DEAD CELLS

by Adam Millard

  As they came under attack, the irony of the situation was palpable.

  Out of the eight-man patrol, four returned from the dead. The other four, unfortunately for them, made excellent meals; perhaps the best meals the prisoners had had in a very long time.

  *

  The gate that led to the door that led to the yard was locked. Terry had expected it, but Jared seemed to find it impossible to digest. He was finally beginning to grate on Terry, and Marla wasn't too keen on having Jared around either, not the way he was behaving. It wasn't safe to carry such an incoherent, confused idiot, not with those things everywhere. Jared was apt to get them all killed, and Marla wasn't going to accept that.

  'So what now?' Jared whined. His eyebrows seemed to have taken up permanent residence on the top of his head. 'What the fuck now, Terry?'

  'I'm thinking,' Terry growled, and Marla found herself wondering how he had lasted so long in a cell with Jared without tearing his fucking head off.

  Marla walked away, allowing Terry to think and Jared to whine. She listened to the noises coming from everywhere, or so it seemed. There were squeals, growls, scratches, moans. The whole prison suddenly felt alive.

  In a way, it was deader than ever.

  Whichever way she thought of it, she knew that things would never be the same again. Even if they were to survive the night, what was happening would be too impossible to explain. Supposing those things died of their own volition; if there was not enough food and they simply starved to death, what proof would they have of the inexplicable events? Nobody in their right mind would believe a word of it. Marla hardly believed it herself, and she had seen it with her own eyes.

  She turned to find her two companions arguing, unsurprisingly.

  'What?' she asked.

  'Terry here wants us to make our way to the chapel,' Jared said. 'Used to be a man of faith, didn't you Terry?'

  'So what's the problem?' Marla asked.

  'The chapel,' Jared sighed, 'is on the other side of the jail. Just because Terry's had his faith reconfirmed, he thinks there's not a chance on earth that those things would be allowed under a roof of God.'

  Marla didn't say anything, because there was nothing to say. She was the least religious person she knew, at least until she met Jared.

  'I'm sorry,' she said to Terry. 'You want us to go traipsing halfway across the prison because you believe that God will take care of us?'

  Terry nodded. 'He will.'

  Marla shrugged her shoulders. 'Standing around here waiting for one of those things to find us is just as dangerous.' She turned to Jared, who couldn't believe what he was hearing. 'I say let God prove himself.'

  'You're out of your fucking mind!' Jared cried, trying desperately to control the volume of his voice. 'It's suicide.'

  'It's suicide standing here waiting,' Terry said. 'The chapel will be safe. You have my word.'

  Terry's word, Jared thought, was about as useful as tits on fish. How could the chapel be safe? It was hardly maximum-security, and when they reached it, what were they expected to do? Wait it out? Hope that the cavalry arrive with guns ablazing and horns ablowing?

  'Just let it be known that I don't like it,' Jared said.

  'Duly noted,' Terry smiled. 'Now let's get a move on. If those things corner us down here, we won't stand a fucking chance.'

  Marla nodded. 'Come on then.'

  They were just about to move when they were cornered, and it was true what Terry had said.

  They wouldn't have had a chance.

  *

  'Freeze!' Jenson cried, levelling the shotgun at Marla. When he realised who she was, he eased off momentarily. 'Doc, have you or any of your party been infected?'

  Marla shook her head. 'No,' she said. Her arms remained in the air, which seemed to be a good idea when you were staring down the barrel of a shotgun.

  'These two are convicts,' Michaelson said, holding out both pistols and looking something like the Lone Ranger. 'Hope you two haven't been getting used to all this freedom.'

  Terry shook his head. 'Not in the slightest,' he smiled. 'In fact, I'm kinda missing my cell. The warm bed, the good food...'

  'Shut the fuck up,' Jenson snapped. 'I'll shoot you where you stand.'

  Jared made a squeaking noise, and he wasn't sure where it came from. 'We're not trying to escape,' he said, pleadingly. 'We 're just trying not to get killed is all.'

  Michaelson holstered one of the pistols and took a step towards Marla, who in turn took a step back.

  'We're not infected,' Jenson said. 'In fact, we've not seen any of those things for a while. Since we got the guns.' He finished his sentence with a tone of regret. The guns were there to be fired, and poor Officer Jenson had not had cause to do so, not yet.

  'Where have you come from?' Marla asked.

  'The armoury,' Jenson replied, holding the shotgun aloft as if he'd won it at a fair. 'We heard some noises on the way, though. Think they might be heading this way.'

  'But you didn't see any of them?' Jared confirmed with more than a hint of worry.

  'Not a one,' Michaelson said as he holstered the second pistol. He had, apparently, deemed the situation as non-threatening.

  'In that case, what are we waiting for?' Jared said stepping forward.

  Michaelson reached down and placed his right hand on the holstered pistol. Jared saw this and instantly stopped in his tracks. 'We're waiting,' he said, 'until we decide the best thing to do.'

  Marla knew, in that moment, that bumping into the two guards might not be the best thing to have happened. Sure, they had weapons, useful guns that she presumed they were trained to use, but they were also on edge, liable to draw the creatures in.

  'We were going to head to the chapel,' Terry said, breaking an awkward silence.

  'What you were going to do is no longer of concern,' Michaelson sneered. 'From now on, you do what we say, when we say it.'

  Marla rolled her eyes up into her head. This macho bullshit was the last thing they needed.

  Jared was relieved; they had guards, men with guns. What could possibly go wrong?

  The answer to that question would follow very soon.

  *

  The corridor was deserted, apart from the five survivors that was. The guards were at the front, trying to look like they knew what they were doing but making a real hash of it. The way in which they swept the area with their weapons simply proved that both of them had spent way too much time watching Die Hard movies, or playing arcade videogames whilst their wives did the weekly shop.

  Marla, for one, didn't feel comfortable.

  'So what's the plan?' Terry calmly enquired. His hands were pushed casually into the pockets of his white trousers, and he walked with a gait that suggested aloofness.

  'We're going for the radio,' Michaelson whispered. 'If we can get through to somebody, anybody, then we might get out of this in one piece.'

  Marla suddenly realised where it was they were heading. 'The radio's in the governor's office,' she said, intending it as a question, but she knew where it was; she'd seen it.

  'That's right,' Jenson said. 'Direct link to the army base and Jackson PD. We make it to the radio, we figure out what's going on here, and then we get the fuck out.'

  In theory, it sounded perfect, but things always sounded perfect on paper.

  'I've just come from that way,' Marla said. 'Had a run-in with one of those things up there.'

  'Did you kill it?' Jared said, suddenly intrigued and frightened in equal measures. 'Please tell me you killed it.'

  'I killed it,' Marla said. 'I had no choice; it came after me like a savage beast.'

  'That's what they do,' Michaelson sneered. 'They're no longer human, and they attack without a second thought.'

  'I know,' Marla said. 'Like I said, I had a run-in with one.'

  'Were there any more of them up there?' Jenson asked. Jared nodded along with the question, as eager to hear the answer as the guard.

  'I got by a fe
w of them,' Marla said. 'They were too busy eating to see me. I'm betting they're finished with their supper now, though.'

  'She's right,' Terry Lewis said, taking one hand out of his trouser pocket. 'They'll be looking for seconds by now.'

  'We're not going to the fucking chapel,' Michaelson growled. 'One, it's a stupid idea, and two, I don't like you; you're a fucking prisoner, no better than those things walking round in here like they own the fucking place.'

  Terry shrugged nonchalantly. 'Do what you see fit,' he said. 'It's not like we've got a fucking choice in the matter.'

  'That's correct,' Jenson stepped in, his shotgun dangling down by his leg. 'You might want to bear that in mind next time you fancy speaking.'

  Terry grinned, but didn't speak. He knew that it was pointless.

  They continued in silence for a while. Terry, sensing exactly the same thing as Marla, remained a few feet behind the guards, who were starting to enjoy holding the guns, or so it seemed. The power that came with the weapons gave them false confidence, and it was that false confidence that was going to get them all killed.

  As they slipped through a gate and out to where the cells were, the atmosphere altered drastically. They had been safer with wall on either side of them, and now, well now they were out in the open, and the lack of communication between the group would be sorely missed.

  Up on the second floor there were two of them, ambling around, groaning as their search for food continued. The guns of the guards in front were trained on the creatures, but firing was definitely not a good idea now whilst there were possibly another hundred – maybe even more – of those things that they couldn't see. To shoot would be suicide. The noise would draw them in like moths to a flame.

  The only available option was to sneak, as silently as possible, along the row, and hope that they didn't run into any creatures.

  'Up there,' Terry said under his breath. When Michaelson turned to see what the man was pointing towards, he wished he hadn't.

  There were at least eight, maybe ten, of them, and they seemed to be feeding. Blood dripped down through the steel flooring like a rusty waterfall. The pool that had been created on their level was spreading outwards, the way a bath might overspill if a severely fat lady climbed into it.

  As far as Marla could tell, though, there were none of them on the ground floor, which was all that mattered at that moment in time. The terrible sound of the blood dripping into the pool seemed louder than it should have been; it almost echoed.

  Michaelson made a clenched fist and held it aloft, another reason why Marla knew he had watched way too many movies. It meant, in those films, to stay still; don't move; don't do anything. But as soon as he raised the fist, he took a few steps forward, and they all followed. There was no way that Jared would stay back, not with that amount of fear painted across his face. Michaelson turned to check that the rest of the group had followed, and turned back once he was satisfied.

  The creatures were overhead now. The noises they made as they fed were horrible. They were sucking at flesh, stripping bones clear of any remaining meat, and generally making a right row about it. Marla sidestepped just in time; a chunk of flesh, small enough to fit through the grate of the floor above, landed by her side with a sickening thud. An inch to the left and it would have landed on her head, which didn't bear thinking about.

  Michaelson used his pistol to point towards a gate before edging slowly towards it. They all followed without taken their eyes off the devouring horde above them.

  The flooring had inch-wide holes in it; galvanised steel with twisted bars. It was the flooring of choice for prisons, oil-rigs, mezzanine floors. What it meant, though, was that the creatures above, should they look hard enough, would see the movement as they passed underneath.

  Marla just hoped that they were too enrapt with what they were doing to notice.

  Blood continued to drip down through the floor. A splodge landed on Jared's right shoulder, and it was all he could do not to start screaming. He slapped a hand to his mouth, as if he wouldn't be able to control himself otherwise.

  Terry offered him a cursory glance: Don't fuck this up, or we'll all be dead! Jared must have understood him, because he nodded.

  They all reached the gate and stood behind Michaelson, who began to silently rifle through the keys on his belt. When they had started moving towards the gate, everyone had automatically assumed that it would be open.

  That had been a mistake.

  Terry reached down and placed a hand upon Michaelson's. The guard made eye-contact with the inmate, a look that suggested he had better remove his hand or risk losing it.

  The keys jangled nervously on the large ring. All eyes were now snapping back and forth between the guard and the horde above.

  'Do you want to get to safety, or not?' Michaelson whispered.

  Terry thought about this for a moment, and then let go of the guard's hand. For a few seconds, the guard simply stared into Terry Lewis's face. Marla was convinced that he was going to punch him, but he didn't.

  Michaelson continued to search the ring for the key. He made a few sounds, the clinking of steel on steel, but nothing that would alert the gathering of feeding creatures on the floor above.

  After finding the key, Michaelson pulled the chain across and slipped it into the lock. He turned it slowly to the right, and the deadbolt shifted with it. Despite the care the guard had taken to remain quiet, as the lock fell into place there was a metallic thud.

  A groan from above told them that they had been rumbled.

  Silence, it seemed, was no longer of utmost priority.

  By the time Michaelson swung the gate open, three of the creatures were clambering down the stairs, practically falling over each other to get to them. One of them slipped, its elbow bounced off the steel bannister, and then it toppled over the side and landed with a grunt next to Jenson, who immediately levelled his shotgun at it. He was about to fire when Terry placed a hand on the barrel.

  'What?' Jenson snapped.

  'If you fucking fire there'll be hundreds of them down here,' Terry replied. 'We'll be absolutely fucked.'

  The creature was, by now, dragging itself towards the group, who were stepping through the open gate and urging Jenson and Terry to do the same.

  'We don't have time for this,' Marla said. 'Get both of your asses through here now.'

  As the creature reached up with one hand, its mouth wide open and eyes rolled back into its head, Jenson took the gun away and marched through the gate. Terry kicked the creature once and made it through the gate just as the ones dragging themselves down the stairs turned the corner and came for them.

  'Quick,' Jared cried. 'Lock it!'

  'What the fuck does it look like I'm doing?' Michaelson yelled. He was trying, or so it looked from where the rest of the group were stood, to get the key back into the lock, and for some reason it just wasn't fitting.

  'Running out of time,' Marla said, watching as three of the creatures, plus the one dragging itself along the floor, came towards the gate.

  'I can fucking well see that!' Michaelson said, trying to control his nerves more than ever. 'I'm doing it as fast as I can!'

  'Never mind fast,' Terry chided. 'Do it right.'

  One of the creatures slammed against the gate, almost knocking the key out of Michaelson's trembling hand. The guard took a little step back and continued to make the key fit. Luckily for the group, the things didn't seem to know how to open the gate, and instead just threw themselves against the bars as if they could somehow push through the gaps.

  Suddenly the key slipped into the lock and Michaelson twisted it.

  The relief in the air was palpable; everyone exhaled, and Michaelson grinned to himself as if he had done something extremely heroic.

  The contorted faces of the creatures were crushed up against the bars, a result of the subsequent throng arriving from behind. With eyes bulging out of sockets, and drool seeping from the corner of mouths, Marla was the
first to speak.

  'Shall we get a move on?' she said.

  'That sounds like a good idea to me,' Terry said, wiping sweat from his forehead.

  Everyone else seemed to agree.

  *

  'This is absolutely insane,' Billy said as they entered the chapel. 'I find it hard to believe that nobody else has survived.'

  Shane nodded. 'I know, but it's sure as hell looking that way.'

  Billy gave Shane a playful tap on the back.

  'What?' asked Shane.

  'You cursed,' Billy said. 'Have you forgotten where you are?'

  Shane didn't know whether to laugh, or curse again. 'This place is pretty much obsolete, now, wouldn't you say?'

  'On the contrary,' Billy smiled. 'If anything, we should say a few prayers. I mean, neither of us have been good, not in the spiritual sense.'

  'Yeah, but we never did anything particularly bad,' Shane said, as much trying to convince himself as he was Billy. 'I know for a fact that neither of us need to repent.'

  'I do,' Billy said. 'Or at least, I should, just in case there is a heaven.'

  Shane watched as the hulking figure of Billy Toombs slipped into a confessional. There was no padre, of course, but Billy began to talk to himself. Shane couldn't quite make out the words, but he didn't need to.

  He knew Billy didn't have it in him to do anything deserved of hell; this was just a precaution, something to make Billy feel better about his wasted life and the years he had spent procrastinating behind bars.

  With Billy confessing his heart out, Shane began to search the chapel for anything of use. He wasn't expecting to find anything that could be used as a weapon, but perhaps a bit of rope...

  There was one ambry on the right-hand side of the room, which contained an effigy of Christ, complete with stigmata and crown of thorns. The way in which the figure stared down at Shane made the hackles rise on the nape of his neck, and for a moment he was inexplicably breathless.