by David Moody
‘That’ll do,’ Barry said. ‘Let’s get back inside.’
The two men clattered back down the staircase towards the Presidential Suite. Paul stopped and stared at the bodies still coming towards them. Was it his imagination, or were they moving slightly faster now? He tried to think logically as the distance between the living and the dead rapidly evaporated. Previously the bodies had been driven forward by the pressure of others pushing them from behind, but now those corpses furthest up the stairs knew there were survivors above them. Rather than wait to be pushed forward, those at the front were now moving under their own steam.
‘They’re getting faster,’ Paul said quietly. ‘I think we should—’ He stopped speaking instantly when one of the bodies looked up at him. Was he imagining it? No, now Barry had seen it too. The foul creatures were actually looking at them…
‘Move,’ Barry said, and Paul didn’t argue.
‘Done it?’ John asked as they burst back through the main doors together.
‘Sort of,’ Barry said.
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘We might have a problem…’
‘What’s the matter?’ Doreen asked, concerned.
Paul was still by the open doors, looking back down the corridor. The first bodies appeared on the landing. Elizabeth covered her mouth in horror and stifled a scream. John scrambled away from the open door as Paul slammed it shut.
‘Fuck me,’ said Nick.
‘They saw us,’ Paul said, sounding almost embarrassed. ‘They know we’re here now.’
‘Did you open the door to the roof?’ Doreen asked.
‘Yes, but…’ Barry began to say.
‘You pair of bloody idiots,’ she screamed at them both.
‘Be quiet, Doreen,’ John pleaded from behind the sofa. ‘Please, Doreen, don’t let them hear you.’
‘Bit late for that,’ she said. She looked around and saw she was the only one still out in the open. ‘So is that it? All that noise and effort and that’s it? That’s all you’re going to do?’
Barry tried to respond but he couldn’t coordinate his brain and mouth enough to make it happen.
‘What else can we do?’ Paul shouted. ‘We’re completely screwed.’
‘Pathetic,’ Doreen said. ‘Absolutely bloody pathetic. If you think I’m going to sit here and wait for those damn things to have their way with me, then you’re very much mistaken. I’m a woman with standards. I’ve still got my pride.’
More interested in the relentless approach of the dead than the prattling of a nervous old woman, no one paid her any attention. Infuriated by their lack of response, Doreen took it upon herself to take action.
‘You’re bloody useless, the lot of you,’ she said. ‘Wish I’d never got mixed up with your little gang. Enjoy your little party or whatever it is you’re planning…’
She was tired and she’d really had enough. Wiser and more shrewd than any of them gave her credit for, she’d listened to everything that Barry had said and she’d found herself agreeing with him. Death was inevitable, and she didn’t have the energy or the desire to go on running. She opened the door again, stepped outside, then slammed it shut. With a total lack of nerves she walked into the bodies and pushed her way through them. Although their numbers were imposing, they were individually weak and even with her bad back and countless other ailments, getting through them was easy. They swung their rotting fists at her and tried to grab at her with gnarled, talon-like hands but she was as wiry and thin as they were and she slipped past, weaving between them with the sudden grace and subtlety of a woman whose various disorders and complaints were ten per cent physical and ninety per cent attention seeking bullshit. She pushed deeper into the throng until she reached the foot of the final staircase. She then gave a loud whistle and threw herself up the last few steps and out onto the roof. Distracted by Doreen’s sudden speed, noise and movement, many of the bodies turned away from the door to the Presidential Suite and began to follow her.
Bloody hell it was cold outside. Doreen wrapped her cardigan tight around her willowy body and braced herself against the wind. Now what did she do? She hadn’t quite thought this through. She knew what she was doing, but now that she was standing unprotected out on the roof, the consequences of her actions really began to hit home. This was it. No more running or hiding or sleeping on the floor. No more fear or confusion or disorientation. No more arguments or fights. It was finally time for a long overdue rest. It felt good, actually.
Doreen walked to the edge of the roof and peered down.
Bloody hell, it’s higher than I thought. That was probably a good thing, she decided. Although she was only a few feet higher there than she’d been in the suite just below, the difference was stark. Perhaps it was because the protection of glass and concrete had gone. Perhaps it was because now there was nothing left between her and the rest of the world.
She looked back as the first few bodies staggered out onto the roof.
This is it then, time to do it.
She’d been toying with the idea of suicide for a few days – a few weeks if she was completely honest – but she’d always clung onto the slim hope that things would somehow get better. Like Barry had said, she just kept trying to survive. Suicide had always seemed to be the coward’s way out before today, but after listening to him earlier she’d come to realise that this was far from a cowardly act. Her fate was sealed, whatever she did, but by ending her life this way she’d hold onto some dignity and control. This choice was all she had left. And she might even help those miserable bastards in the Presidential Suite in the process.
She climbed up onto the low concrete wall which ran around the perimeter of the building. The wind seemed to blow even stronger as she gingerly stood upright. She held out her arms like a tightrope walker, struggling to keep her balance.
Bloody hell, I can’t do this. I can’t go through with it.
She looked down to the street many hundreds of feet below. Save for the occasional body staggering by, the pavement on this side of the hotel was relatively clear. Her mind began to fill with stupid questions: was it going to hurt? Would it definitely kill her or might she survive and end up lying helpless on the ground with her arms and legs broken as the dead swarmed over and around her? She thought about the old adage she’d heard countless times before – it’s not the jump off the top of the building that kills you, it’s hitting the ground that does it – and she managed half a smile. Would she feel anything? What would the fall be like? Would she know when she’d hit the ground or would it all be over before then…?
Doreen looked around and watched more bodies piling out onto the roof. They hadn’t noticed her yet. They wandered around aimlessly like the empty, soulless vessels they were. She turned her back on them again and looked forward across the town, knowing there was no going back now. Even if she changed her mind, she couldn’t get back inside.
Do I do it now or wait for them to get closer to me? Do I wait until the last possible second? Is it worth clinging onto a few more seconds of life? What good will it do? Do I want to stand here, freezing cold and terrified, trying to keep my balance and not think about those bloody things behind me, or do I just let it happen? Think about finally being able to stop and rest. Think about not having to run and hide…
Doreen closed her eyes, tipped forward and let gravity take over.
#
‘Well?’ Elizabeth asked, sobbing. Barry peered out onto the landing through the spy-hole in the door.
‘Not good. There are too many of them. They know we’re in here now.’
Elizabeth began to cry uncontrollably. John tried to put his arms around her, but she pushed him away.
‘So what do we do now?’ Nick asked, sounding nothing like the confident, cocksure man who’d first arrived at the hotel.
‘Can’t see that anything’s changed,’ Barry answered, his face still pressed against the hole in the door. ‘We’re still in here, they’re s
till out there. If you were thinking about running, now’s your last chance.’
‘I’m going,’ Paul said, already edging closer to the fire escape door. ‘I’m not sitting here waiting for them to get in. Fuck that. I’m getting out of here…’
‘And me,’ Nick said.
Barry looked across at John and Elizabeth. They both began to edge closer to the two men waiting by the fire escape. ‘Come on, Barry,’ she said, almost pleading with him. ‘Don’t stay here. It’s suicide.’
‘You don’t have to keep fighting, you know. That’s the difference between us in here and those things out there. You can stop and switch off if you want to. They’ll just keep going until there’s nothing left of them.’
‘Come on, Barry,’ John said.
‘Nah,’ he replied, smoothing a wrinkle in his skirt. ‘I think I’ve had enough.’
The four remaining survivors disappeared through the fire escape door and began their dark descent down towards the ground floor.
The hotel suite was suddenly quiet, save for the thumping coming from the mass of decomposing bodies on the other side of the main door. More importantly, Barry’s space was his again. His and his alone. Just how he’d wanted it.
He knew he didn’t have long. He tearfully walked around the vast suite, collecting together his things. He salvaged everything he could from the little that was left and packed it all against the wall of the master bedroom. Another noise from outside distracted him, and he peered through the spy-hole and saw that the corridor was now a solid mass of flesh. It wouldn’t be long before they broke through. He wiped a tear away from the corner of his eye, taking care not to smudge his make-up, then took one long, final look around the suite which had been his home for the last few weeks of his life. He took a moment to walk around and look out of each of the windows in turn, staring at the remains of the city where he’d lived and remembering… The memories were harder to deal with than the thought of what was to come. It surprised him how much it still hurt to think about all he’d lost. The little he had left to lose didn’t seem to matter so much now.
With the door rattling and shaking in its frame as more and more of the damn things threw themselves against it, Barry slipped quietly into the master bedroom. Once inside he shoved the bed across the entrance to the room and wedged it into position with other furniture and belongings. If he’d had a hammer and nails, he thought, he would have nailed it shut. I really didn’t matter. That door wouldn’t be opening again.
Barry Bushell, tears streaming down his cheeks, selected another outfit from his wardrobe and changed. Finally feeling presentable, he lay down on the bed and picked up a book. With his hands shaking so badly that he could hardly read, he lay there and waited.
#
‘Keep moving,’ Elizabeth yelled, slamming her hands into the middle of Nick’s back, sending him tripping down the last few stairs to the ground floor. He grabbed hold of the handrail to stop himself falling.
‘What now?’ John asked, still a little further back. They’d finally reached the bottom. It was another of his pointless questions, pointless this time because they didn’t have any choice. Nick teased the door open then quickly closed it again.
‘Well?’ Elizabeth asked hopefully.
‘Not as bad as I thought,’ he replied. ‘There are hundreds of the fuckers, but I was expecting more. We’ll probably make it through if we’re fast and we keep moving.’
Paul shoved Nick out of the way and peered around the side of the door. He pulled his head back in and composed himself.
‘This is it then. Time to say goodbye. I’d like to say I’d had fun, but I’d be lying.’
‘Goodbye?’ Elizabeth said, surprised.
‘We’ll stand more of a chance if we split up.’
‘You reckon?’
Paul shrugged his shoulders. ‘Who knows. Anyway, see you. Good luck.’ He took a deep breath, opened the door again, then slipped out into what was left of the hotel reception.
It was surprisingly bright after the enclosed gloom of the fire escape and the air, although still heavy with the stench of death and decay, was somehow fresher. Several of the nearest bodies noticed his sudden appearance and immediately turned towards him. Paul, terrified, but pumped full of adrenalin, ran, pausing only to stare in utter disbelief at the main staircase of the hotel which was a solid column of still climbing flesh, almost like a single grotesque organism.
He skipped and weaved through the lifeless corpses which even now fought to get into the rubble-strewn hotel ruin, then he burst out onto the street. The dead were fewer in number out here, but he knew they’d be upon him soon. Not knowing where he was going or why, he just ran.
#
‘Bastard,’ Nick sobbed as bodies began to slam against the other side of the fire escape door. ‘That bloody bastard, he’s let them know exactly where we are.’
‘Don’t think it matters now,’ John said as he descended the final few steps. The three remaining survivors stood together at the foot of the staircase. Elizabeth thought about Barry, twenty-eight floors above them, and the sense of his actions became painfully clear. It was no longer about surviving, it was about choosing where and how to die. Still tearful, and without saying anything to either of the others, she opened the door and barged past the rancid corpses clawing against the other side. In a blind panic, John ran out after her.
But Nick froze. He couldn’t do it.
As the fire door had swung shut again, one of the bodies had become trapped, leaving it wedged open. More of the sickly cadavers immediately began to gravitate towards the opening, clambering over the first trapped corpse. Nick watched in horror as the first of them lunged at him. What did he do? Still breathless from the sudden descent, he began to climb back up again.
He realised what he was doing was pointless, but he couldn’t stop. His legs burned with effort, but he couldn’t slow down either. He looked around saw that, for now, he’d left those fucking things at the bottom of the stairs for dust.
It took him more than half an hour to get back to the twenty-eighth floor. He burst through the fire escape door, keen to find Barry and apologise for everything he’d said and—
—and the Presidential Suite was full of bodies. The dead reacted to his unexpected appearance en masse. They surged towards him like a tidal wave of green-grey gore and knocked him clean off his feet. As their sharp, bony fingers dug into his flesh he lay on the ground and looked across at the open fire escape door through which he’d just emerged. If he really tried, he thought, he might be able to crawl through it and give himself a little more time. Maybe get back down to another floor and wait there…
For a second or two longer he fought, then he stopped. What was the point? Barry was right. Just give up, lie back, endure the pain, and wait for it to all be over.
#
Elizabeth didn’t know that John had followed her out until she heard him shouting at her to slow down. She glanced back over her shoulder and saw him running after her but she wasn’t interested. She didn’t want to be with anyone else now, certainly not him. She kept moving, increasing her speed. Not knowing the city particularly well, she didn’t have a clue where she was going. She’d wanted to head out of the centre but had inadvertently found herself running deeper into the main shopping area instead. The bodies there were still relatively dense in number but she moved with enough speed and control to be able to barge through them.
She needed to rest and so took a left into a dark alleyway. Momentarily free of the dead, she stopped running and rested with her hands on her knees, sucking in as much precious oxygen as she could. There was a door halfway down the passageway. She looked through a small, dusty window, and when she couldn’t immediately see any movement inside, she pulled the door open and slipped through, too tired to care.
Bloody hell, she thought as she climbed a wide, white marble staircase. Of all the doors in all the alleyways, she’d found the staff entrance to Laceys department store.
She’d never been able to afford to shop here although she’d always wanted to. It was one of those places that made you feel unworthy if you walked in without a purse full of gold and platinum credit cards. Today, of course, it was a grim shadow of its former self just like everywhere else, but what the hell, she thought, it was still Laceys.
Barry Bushell’s words continued to play heavily on her mind as she climbed further up the stairs and deeper into the store. How right he’d been. She couldn’t think of anywhere she’d be completely safe anymore, and even if she could, she had no way of getting there now. She continued to climb, stopping when she reached the jewellery department on the third floor. There were no bodies around that she could see. Always a sucker for gold and pretty stones, she found herself drawn to the cobweb-covered display cabinets. They were still filled with beautiful pieces that would have been worth a fortune a month ago. Today they were worth nothing. But hell, she could still dream, couldn’t she? Dreaming was just about all she had left…
Elizabeth enjoyed her long-overdue shopping trip around Laceys. She worked her way through the building floor by floor, hiding from the occasional lurching corpse and staring in wonder at all the things she used to want but had never been able to afford. When she reached the ladies clothing department she changed out of her dirty clothes and dressed in the most expensive outfit she could find. She climbed to the very top floor and sat on a plush leather sofa where, draped in jewellery, she drank wine, ate chocolate, and took enough headache tablets to kill an elephant.
#
Paul Jones stopped running and hid in a newsagent’s until the after-effects of his sudden appearance and disappearance had faded away and the bodies had lost interest again. Fortunately Elizabeth and the others – whatever they had decided to do – seemed to be causing enough of a commotion to take the pressure off him for a while. He lay on the floor of the shop behind the counter and read the last ever editions of half a dozen newspapers and lads’ mags until the sun disappeared and the light faded away. All the headlines on the newspapers that had once seemed so important and relevant now seemed puerile and trite. All the glamorous girls and handsome men in the magazines were dead.