by A. P. Fuchs
The creature still held on and dug its rotten fingers—which were more bone than meat—into her skin and began pulling itself up her body.
Another zombie dropped to its knees just beside her head, its dirty black jeans coated in dried blood. The creature’s dead hands grabbed her by the hair, pulled her head up.
A gun blast sent a shockwave through Billie and her face was suddenly plowed into the ground. She felt blood pool around her nose and cheeks and she knew it was hers because her nose was alight with pain as were her eyes. She thought she heard her glasses break.
The zombie at her heels continued to climb up her. Heart racing, it beat even faster when another blast echoed through the air and the dead man moving up her stopped his climb.
Somewhere above, she heard the low clinking of metal, then the cocking of a gun. Another blast rang out, then another. Zombies growled. Others groaned.
That gun sounded a lot like the X-09.
Joe? Oh, please, God, let it be him! Oh please, please, please, please, please. A quick flash of Joe’s rugged face flashed before her eyes. She wanted to say thank you for saving her life, wanted to tell him how much she missed him and was so happy he was alive.
Two blasts rang out; Billie’s ears began to ring, too.
The weight of the zombie on her legs lifted. A moment later, the other dead man lying on top of her was rolled off.
She got on all fours, took a deep breath, then stood up, dusting herself off.
“Thanks, Joe. Did the ange—” she started but clamped her mouth shut when another man stood before her, shotgun aimed past her over her shoulder. She put a hand over her nose and mouth and got to work wiping off the blood from her face and glasses. She was right. One of her glasses’ arms broke and barely hung on to the frame. She pinched the bridge of her nose, tilted her head back, and had to look downward at the guy so she could see him.
The man with the dirty blue-and-gray plaid lumber jacket, blue jeans and filthy white Axiom-man baseball cap fired off a shot. Billie jumped on the spot from the sound. He swung the shotgun’s barrel past her face so it hung just over her other shoulder and he fired off another round.
Billie heard the undead drop behind her. She turned around. Everything was blurry so she put her glasses back on. There was a row of zombies dead on the ground, creating a small obstacle for the ones just beyond. Some were on their feet, trying to find the right footing to climb over their fallen brethren and get to Billie and the man; others were still on their hands and knees, crawling. A couple of the undead didn’t have legs and they dragged their bodies across the ground, the fallen dead around them making their job extremely difficult.
The man spat on the ground and reloaded his weapon with shells from his breast pocket. The fellow’s dark eyes were like tiny beads against his dirty face; he was unshaven with several days’ worth of stubble.
When he spoke, his words were hard and choppy from his German accent. “I didn’t think no one came out here no more.” Billie then realized it wasn’t a German accent, but it was just the way the guy talked. He probably hadn’t spoken to anybody in a long, long time and wasn’t used to it. He fired off a round into the head of an undead Asian woman who was almost past the obstacle of the fallen creatures. “What’re you doing out here?”
“Um . . .” was all Billie could say. The guy wasn’t running? He just stood there, brought the shotgun up with both hands to eyelevel, then pegged off another zombie. Once the creature dropped, he slowly lowered the weapon, popped out the two empty shells, then produced two more from his breast pocket which, judging by the way it bulged, was well-loaded with ammo, as was the other.
The man raised the weapon and lined up his next shot.
Billie quickly glanced around the surrounding woods for any sign of Michael and Nathaniel. She couldn’t see anything that would indicate their presence.
“You didn’t answer the question,” the man said.
What could she say? Obviously she couldn’t reveal the specifics of why she was out here. She didn’t want to lie, but what choice did she have? No, she wouldn’t lie. She’d just bend things a little. Wait, that’s still lying.
“They came from the woods, all at once,” she said, which was true.
“I know,” he said and popped off another round. He cocked the weapon again then quickly fired off another. “That’s two less,” he said, seemingly to himself. “You still didn’t answer the question: what’re you doing out here?”
“I could ask you the same.”
“I’m the one asking.” He reloaded his weapon.
“Just trying to find my way back to the city,” she said.
“The city?”
She nodded.
“You’re a long ways off from there. I’m thinking you’re crazy and these there things have gotten the best of you.”
The guy wasn’t that far off about that last part.
He fired. A little girl zombie in a cute blue and pink dress toppled over as her head was blown off her body.
Billie cringed. “Can we go now?” she asked.
“You can go anytime you want,” he said, lining up his next shot. “Just want to take care of a few things here first.”
“O-kay,” she said and slowly started moving away. “Um . . . nice meeting you.”
“Nice meeting you, too,” he said and fired off another shot, taking down an undead granny.
“Uh, bye.”
“Bye,” he said and emptied his gun before reloading.
Billie moved away and headed into the forest behind the man. About ten paces in, another shot went off. Six paces more and the shotgun blasted again. She looked back over her shoulder and was barely able to see the man thanks to the trees that already obscured her view.
She sniffled and got a strong whiff of the dead’s stink that lingered on the air. The sharp smell of the sulfur was still there, too; it made her gag. She spat on the ground and kept moving.
The bushes rustled off to the side and panic set in. She didn’t know where she was going other than away from that weird guy with the gun.
Nathaniel and Michael suddenly vanished in some kind of black smoke, which she could only assume was one or more demons that wanted them out of the way.
“Wait,” she said and stopped her stride. If they wanted Michael and Nathaniel out of the way, then they’re probably coming after me next.
She kept moving. Dead leaves crunched to her right. Billie listened closely.
An undead girl came out from behind the trees and stepped in front of her. Billie shrieked. The dead girl looked out from beneath long, messy brown hair, her eyes milky and vacant. She wore only a faded red nightgown with a worn picture on it of a couple of Care Bears sleeping on a cloud.
Billie swung out and clocked the zombie. The girl faltered in her step but kept moving forward. The zombie reached out and Billie felt the girl’s fingers graze her shoulder as she started to run back in the direction she had come. A sharp pain suddenly stabbed the toes of her right foot and the next thing she knew she had her hands out as she went face first to the ground. She crawled a couple feet, rolled over, and noticed she’d just tripped over a tree root.
The undead girl was only a few feet away.
Billie went to get to her feet; a pair of leather brown work boots greeted her at eyelevel.
The shotgun went off above her head. She heard the zombie girl fall behind her.
A dirty, greasy hand reached to her. She took it and let the man pull her up, then adjusted her glasses.
“Thanks,” she said.
The guy gazed past her to the dead girl beyond. “Yup.”
A zombie stumbled up behind the guy.
“There’s one behind you,” she said.
“I know.” He spun around, using his shotgun like a baseball bat. The butt of the shotgun smacked against the side of the zombie’s head. The creature fell to the ground. The man spat upon it. “I hate them things.”
Billie didn’t know what to
say. Was this guy crazy? Handicapped? What?
“Okay,” she said, “I think we should stick together for now.” What was she thinking?
“Yup.” He walked past her and started into the forest. He didn’t wait for her to join him.
38
The Breach
A thunderous boom echoed just outside Michelle’s door. Both her and Mark awoke with a start.
“What the—” she said and sprang to her feet.
She went to the door and put her ear against it. Screams filled the hallway beyond as did the trampling of feet.
Mark sat upright in the cot. “What’s going on? What happened?”
“I don’t know,” she said and slightly opened her door. A cloud of dust immediately began to fill the room. Michelle slammed the door. “The Hub’s been breached. We’ve got to move.”
“Breached?”
“The zombies found us.”
“Our fault?”
“I don’t know,” she said.
Mark’s eyes went wide and he jumped off the cot. He started to gather his things.
“No time,” she said, then reached toward him. “Here, take my hand. No matter what happens, stay close. People are running scared out there, and if you’re not careful, you’ll be trampled.” Sheer terror was on his face. “I’m sorry, but I had to warn you before we go, okay? Better safe than sorry?”
“Okay,” he said, and swallowed what must have been a huge lump in his throat because his whole neck tensed for a moment before he did so.
Michelle breathed steady through her nose, gearing herself up to get moving lickety-split. “Gonna open the door now.”
Mark nodded.
Michelle opened it. Dust came in.
Her and Mark stepped into the hallway. The shouts and screams from those inside the Hub was almost deafening. The walls shook all around. The lights running off generators in the hallway flickered.
Coughing from all the dust, her and Mark headed straight for the exit. Unfortunately—or fortunately—there was only one. A security precaution for all those who called the Hub home, but it also created a very real danger should that exit leading up to the surface ever be sealed.
They ran down the hallway, Michelle gripping Mark’s hand tight and keeping him by her side. Others ran past them; some even tried to shove in between them before Michelle stepped to the side and let them pass.
Shrieks came from up ahead. When they came up to the oval catwalk on the lowest level, Michelle cried out when a giant zombie hand burst through the cement and debris that made up the interior walls. Giant fingers crashed into the hanging cages that housed the watchers with the periscopes. One cage was knocked from its place and fell to the ground, the man inside impaled as the cage landed on a piece of rebar jutting out from the debris. The other cage merely swung on its hinges, the fellow inside yelling in panic.
They didn’t see them coming? Michelle thought. “Or maybe it was too late.” Her mouth dropped. All that smoke from blowing up those cars. Did it— There was no way to know, and she certainly hoped she hadn’t accidentally blinded those on lookout from the mammoth undead.
“Michelle!” Mark screamed as debris fell around their feet.
Two giant undead burst through, reaching in with massive rotting hands, their groans like rusted metal bending.
Some people pressed on, obviously hoping to maneuver around the giants. Instead, they were scooped up by gray, decaying fingers and brought to the giant’s mouth. The other moaned as if begging for its share.
The zombie mashed down on its prey, blood gushing over and between its rotten gums.
“Sick!” Mark said.
“Grenades,” Michelle said. Shouting back over her shoulder, “Anyone have any explosives?” Sometimes she had them as part of her arsenal, sometimes she didn’t. She was planning to rearm in the morning. Shouldn’t have put it off, she thought.
Human-sized zombies appeared at the edge of the mouth of the hole. They dropped in like penguins into water. Their bodies tumbled down the jagged edges of the debris lining the entrance to the Hub. Once they hit the bottom, they got to their feet and started toward the first living thing they saw.
“Run, Mark,” Michelle said.
“Where?”
But she was already dragging him back the way they came.
The walls and ground shook again.
How did they find us? Had she truly blinded the giant zombie that tried to kill them before? Did she somehow lead it back here or at least allowed it to watch her and Mark return to the Hub without meaning to? Or did someone else tip the creatures off? She hoped for the latter. To be responsible for what would no doubt be the deaths of hundreds . . .
Zombie moans started to fill the hallway.
A chunk of the ceiling fell not twenty feet from them, bringing with it parts of the walls, too. People screamed from behind the doors to their rooms, now trapped. Other people shoved past others; some sent folks sprawling onto the floor only to be trampled by those in a mad panic.
“Everyone calm down!” Michelle shouted above the din.
No one seemed to have heard her or to have cared.
She thought about drawing her gun and firing off a shot to get some attention, but with the structure becoming unstable, she didn’t want to bring down more of the roof.
You’re better off saving your ammo anyway, she thought. She looked back over her shoulder. A horde of zombies poured in, biting into folks, ripping the limbs off others. Children cried, only to be bit down on a moment later, their young heads severing from their small bodies when an undead set their powerful teeth against the little ones’ necks.
“Michelle!” Mark shouted.
“What?”
“I’m scared.”
“Me, too.”
“I thought—”
“Not now.” To go back to where the ceiling collapsed would be suicide. Before, she had hoped retreating into the Hub would buy her and Mark some time, maybe even a chance to help a few other people. Not anymore. There was only one way out, and she was going to take it.
She aimed her gun at the first undead she saw—a rotting fellow more skeleton than flesh—and delivered a bullet to his head. Quickly, she aimed and dropped another, this one appearing as if it just-turned.
“Don’t let them touch you, don’t let them bite you,” Michelle said as they shoved their way past more people.
A part of her considered using those in front as a body shield, but she wasn’t that cold. If she could save them while saving herself and Mark, then she would.
Michelle fired off shot after shot, taking out every zombie she saw.
“To the right,” she told him, and they veered that way, hugging the wall.
The undead seemed more drawn to the crowd in the middle.
The walls shook and dust and bits of debris fell from the ceiling. Mark coughed.
“Hang in there, kid,” she said.
An undead teen grabbed Mark’s other hand; Michelle felt the boy suddenly jerk away, so she gripped his hand even harder and tugged him close, freeing him from the dead teen’s hold. She took the teen out with a bullet to the face.
She kicked another zombie that came up to her and got herself some room; with her free hand she brought the back of her fist against the face of another creature.
A fat undead granny wearing a tattered and filthy pink dress broke off from the throng of the undead and grabbed hold of Michelle with both hands. Michelle gave the granny a head butt and Mark pushed the old bag away.
The two continued on.
Back at the oval catwalk, giant undead hands reached in and scooped up more people, bringing them up to hungry mouths that bit down on them with the same ease as biting into a jelly donut. Blood sprayed out from their mouths; bones crunched. Heads and arms fell to the ground from the side of their mouths as they chewed.
Michelle had never seen these things eat up close.
The oval catwalk creaked beneath their feet. Another boo
m echoed throughout the hallway behind them. Some folks who managed to emerge from the zombie horde ran at them, probably not realizing they were running out of room. Michelle pulled Mark to the side. One live fella ran past them and tumbled over the catwalk’s edge. Others got up to the edge, turned, went a few feet, then made the jump to the chunks of debris just beyond in an effort to climb out.
“That’s our only choice,” Michelle said. “Think you can jump that far?”
“Going to have to,” Mark said.
Michelle kicked a zombie trying to climb up the side of the catwalk in the head. The creature fell off the railing to the chunks of concrete below, getting impaled on a rod of rebar. Another one came from the crowd behind them. Michelle sent a bullet into its brain.
At the edge of the catwalk, she told Mark to jump at the count of three. He insisted on counting it off himself, and did so. The boy leaped from the catwalk, landed on a slab of cement about two feet square, slipped, and wound up with one foot between a few rocks, the other on the slab.
She wanted to call out and ask if he was okay, but she was already behind him, jumping just past him to a wider piece of debris that looked like it could support her weight. It was on an angle so when her feet touched down, she fell on her behind and slid a few feet before crashing into another piece of cement sticking out from the rest of the debris.