He started flipping through the same stuff Donny and Lisa had flipped through in their frantic search the day before, though not as noisily as they had. Finding no signs of Tommy, he stopped, and stood there a moment, looking at a door that had three steps leading up to it. He decided to see what was lurking on the other side.
He kicked away the snow, and made a path for himself through it as he climbed the three steps. When he reached the landing, he cleared it off the best he could, making sure he had enough footing to fight off anything that might come out of the building. He drew a breath, exhaled it in a white cloud, reached down for the handle, held the knife tight, and grabbed the knob.
He turned it.
Click, click, click, seconds ticked, ticked, ticked.
The unlocked door popped open, and three zombies shambled out of the darkness onto the landing, which was caged off by two rails attached to the wall, with one way up and one way down.
Mike (thinking quickly) stepped sideways, and tripped the first zombie, who stumbled and tumbled down the steps, cracking and breaking all sorts of things in its fall. The second zombie (a lady that once wore a shapely dark dress that was now covered in filth) pushed Mike up against the rail and pinned him there. Mike managed to get the blade up in time to push it easily into her soft skull. He pulled the blade out, and lots of plump maggots oozed out of the wound, along with a healthy dose of blood. The zombie fell towards him, and he used her light dead body as a battering ram against the third zombie, who was currently trying to attack Mike from behind the woman. He shoved her into the male zombie (wearing construction clothes), and with all of his strength managed to dump both zombies over the rail. They crashed hard onto the ground in a puff of white powdery snow.
Mike quickly moved down to the zombie he had tossed down the steps. It (dressed in shorts and a “We have fun at the funhouse t-shirt”) moved and clawed at him, but with a busted body all it could do was reach out. Mike quickly pushed the blade into its skull, as the construction worker zombie came up on him. They tumbled to the ground. Mike underneath, the zombie on top, gnashing and mashing those discolored broken teeth inches from his flesh.
Mike reached for his knife, which had fallen out of his hand during the attack. Inches away seemed like miles as he clawed for it. Finally, after what seemed like hours, he grabbed it, and as his strength was about to go, he pushed the blade into the zombie’s skull. He removed the blade, and dropped the lifeless body to the ground beside him. He looked at the creature that had almost taken his life. He then looked up at the sun and blue sky. Tranquility in the midst of chaos.
Mike stood up a few minutes later, and did a quick scan of the area.
Nothing was lurking, not even a mouse.
He made his way up the steps, and with knife held high, entered the building, closing the door and locking it once he was inside. He took a momentary pause, used a bit of hand sanitizer on his hands, and then had a small meal.
When he was rested, he took out his light and scanned the place over. He noticed he was now inside a place they used to call “The Funhouse.” There were all kinds of arcade games and pin ball machines around him, just sitting there, silent and dark, collecting dust, waiting to be played again.
Mike walked up to one of his favorites, a game he used to play all the time as a kid. He grabbed the plastic joystick and pretended he could see the frog on the screen hopping its way through traffic. That’s when he heard the shuffling. But it wasn’t like normal zombie shuffling. It sounded more rhythmic in nature, almost coordinated, like the zombies making the noise were in sync.
He walked over to the spot where it was coming from, and found himself standing at the entranceway to a large round circle. He shined his light on one of the walls, and saw a phrase written there in bright neon green letters: WE HAVE FUN AT THE FUNHOUSE.
Mike shined his light from the phrase to the center of the circle, where two zombies were currently doing some kind of disco dancing, standing under the big silvery ball, acting like it was spinning brightly to their favorite Bee-Gees tune.
“I’m so glad I’m a metal head,” he replied to himself. Then to the zombies. “Excuse me guys, disco sucks, and its dead.”
The two zombies stopped doing the hustle, and started to move towards him.
Mike readied his blade, and managed to decapitate both of them before they could leave the dance floor. Their heads made a thump, as their bodies walked a few feet before crumbling to the floor.
Finished with the disco zombies, he made his way to the back of the building, where there were a few bathrooms, a sitting area filled with cheap tables and chairs, a small booth for ordering food, and an office.
He pushed open the half closed office door, and shined his light around inside of it. Typical office, desk, chair, filing cabinets, pictures on the wall, and dust. A year’s worth of dust at least. It looked like the place hadn’t been touched since this whole zombie thing started.
Mike walked over to the bathrooms, and peaked into each one of them. Again, the dust on the sinks and the mirrors and everywhere else told him no one had been here for quite a while. He took a whizz in one of the urinals, and then made his way back out to the small eating area.
He scanned the tables (yes, more dust), and then walked up to the concession area. He peered over the counter, scanning the small space behind it with his light. He saw no signs of Tommy, but he did see something a bit strange. He walked over to the door that led into and out of the small room. He turned the handle and pushed the door inward, knife tight in his hand, light shining forward. The door came to rest against the wall, and Mike slipped inside the tight space.
He stopped when he reached the white cabinet, kneeled down, and shined his light around inside it. Cups, chips, bottles of water, and a few things in cans were all that he found hiding in its shadows. He stood up, and shined his light onto the empty bags of chips, and bottles of water on the floor.
“Could have been him, but it also could have been anyone,” he replied, returning to the cabinet, reaching in for a few bags of chips and a couple of bottles of water. He closed the door that led into the room, and sat down for a moment munching away.
After he finished, he decided it was best to check out the upstairs and get moving. The day was quickly going from morning to noon, and he knew that if he didn’t hustle, night would be upon him before he realized it. He didn’t mind being out alone. But he did mind being out in the dark because it was a lot harder to see your surroundings via a flashlight than the sun.
The upstairs proved to be nothing but a gigantic storage area filled with old broken equipment, files, and lots of stuff in boxes. Mike didn’t see any signs of Tommy, and, thankfully, no zombies either.
He made his way outside, and stopped on the landing for a moment. He looked across the alley to the other building. A large high rise apartment complex with lots and lots of cold dark windows. Mike didn’t want to venture into such a spooky place alone, and he figured that if he didn’t want to, then a six year old boy wouldn’t want to either.
He made his way down the steps and moved up the alley, pausing at the spot where it led out onto the street. He scanned the downtown area, and tried to game plan his next move. He saw a lot of shufflers moving about, pushing their way ever so slowly through the thick white snow. There were enough of them that he would need his guns instead of his blade. He un-holstered his pistols, screwed a silencer onto each one of them, and with a gun in each hand made his way onto the sidewalk. He picked up his pace and headed towards the Ritz Apartments, popping zombie heads, silently, in the now mid-day sun.
+
Mike reached the Ritz Apartments somewhere in the later part of the afternoon, and now stood on a hill overlooking the parking lot in front of the building.
It was an absolute nightmare. One filled with lots and lots of zombies, shambling and shuffling about, clearing the parking lot of snow by just moving around in random patterns.
“Not good,” Mike
replied, as he looked from the parking lot to the two story apartment complex. He sighed and sat down with his back against a thick Oak tree. He rested for a moment, and munched on a quick snack while drinking some much needed water, talking out loud to himself.
“First, you don’t even know if Tommy is in there. You could be risking your life in order to save no one.”
He thought on that for a moment as he looked back at the building. That’s when he saw something he hadn’t seen before, something tied to one of the lobby door handles. It looked like a white shirt, flapping in the soft cold breeze.
“Sure, it’s a shirt, but it could mean anything,” Mike replied to himself, as he leaned back against the tree and tried to think about his next move. That little voice inside his head kept telling him to trust his instincts, instincts that were telling him the kid was inside, and that he needed help.
“Dammit, Mike. Why do you always have to be a hero? It’s going to get you killed.”
He stood up and dusted the snow off of his clothes. He looked around to see if his angels were anywhere in sight. He didn’t see them, but if they’d been there, he wouldn’t have seen them anyway. They liked to stay hidden.
“Double Trouble, if you’re around, I might really need you this time,” he replied to the trees, hoping maybe they were up in one of them, watching over him. He stared hard at the trees until his eyes nearly split from the strain. Not seeing or hearing anyone above him, he turned back to the task at hand.
“Okay, Mike, here’s how it’s going to go,” he replied to himself, as he made sure both pistols were securely strapped and snapped in place inside their holsters, fully loaded, no silencers. He made sure his rifle was held tight to his back, also fully loaded. He tightened his pack, and then said a little prayer. He stepped out of the trees and descended down the hill, thinking back to his old High School Football days as a Fuquay-Varina Bengal Tiger. He was a star running back way back then, and he hoped that athletic skill would come in handy today.
He took his stance when he reached the edge of the asphalt, held the knife tight in one hand, and then blasted out across the parking lot after counting to three. He stiff armed one zombie, rotten tendons in its neck snapping as he pushed it to the ground. He lowered his shoulder and hit another zombie head on, knocking it into four others. They all stumbled, tripped and slipped, scattering out of his way. His path opened up then, just a couple of zombies between him and the open door. He grabbed one of them by its dirty red hair, jammed the blade home into its skull, and then slung the corpse into the last zombie in his way. Both tumbled and fumbled into the snow as he reached the lobby doors and ran inside, stopping for just a second to game plan.
He quickly scanned the dark lobby. Zombies were everywhere, and they started to swarm.
“Exit, where’s the damn exit onto the stairs,” he replied to himself, as he grabbed a zombie by the hair and slung it over the lobby desk. Whatever was behind the desk crashed to the floor when the zombie tumbled over it.
Two more came at him on his right.
He whipped out one of his guns and splattered their heads across the nearest wall, showering a picture of a tranquil beach in blood and brain matter.
This gave him a brief second to reach into his vest pocket and pull out a smoke bomb. He exploded two more zombie skulls with the gun, popped the ring on the smoke bomb with his teeth, and then rolled it to the left. He pulled out the other smoke bomb and did the same thing, rolling it to his right this time.
The zombies scattered, and this gave Mike just enough time to grab his flash light and shine it around. The light caught the silver EXIT letters on the door that led into the stairs.
He put the light in his mouth and ran towards the stairs, firing off every round in the gun in his hand. He holstered the empty weapon and pulled out the other one. Heads exploded and limbs shredded as he moved towards safety.
Mike reached the door, and flung it open without any thought of a zombie lurking behind it. He ran into the dark, and didn’t hesitate or slow down as he mounted the stairs one by one and two by two and sometimes three by three.
He reached the first floor landing and didn’t pause as he turned and hurried up the stairs to the second floor landing, flashlight now in his hand trying to show him the way in the thick black darkness where anything or anyone could be lurking.
He paused when he reached the second floor landing, inches in front of the door that lead into the hallway. He holstered his empty pistol and slung the rifle over his shoulder. He grabbed the brass door knob and turned it slowly. When the door was ready, he pushed it open, gun held tight with one hand, flashlight in the other. He stepped out into the hallway and quickly scanned his surroundings with the stairwell door hanging slightly ajar behind him.
The hall was silent, cold, and empty. A window at the end of the hall let in just enough of the late afternoon sun to show Mike the floral pattern on the floor, pictures on the wall, and apartment doors. Some were open and some were closed. There wasn’t a zombie to be seen up on this level.
He started scanning the doors for room numbers, careful and mindful of the open doors and the dark spaces they were revealing.
Apartment 222 appeared on his left.
He stopped, and reached down for the door knob.
Locked.
“Tommy, if you’re in there, can you open up?” Mike asked the locked door, and waited for a moment. No one arrived to let him in, so he put his ear to the door and listened. There was no sound coming from inside the apartment, he was sure of it.
He started to think about his next move when he heard a door slam against a wall. He shone his flashlight back the way he’d come, towards the direction of the sound, and what he saw froze him in place for a moment. The zombies were coming out of the stairwell like ants out of an ant hill. They were clogging up the hall, heading directly towards him. A tidal wave of corpses.
Mike pulled up his shotgun, stepped away from the door that led into Apartment 222, aimed, and blasted the door knob off the door. He then hurried inside, pausing for a second in a small living room area.
He quickly scanned the place with his light, and found one room that had to be Tommy’s. He made his way into it as the zombies started to pile in, choking up the living room like an undead party.
He slammed the bedroom door closed and locked it just as the zombie surge crashed into it. The door and wall shook, but no shuffler broke through.
He scanned the room with his flashlight, and saw no signs of Tommy. There was a closed closet door. He hurried over to it, opened it up, and slipped inside. He took a seat on the floor and listened to the zombies trying to get into the room. He caught his breath and tried to relax. It was time to game plan.
A flashlight popped on beside him revealing a six year old blonde haired kid dressed in jeans, tee shirt, and jacket. He was covered in dirt, but looked to be unharmed as he sat in front of a stack of comic books, empty bottles of water, and junk food wrappers.
The kid looked up at Mike. “Got you cornered?”
“Yeah,” Mike replied.
“What brings you out?”
“You.”
“Me?”
“I’m here to rescue you,” Mike replied, smiling, as the door to the room busted open. “Your parents sent me. I’m supposed to bring you back.”
“Are they mad?”
“Just scared and worried.”
The zombies started pawing at the closet door.
“How do we get out?” Tommy asked, brave and terrified at the same time.
“We stay quiet, and keep the lights off. Eventually they should go away. Once they’re gone we’ll find a way out,” Mike replied, putting his back to the wall, bracing the door with both boots.
Tommy turned off the flashlight and set his back against the door.
The zombies pawed and clawed.
The doors held.
The night passed.
Christmas arrived.
DECEMBER the
25th
On Christmas morning, Mike woke up, slumped over, Tommy’s head resting on his legs. He yawned and stretched, and that’s when he realized the building was quiet. He was slightly puzzled, thinking he was still in the dream world – a world where he’d been thinking about all the wonderful Christmas Eve nights and Christmas Mornings he’d had with his family before this new world set in.
Mike laid Tommy down on the floor and placed his coat over him. The kid stirred, but didn’t wake. Mike took out a pistol and gently loaded it (he didn’t do it the night before because he was afraid of making too much noise). Gun loaded, he gripped the door handle, stood up, and turned the silver knob until it clicked open. He pushed forward, gun aimed, ready to fire. What he saw sent him into momentary shock.
Every zombie in the room had been slaughtered while they slept. He stepped over the bodies and made his way to the door. He peered out. Every zombie he could see in the living room area was also dead. He looked back at the closet, and then ventured over to the front door of the apartment. He peered out into the hallway, and again there were no zombies alive. He holstered his gun when he felt Tommy step up beside him.
“What happened?” The kid asked, looking around. Blood coated the walls, the floors, the ceiling, and undead body parts were strewn about everywhere he looked.
“Don’t know,” Mike replied, as a sound rose up in the still air.
They both looked up towards the roof, trying to place the sound.
“Santa,” Tommy replied, half joking, but a bit unsure.
Mike looked down at the boy, and then up to the roof again. He had a brief moment in his head where he pictured Santa in full combat gear, and an army of lethal elves laying waste to this place while he and Tommy slept. He pushed that thought aside with a smile, and turned to face the boy. “Anything’s possible, kid. Let’s get our stuff and get out of here.”
“Can I take my family something? We left in kind of a hurry,” Tommy replied.
“Do you guys have wrapping paper?”
“We do.”
“And a couple of boxes?”
The Mike Beem Chronicles: 6 Tales of Survival, Hope, and The Zombie Apocalypse Page 13