by A. P. Fuchs
"That's not true. A friend of mine found somebody while she was still attached. She got divorced and they both lived happily ever after."
"One in a million."
"Could be me."
"Could be."
Joe shook his head. He couldn't believe he was hearing this.
"It's not like I'm getting any at home,” the blonde woman said.
Okay, I'm done, Joe thought.
"You've been telling me,” the other woman said.
"I don't know.” The blonde woman began to pace. Joe avoided her on purpose. “Just tired of being torn, you know?"
Joe merely leaned in close to her ear and said, “Don't do it.” And he moved toward the far wall, sinking through it and emerging into an empty office, the door open.
Like the other with the two women, no Billie.
He went through the remaining offices, all of their occupants unaware of his presence. Billie wasn't in any of them.
By the time he exited out the door of the office nearest the tills, passing through solid objects was becoming normal and he didn't mind it when a short Asian man carrying too many papers passed through him.
The door at the front of the bank opened and a man wearing an expensive-looking long, white overcoat and white velvet fedora walked in. He paused a moment at the door, surveyed the room, then went to the heavyset woman sitting at the help desk. The woman picked up her phone after he spoke to her, dialed a number, said something, then set the phone back down. A moment later, an office door opened and out came the woman whom the blonde was confessing to. She greeted the man in the white coat with a handshake then directed him toward the vault on the other side of the tills. He waited for her by the vault door while she went in, and when she emerged with a small, silver long box, he went with her to somewhere on the other side of the vault.
Joe's focus changed when August came up the stairwell, hands open, palms up. Nothing.
Joe signaled to the offices he'd just been in and signed that Billie wasn't in those either. Sighing, he glanced out the far window to the helicopter in the parking lot.
Was it his imagination or did the misty residue on its hull suddenly seem a lighter gray than before?
* * * *
Billie paced the tiny stall, hands steepled together beneath her chin. There wasn't much room to move—at least, without passing through the stall's walls or door and risking bumping into Joe or August outside—and was getting tired of being cramped up in there. Worse, she was just tired of being tired. And tired of being a woman. It was stupid and cliché but she was having a hard time keeping up with everything. The guys seemed to have no trouble, at least from her view of things. Joe rarely showed emotion. August, though warmer than Joe, felt like a grandpa that she only saw on special occasions. And Des.... If he was here, he'd be the one to talk to. He'd probably be having a blast walking through solid objects once the shock and newness of it wore off.
But she was just tired. Tired of trying to survive. Tired of being pushed to death's edge then suddenly being tugged back. Tired of weirdness and conflicting emotions. Sick to her stomach over losing her family. Sick of the undead. Her only comfort came from them not being around anymore.
She still didn't know where she, Joe and August were. Des would probably say they were in some parallel universe. He was big into stuff like that: spaceships, aliens, time travel, parallel dimensions. Your regular run-of-the-mill comic geek.
Never got to say good-bye, Billie thought. A sharp pang pricked her heart. Maybe, just maybe, if they somehow returned to—what, their world?—maybe then she'd be able to find Des's body and give it a proper burial. If he wasn't a zombie, that was.
She wiped her eyes and thought maybe now she should rejoin the others.
A muffled female voice interrupted her thoughts: “Right this way, sir."
"Thank you,” a man said, his voice low and sure.
The door of the stall next to hers opened.
"Let me know if you need anything,” the woman said.
"Thank you."
The door closed and it sounded like something was placed on the small shelf sticking out of the wall, assuming the stall next to hers was laid out the same.
Knowing full well she shouldn't pry and give the guy his privacy, she thought it wouldn't matter if she snuck a peek at what the man had in his safety deposit box. She always thought it'd be cool to have one of those, to have a secret stash of private possessions that no one could get to no matter what, only you and you alone. And living at home with her folks where her mom did regular sweeps of her room to see if she was hiding anything never afforded her that luxury.
"Why not?” she said and put her hands up against the wall dividing her stall and the one next to it.
Just take a peek then go. Won't hurt nobody if I don't stay and linger, she thought, easing her guilt.
Billie walked through the wall, the slow pressing through now familiar. She emerged just behind the man.
He wore a long, white overcoat and a white velvet fedora.
Suddenly the man spun around and his blue eyes ignited in bright flame.
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39: In the Bowels of the Earth
"Didn't find her, huh?” Joe said when August walked up to him. The old man's presence was comforting in light of him being the only one aware of his being there.
"Nothing. Not a pink hair."
"Any trouble on the stairs?"
August smirked, obviously getting what Joe was driving at. “My feet slipped through a couple of times. Actually, one time significantly. I went through one flight and landed on another."
"Landed on an—How did you stop yourself from going through?"
The old man furrowed his brow, as if to recall the memory. “I don't know. Something along the lines of ‘Help!’ ran through my mind. That's all I remember. I landed on the stairs. A couple of people were coming up them and they stepped right into me and passed me by. Anyway, I checked the rooms downstairs, the maintenance room, the lunchroom and all that. She's not here. At least from what we can see."
An idea struck him. “Since we can't touch anything and since we're invisible, do you think this is the first step in something bigger? Like, we're slowly fading from existence?"
August shook his head. “I don't know. Maybe. But I think God has something else in mind for us."
It was only a matter of time before August brought up the G-word again. But Joe had to admit that in light of all that he'd experienced, the possibility of God was a strong one. “Okay, I'll go with you on this for a second. If God's placed us here, what's the point? What're we supposed to do?"
The old man didn't reply.
"See, that's it. There's nothing we can do. Noth-ing. Can't touch anything. Except, well, maybe the floor, depending, right? Billie nearly went through the sidewalk out there. You went through the stairs. But you also stopped yourself, somehow. And I've got my feet planted.” Then as if saying so was a trigger, something grabbed his ankles and tugged him into the tiled flooring.
"Joe!” August yelled and reached for him.
Just before the old man's hands touched his, another violent tug yanked him downward. The bank and August slipped from view and he was looking up at a ceiling.
Something had him. When he checked his feet, there was nothing but air. The tan tiled flooring of the room below rushed up to meet him and, like above, he was sucked straight through this level as well.
Darkness surrounded him.
* * * *
Shock shook Billie's innards and she tumbled back. Just as she began to pass through the stall's door, a strong hand grabbed her by the shirt collar and yanked her upright, bringing her face to face with the man with the fiery eyes.
"You're not supposed to be here, Billie Friday,” he said. His tone was firm and carried an authority that seemed almost otherworldly.
The words never really formed in her mind but more so did in her heart, and she wondered how he knew he
r name.
The man let go and left her to stand on rubbery legs.
The flames dancing in his eyes sparkled and she felt compelled to slowly sink to her knees before him. As she began to lower herself, he drew her back onto her feet.
"Don't do that,” he said, withdrawing his hand from her. The flames faded, bright and beautiful blue eyes shining forth.
"I don't ... I don't know why I...” She knew what she was trying to say but her tongue suddenly felt five inches thick. She wanted to know what he was and why she felt so small—so insignificant—in his presence.
The man's face was hard and he didn't appear the type to have ever cracked a smile in his whole life.
"You can ... you can...” she started.
"Yes, I can see you,” he said. “I can see a lot of things."
Her fingers trailed the collar of her shirt. He touched me. “You touched..."
He nodded.
"You know my name, too.” Her voice sounded far away even to herself.
"I do.” He glanced back to the silver box on the table. “Billie, listen to me. I want you to turn around and leave this place. You may never speak of meeting me.” He eyed the silver box again.
She wanted to listen to him, to obey instantly, but her curiosity was getting the better of her. “What's in there?"
"None of your concern, but it is of vital importance that I see to it.” Then, very sharply, “Alone."
She averted her eyes from his, once more the feeling of being so worthless enveloping her. Who was this guy?
"Time is short. There's—” The man cocked his head. “Oh no...” And spun around and grabbed what appeared to be an old, gold-plated antique watch from the safety deposit box. He held the watch up and examined it.
"What is that?” she asked.
His eyes lit up again when he spun around. The frown on his face made her recoil.
"The end of all things,” he said.
* * * *
In the absence of light, Joe was pulled further and further downward, the darkness so thick, so hopeless, that even his own screams were sucked up by its depth.
The darkness was so penetrating his bones began to ache, as if each one was bruised through and through.
The violent pull on his legs ripped him through the dark like a millstone sinking down to the bottom of a lake.
He fell forever. He fell for a moment.
Time had no meaning.
Heart slamming against his ribcage, he cried out into the abyss, calling for help. No one answered and no one came.
April ... he thought.
Sound brewed below and the further he dropped, the louder it became. High-pitched and filled with fear, he quickly realized it as the desperate screams of those being tormented. He'd heard similar screams before, ones when the undead overcame the living and began to devour their flesh while they were still alive. But this was so much more than that. Those screams had been those of a few. These ones were those of thousands. Of millions.
The sound enveloped him and encased him like a swarm of locusts. No way out. No reprieve from their ear-piercing noise.
Ears ringing from the deafening shrieks and screeches, barely able to concentrate, brain about to explode, Joe fell further into the dark.
The air grew warm, thick and dry. Then it grew warmer still, like that of a sauna. The heat intensified and the image of a red hot burner on a stove flashed before his mind. A sudden sense of permanence invaded his whole being and he found himself resigning to the reality there was no escape from this place.
He was alone and he knew it. Billie and August and the world above were fading quickly into distant memory. His life with April before the rise of the undead seemed so far away it was as if it had never happened at all.
The idea of being forgotten by all who knew him stole his breath away.
The acrid stench of sharp smoke and burnt meat pierced his nostrils, immediately locking up his stomach, making him want to throw up.
He couldn't.
The air burst into flame but there was no fire and Joe screamed from the pain ravaging through his system.
The heels of his boots hit rocky ground and he fell to his hands and knees.
Skin burning against the stone even through his trench coat, he bolted to his feet, panic racing through him.
The sweat coating every inch of him only made it worse, like scalding water on the skin.
"Garrrgh...” he breathed, his body throbbing in hot pulses, stinging, dying.
The pale glow of flame brewed in the distance, its expanse as far as his eyes could see to either side. The shrieks and screams rose from the fire and filled the air. Even where he stood, shaking, he could barely hear his own thoughts above their shouts of terror.
Whispers in the dark, somewhere behind him.
He turned around to face them and with a trembling hand tried to pull out the X-09. The hot metal of its handle bit into his palm when he tried to grab it and he had no choice but to leave it in its holster.
"Where ... am I?” he barely managed. Even the breaths needed to speak were near unbearable as the intense heat on the air invaded his lungs, scorching the inside of his chest.
Coughing, he tried to make out the source of the whispers in the faint glow cast by the flames now behind him.
It was strange he could even hear these whispers above the calls and shouts of what sounded like countless people being burned alive.
Knees aching, he wanted to collapse but couldn't find the will to do so. It was as if something was forcing him to stand there and endure.
A scaled foot appeared out of the shadows, then another then another until four creatures with long, bulbous arachnid bodies, their skin coated in dark green and black scales, appeared out of the dark. Long sinewy arms and legs ran off their torsos, ending with a pair of hands and feet with slender fingers and toes, each digit sporting a long dark claw. Black, leathery wings, each one tipped with a lead-like spike, draped over their muscled shoulders like capes.
Their eyes, rimmed with flaky skin, pale gray with blue irises, bore into him with hate, their glare enough to make him take several steps back.
He stepped on something and when he turned, standing before him were legions of these things, all lined up like a massive army, waiting to strike. Each one watched him.
The strength ran from his legs and whatever force had been holding him upright released. His knees smacked the hot stone floor with a resounding whack that echoed throughout his bones.
Palms sizzling against the hot floor, the stench of burning flesh filling his nose all the way to the back of his throat, he couldn't find the strength to pull his hands up.
He was forced to let them burn.
Screaming, Joe tried calling out for help.
He couldn't speak.
The creatures worked their way toward him, long, sinewy fingers outstretched, their claws tickling the air, as if already tasting the kill.
* * * *
August didn't know how long he'd been on his hands and knees, shouting into the floor, calling for Joe.
Shaking, he got to his feet and took off for the stairs, hoping that Joe had just merely fallen through the main level and was lying on his back in one of the rooms below.
August searched every one of the rooms once he was downstairs.
Joe was nowhere to be found.
Screaming for Billie, August ran back to the stairwell and bounded up the steps.
* * * *
"It has begun,” the man in the white coat said.
"What?” Billie asked.
He took the watch, stuffed it in his coat pocket and grabbed her by the arm. With a violent push, he shoved her through the stall's door, his body passing through it along with hers.
No one seemed to notice them as they emerged on the other side and Billie could only guess he had just somehow made himself invisible like her.
The ground shook, each vibration sending a shockwave of fear up Billie's spine. The
man in the coat squinted his eyes, flames licking their edges, his grip on her arm increasing.
"What's—"
But he cut her off with a quick, “Shoosh."
The man peered around the bank.
"Billie! Billie!"
She spun in the direction of the voice and was relieved to see August running through the people toward her.
The old man stopped short when he seemed to take note that the man in the white coat wasn't just somebody she was standing beside but rather someone with flaming eyes who held her arm.
The man's eyes darted in August's direction. “August Norton,” the man said.
The old man's eyes went wide and his jaw dropped.
The man with flaming eyes said, “You know who I am, don't you?"
It took a moment, but August responded with a nod of the head. Like Billie had, the old man began to sink to his knees.
"Get up,” the man in the coat said and August instantly obeyed.
When August spoke, he could barely say the words. “I'm ... I'm sorry. I didn't mean to.” He gazed upward. “It wasn't my fault!"
The building's quake finally ceased. A moment later, a loud rumble shook the place, but only Billie and August lost their footing. The man in the white coat stood there calmly, as if he had been expecting it. Everyone else was oblivious to it.
"My name is Nathaniel,” the man said.
August didn't reply.
Nathaniel finally let go of Billie's arm, the aftermath of his tight grip making her biceps ache.
Face white, August's eyes glazed over.
"August?” Billie said.
The old man's lower lip trembled.
Nathaniel's eyes suddenly darted to the floor. A second later, it split apart.
Billie's heart jumped at what began to come through.
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40: The Escape
Nathaniel tossed Billie to August and the old man caught her as she collapsed in his arms. He pushed her up onto her feet and looked to the man in the bright white coat for a clue as to what to do next.
Nathaniel turned to him. “Go!” Then turned his attention back to the creatures climbing out of the tiled floor, their scaly limbs latching onto the floor and hauling themselves up like spiders trying to regain their footing. Otherworldly heat poured up from the floor, the tiles glowing red, the heat tingling through the bottoms of August's shoes.