thin and gray curling round the edges of the wood. My hand falls away as a face appears in the gap, trying to squeeze its way through, teeth gnashing at me.
"Shut the door!" the Gas Man shouts, but it's being pulled open without my help now. I stumble back as the door swings open to reveal a dark room crowded with infected. One at a time they begin spilling into the hall, staggering towards us.
"Run!" the Gas Man shouts. "Run!"
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Logan
The flames burst out like hands, desperate to be held as they flare out and scorch the tip of my nose. Sweltering heat washes over my entire body, and as I stumble back I'm certain that I'm engulfed in the flames. When I look down at myself, I see that only a few are clinging to me. I hastily scramble away from the main blaze, my hands covered in red welts by the time they've patted down my clothes. The skin on my face is stinging too but I resist the urge to touch it.
For a second, all I see is red and black, then the smoke parts a fraction and I see a man on the other side. His arm is raised in the air. My mind registers what he's doing a second before it's too late. I dive to the left just as another bottle shatters where I was standing, a second wall of fire erupting from the ground.
There's the sound of distant yelling accompanying the cackling inferno. I scramble to take cover behind the nearest car and throw a wild glance down the street. I see the man throwing the bottles. He's trying to light a third one. I pull the gun out from my belt and aim it at him. My index finger must be badly burnt, because while holding the gun is painful, pulling the trigger is excruciating. The bullet misses him, but the sound of the gunshot makes him jump. He drops the bottle and quickly ducks down behind the car next to him.
Molotov cocktails! That's innovative. I'll give him credit for that. The bottles are averagely sized but the inferno they produce certainly isn't. With our little fire-starter now hiding, I risk another glance down the street. I spot Maisie instantly, teetering around the flames, almost as if she's dancing with them. I can't tell if she's trying to avoid them or touch them. Either way, she's right out in the open, it'll only be a matter of time before he spots her. He still hasn't emerged from behind the car though. Cursing under my breath I tear the bag off of my back and make a run for her.
As soon as I stand up, so does he. Another bottle is in his hand but he's struggling to light it. How many does he have? He can't be carrying around that many. With my gaze locked on him, I almost crash into Maisie. My free arm wraps around her waist while my other aims the gun at him again. I have a clear shot for his head.
His cocktail ignites just as I pull the trigger. Two shots. The first one misses completely. The second one misses my target but hits the bottle instead. It explodes in his hand, the liquid splashing out and setting him alight. Covered head-to-toe in flames before I can even blink, he begins staggering towards us, screaming, limbs flailing madly. I turn Maisie away and steer us behind another car.
He's fallen to his knees but his screaming hasn't stopped. It's so full of pain I actually consider using a bullet just to put him out of his misery. But I only have three bullets left, I need to use them sparingly. My heart is beating as fast as my thoughts are racing. Was this a trap set by the Gas Man? Are these the bandits? Are there more of them nearby? And where is Gale? Shadowing all these thoughts is the screaming, a constant wail in my ears. I decide I can't stomach it anymore. He doesn't deserve my mercy, but no living thing deserves such a slow, torturous death either.
Once I've pushed Maisie behind the car, safe from the flames, I twist back around to where he's collapsed on the road. My finger hesitates on the trigger when I see he isn't alone anymore. Two men stand on either side of him, giving him room to try and roll, but he barely has the energy left. His screams are ebbing into a hoarse wheeze now, his movements slowing. He's on the brink of death when the man on his right spears him through the head with a metal rod. There's the sickening image of him roasting a marshmallow on a stick as he tries to pull it back out, giving it a shake so as to get the charred bits off. I'm so focused on the horrific scene that I don't notice the man on the left lighting and throwing another bottle until I see it sailing through the air towards us.
It crashes through the car window and sets the interior ablaze in seconds. I feel the heat of it thrown out even though the window on my side is still intact. Maisie lifts herself up so that she can peer inside, pressing her face close against the glass. You would think she's never seen fire before.
Black smoke billows out from the four fires and is thrown about by the wind, blanketing the entire street in a blurry haze. It makes it difficult to see, but even still I notice the two men beginning to move towards us. I pull the gun up and fire off a shot before they have a chance to dive for cover. One of them goes down, but over the roar of the fire I can hear them cursing and know whatever wound I've inflicted isn't fatal. The other one starts sprinting towards us. I pull the trigger again and he dives to the ground. I doubt I've hit him, but I've bought us a precious few seconds to retreat.
I grab Maisie and begin pulling her away from the car when I hear a new voice enter the chaos.
"L-Logan!" I recognize the stutter instantly. Gale. My head whips around, but between the wavering flames and the spiraling smoke, I fail to find him. He shouts again and that's when I spot him, kneeling by the doors of the shopping center. He's throwing his arms about wildly, waving us towards him, beckoning us into the mall.
I start moving towards him, throwing a glance over my shoulder at the two men as I do so. The one I shot is keeled over on the ground, clutching at his side. Maybe I hit something vital after all? The other one is picking himself up, tripping over his own feet in his haste to pursue us. As soon as we reach Gale I practically throw Maisie at him.
"Run!" I shout at them. They take off instantly. Before I follow them I turn back around to pull the doors shut. They're stiff and unresp
onsive. They'll give us another few precious seconds. When I move to follow after Maisie and Gale I see them heading down the escalators.
No! I want to shout. If we go down a level we'll be trapped! But one of the men slams into the doors behind me and the words catch in my throat. I take off after them, counting in my head how many shots I've fired. Four? Five? Maisie and Gale are almost at the bottom of the escalator as I reach the first step. I've lost track of how many bullets are left in the clip. Either one or two. I'd rather underestimate and be pleasantly surprised than overestimate and be bitterly disappointed and possibly dead, so I choose to assume there's only one bullet left. If I'm lucky that's all I'll need.
I must be too slow of a runner because just as I reach the last few steps I feel a hand descending on my shoulder. I try to twist around, to aim the gun at them, but all this does is tangle my legs together. The hand on my shoulder lifts and I think he's retreating at the sight of the gun, but then it slams into the center of my back and I go sprawling forward. The gun flies from my hand, clattering somewhere to my left. I've landed on my stomach but I just manage to flip myself over before he comes crashing down on top of me.
His hand reaches my neck first. The momentum throws my head back, forcing it to slam against the ground. The world goes blurry, only to return in time for me to see him lifting the metal rod up, ready to swing it down on my skull. A sick smile is on his face. Kicking my legs out proves useless but my fingertips can just trace the curve of his neck. He starts laughing as I scrabble to get a grip. He's just out of reach.
He squeezes down on my throat. My scrabbling becomes more frantic as I start to get lightheaded. I stop trying to reach for his neck and move down to prying his fingers off of mine. Somewhere in the back of my mind I wonder where Maisie and Gale have gone, hope that at least they've gotten away.
"This is for my friend," the man on top of me says.
He starts to bring the rod down when something fast hits him in the shoulder. It isn't until it bounces off him and shatters beside us that I realize it was a bottle of vodka. For a brief moment I'm suspended in the belief that alcohol has saved my life, before recognizing that someone must have thrown it. I glance to my right to see that it was Gale. He's rooting around in his bag, about to throw another one. I look back up at my assailant.
Gale hasn't thrown it hard enough to do any real harm, but he's managed to distract him. His body thrown off balance slightly by the impact, his strike narrowly misses my head, the metal rod coming to a clanging stop right beside my ear. Caught off guard, he's looking at Gale now, his grip on my neck loosening slightly. He's just started to raise the metal rod up again when I throw a punch at his throat. I just manage to make contact. The choking wheeze that sputters out of his mouth tells me that I've winded him. He keeps one hand on my neck but chooses to drop the metal rod so that he can squeeze at his own.
Gale throws another bottle at him. It strikes him on the shoulder again, dislodging him enough that I can bend my arm up and make a grasp for the rod. He sees what I'm doing a second before he can stop me. Once my fingers curl around the thin shaft, I swing it round as hard as I can. It hits him on the side of the head with enough force to knock him off of me.
For a few brief seconds, we both lie still, struggling to take in air. Then he makes the first move. We both scrabble to our feet. I bring the metal rod round, thinking he's about to charge me, but then I see he's running in the opposite direction. Towards Gale? I start to sprint after him when he scoops something up from the ground and swings around to face me. I come to a dead stop.
It wasn't Gale he was after. It was the gun. And now that he has it, the barrel is centered on me.
We're both panting heavily, sizing each other up. This is the first time in all the chaos that I've actually had the chance to see him clearly. He's almost twice my size, it's no wonder he was able to throw me down and pin me there so easily. He has a mad look about him as well, a dangerous gleam in his eyes, hair cut short and unevenly. But most unnerving of all is his smile, like this has all been one big game to him.
He glances over his shoulder and ducks down just as another bottle comes whizzing in our direction. It smashes on the ground between us, its liquid splattering my shoes. I just manage to catch a glimpse of Gale, wide-eyed and panicked, before our opponent raises himself up again. With the gun back on me, I start to slowly raise my free hand in the air while lowering the rod to the ground with the other.
He sees what I'm doing and his smile breaks out into a broad grin. "Oh, this isn't for you. I'm having far too much fun with you to end it this easily."
I don't understand what he means until he turns around and points the gun at Gale. My reaction is immediate. I throw the metal rod like a spear. It skewers his shoulder just as the gun goes off. There are two screams before I hear the thud of something heavy hitting the floor. Could that be Gale? Was I too late? I think I can just make out the shape of his crumpled form, but our attacker is blocking too much of my view to be certain.
Our attacker. He's dropped the pistol so he can reach around and wrench the metal rod out of his shoulder blade. I run forward before he can. With his attention focused on removing the rod, he doesn't have time to brace himself as I crash into him. We both stumble forward several steps, but I manage to right myself first. I make a grab for the rod and rip it out before he can get his hands on it. Howling, he whips around and shoves me away.
His face is barren of that cocky grin now, and this makes me smile.
Both of us stand, our breathing so heavily laboured it's impossible to hear anything else. Again, we size each other up, calculating our next moves, evaluating the strength we have left. This is the calm before the storm. After this brief intermission one of us is going to be dead. I take the opportunity to glance in Gale's direction, to confirm what I already know. My eyes dart to him for only a second, but it's more than enough time for me to see his body, lying still on the floor.
A seething anger has my fingers tightening around the metal rod. A rush of adrenaline comes with it, and this time, it's me that makes the first move. I bring the rod up and swing it down on Gale's killer. He dives to the left but I still manage to catch his ankle. There's the crunch of bone and another howl as he staggers back from me, limping now.
I'm about to swing at him again when he lunges for me. He tries to make a grab for the rod but I whip it up and smack it against the side of his face before he can. It opens a gash along his cheek. He staggers back a few steps, no doubt finding it difficult to stand with a shattered ankle. Once he's regained his footing, I take a threatening step forward. He retreats three steps back.
Anger and adrenaline have taken the reigns from me completely. I don't even have a plan for what I'm going to do, I just continue stabbing out with the rod, pushing him further and further back. I figure I'll get him on his knees and bash his head in when my eye catches the glass banister coming up behind him. Somewhere amidst the pounding headache and the blood surging in my ears, a plan manages to form.
I'll push him over the railing, have him fall to his death. He's only about two steps away from reaching it when he lunges out at me again. This time he manages to get a grip on the rod. It's like a game of tug-of-war, except he has the strength to pull not only the rod towards him, but me as well. I realize quickly that there's no way I can win, but there is a way I can work losing into my plan.
I time it carefully, and when he's just about to yank it towards him, I let go. He stumbles back against the banister, the rod swinging out in his grasp and shattering the glass. I have to be quick. I don't give him a second to recuperate, I charge into him and try to throw him over. The railing groans and bends out slightly, but even with a broken ankle he still manages to keep both feet on the ground. He's too heavy for me to push over and he's realized what I'm attempting to do now.
And he has the rod.
I grab onto it before he has a chance to swing it at me and then bring my foot around to stamp down on his i
njured ankle. He roars in pain as I pull myself back and slam my body against his. The railing snaps out with a squeal until we're practically leaning over the edge. Another push and it should break. I'm just about to pull myself back when his fist connects with my jaw. The force behind it sends me reeling, blood pooling in my mouth before spilling over my lips and drenching my shirt.
He's managed to lift himself away from the railing by the time I've recovered. Dizzy from the punch but still fueled by adrenaline, I know that whatever I do, I have to do it fast. He swings the rod at me and I just manage to duck in time. He pivots slightly, his weight thrown off by the swing. This is my chance.
I tackle him from the waist. He's thrown off his feet and we both lurch towards the edge. I feel his body collide with something and know that we've reached the railing. The banister must snap, his body only stutters in the air for a second before it continues to fall. I let go of him and start pulling myself back, only to realize I might be too late.
My feet are still on the ledge but they're tilting forward dangerously. His hands have abandoned the rod and are now clawing out towards me, desperately trying to clutch a fold of my shirt. My hands are frantically jerking out at my sides, trying to grab onto the broken railing. He's too far away to reach me, and I'm too far away to reach the railing. My breath catches in my throat.
I shut my eyes and wait for the air to start rushing past me. But something pinches my back instead, and I feel the material of my shirt stretching. I open my eyes just in time to see the man being swallowed by the darkness of the bottom floor, to hear the splattering crunch as his body hits the ground. I'm leaning over the edge for a second longer before I'm pulled back slightly, until my heels touch the floor and I feel like I can breathe again.
Slowly, I turn around, and I find Maisie in front of me.
"People can't fly, Logan. Trust me, I've tried," she says. My entire body is shaking so much I may as well be convulsing.