“There’s nothing we can do for them. If they got out, they’ll find us.”
After a minute, Deb nodded and ended the brief debate. Both had tears wetting their soot-caked faces as Jesse navigated away from the razed structure.
Chapter 43
- Tower
Tower
Growls from hungry dead things followed Hal Kahn as he dragged the Burned Woman back up the sloped western hallway. She was faltering, unable to keep up the pace within her fire-ravaged body, so Kahn mostly pulled her along. He was struggling to move her along while climbing back up the slope to where they had started. There was no way to know if the creatures made it past the debris, and the gentle downhill slope had turned into a mountainous climb the other direction.
They reached the doors that fed them into the hallway and the floor flattened out. The entryway, however, was gone. The entire wall had been stripped away with the collapse of the final skybox, and Kahn dragged his ward into the remainder of the hall. He was shocked into staring at the destroyed hall. The seats had mostly fallen away into a colossal mountain of wreckage on the concert hall floor. All the interior walls on this western side had fallen, exposing the outer ring of walkways around the broken arena.
When the shock wore off, Kahn was able to see a concession area and downward stairs around the corner on the northern end of the ring. The sunlight from the broken ceiling shone through dust and seemed to highlight the path down.
“Come on!” he yelled, pulling his companion by the arm. She put up very little resistance, allowing the fleeing man to drag her along. Kahn traveled a hundred or so feet toward the southern stairwell when he heard the growls chasing him open up and increase in volume.
Looking back, he saw dozens of the dead things appearing in the broken hall. They seemed to be born from the shadow of the downward gradient, and they poured mindlessly into the sunlit area. They pushed at each other in a seemingly solid mass of decay, shoving the leaders off the edge into the shattered remnants below. Kahn saw that the bodies that tumbled down were shattered onto the floor and detritus of the concert hall. Writhing corpses hopelessly reached with broken bones and eviscerated entrails toward the living bounty above.
More than enough plodded away across the undamaged brim of the extended hallway as Kahn resumed his exodus. It seemed to take forever, and the undead seemed to gain on his progress, but he made it safely to the wide concrete steps. They were designed to allow large crowds to escape to the parking lot, so Kahn flew down as fast as his and the Burned Woman’s legs could carry them. The further down he got, turning at two landings, the darker it got, until he was on the first floor of the arena. The doors to the interior floor of the Alamodome were damaged, bulging but blocked with fallen debris, only allowing a trickle of sunlight to illuminate the hall.
The upstairs ring seemed to be recreated here, stretching off into dusky curves in either direction. Kahn took the first few steps west, toward the same half of the stadium he was attempting to traverse upstairs. In a moment, however, he stopped and spun the other direction. The walls had collapsed with a particularly large chunk of the amphitheater roof completely blocking the way. He ran east, away from the parking lot.
Bodies began to pour down the stairs as they ran past. A body with a sun bleached police uniform tumbled down and slid comically across the hallway in front of Kahn. He saw the twisted corpse spin and attempt to recover before three others struck the same area of the far wall, trapping all of them in a mass of bloody flesh and snapping teeth. More fell, and Kahn heard the disturbing popcorn-like sound of dozens of dead bones shattering on the cement steps.
There was nothing to do but continue to flee. The wide passage briefly darkened before curving into a fresh stream of summer light. Motes floated in the air over a mound of rubble and Kahn stopped, trapped.
Here, the eastern exterior walls had begun to fall, leaving stone blocks and shattered glass littered across the floor. The hall was completely closed off and Kahn’s heart leapt to his throat as he realized they weren’t going to make it. There was no way forward, and he heard the animal growls that blocked the way behind. He held the Burned Woman’s hand and waited. She made a choking noise and Kahn thought she felt the same inevitability of death that washed over him.
“Up,” she whispered, or seemed to. Her throat was almost locked with dust and Kahn mistook the word for a cough. He looked at her, studied her face. The asymmetrical features held no emotion, none that Kahn could see, and he found himself pitying the scarred woman. She did nothing to deserve this death, and it seemed he would only have the one apology left to make before the end.
“I’m sorry,” he said, gripping her hand. In his mind he was speaking to Ty and Teddy Jones, Kimble, Wiggs, Jesse’s wife Mel, and his own Daniel and Aisha. Even Captain Louis who treated Kahn harshly deserved more.
“No, Hal. Up!” Her voice gained strength and she pointed to the broken ceiling. His eyes followed and a gasp escaped his lips.
There was an eighteen wheeler sticking through the broken wall about fifty feet above where they stood. It hung at an angle over the shattered wall by the still-connected trailer, headlights seeming to survey the damage. Past the truck, Kahn could see the northbound lanes of the highway and the curve of the fallen Tower of the Americas. Amazingly, the rounded peak of the building was sitting in view, curving toward the blue sky. It sat dead on its side, and Kahn searched for a path they could climb to reach the surface. The debris from the pair of fallen structures had left a treacherous slope to traverse, but it looked like a way out.
At least they could make it to the surface of the freeway, or Kahn thought so. He wordlessly pushed the Burned Woman toward the blockage until she crawled onto a waist-high piece of the wall that had fallen over. He looked behind, trying to catch a glimpse of the approaching horde as she scrambled to the next part of the pile. He quickly followed, hopping onto the same starting block and expecting his partner would be able to set the climbing pace. He drew the hatchet from his belt, using it to catch pieces of the wall and pull himself up.
Finally, the group of the dead came into view all at once. Enough had recovered from the fall, or fallen on top of the soft bodies of the rest of their group, that they walked into the blocked hallway as a mass. Kahn watched, trying to will the Burned Woman to climb faster, as they filled the space between the open passage and the point where they began their ascent. One, being pushed from behind, reached to the top of the block and mindlessly climbed until it was standing on the starting position. It noticed the living creatures above and reached, growling and snapping.
Several others began to reach up and climb the broken slope as well. They stepped on rock or each other with no regard for anything but reaching their quarry. Kahn rushed the woman to move faster as she struggled on hands and knees to find the next hold. The dead were slow climbers and easily lost grip and tumbled back to the beginning on top of the others. More and more assembled into the base, making it easier for the early climbers to recover and continue upward.
Kahn crawled to the topmost part of the embankment where the Burned Woman had stopped. There was a gap of about five feet between the uppermost peak and the railing for the highway. She looked at him blankly, unable to convey emotion through the scars of her burns, and he looked both down and up. A hot breeze blew as he looked at the rail and the ascending dead below.
“I’ve got to throw you,” he said. She nodded once, curtly, as if she anticipated this decision. He helped the woman to her feet and the once pristine robe she wore fluttered and shone in the daylight. He gripped her hips, feeling where the muscle had been eaten away by fire. Her bones felt hollow, like a bird, and he was amazed she had been able to keep moving. She looked to the rounded railing and whispered “go.”
Kahn bent his knees and threw her, using all the strength of his legs and shoulders to toss her as far as possible. Time moved in slow motion for Kahn. As the Burned Woman’s fragile weight left his grasp she seemed to s
wim through the air. Her robes trailed behind and she gently pinwheeled her arms and legs as she flew toward the interstate. Her knees struck the rail, catapulting her forward onto the road. She crashed onto the small shoulder and lay still.
There was no time to wait, so Kahn checked his footing and looked for a spot to jump the gap. Glancing behind quickly he saw the top group of creatures gaining speed on the craggy hill. He leapt, grunting and striking the round rail. He hung suspended, scrambling to catch hold with his feet. His grip was faltering on the rounded edge of the barrier and he felt himself slipping further from the top.
Strong hands grabbed his shoulders. He was surprised to see the Burned Woman pulling him. Through the black hole of her mouth he could see a ghastly row of bared teeth, straining against his weight. There was a scrape from her cheek to her temple, and dots of blood welled outward from the sensitive skin. He held on tight, still looking for a foothold, as she began to drag him over the top. He caught his foot on one of the lower rungs of the highway barrier and was able to throw first one leg and then the other over the rail and onto the road.
He looked at the unnamed woman, now collapsed onto the hot pavement, and wondered how he underestimated her strength. He saw why her followers worshipped her, even if they hadn’t seen this kind of personal fortitude. They somehow must have felt her pull, as he now did. He sat on the ground and leaned on the shoulder’s barrier to watch their pursuers. The first of the undead reached the gap and walked into the space between. The first and most eager fell away, spattering on the wreckage below as their earlier compatriots had done inside the hall. Soon there were dozens throwing themselves over the top and into the short gap.
Kahn rested. He closed his eyes briefly and pressed the noise of the undead creatures aside in his mind. They sat in the shade of the fallen tower restaurant, away from the scorching Texas sun. Discomfort and exhaustion faded into a troubled reprieve until a gentle touch woke him.
“Halwende, we need to go. The dead,” she pointed. Kahn opened his eyes and looked again at the horde.
A figure stared back, closer than Kahn would have thought possible. The dead face had gray jowls and was missing its nose. The blackened blood dried down onto its torn shirt. Bite marks, dozens of them, could be seen in the missing chunks of muscles across the whole body. It reached for Kahn, gnashing its teeth, and he saw the hand was missing two fingers. Then, it pitched forward into the lifesaving gap.
The problem, Kahn now saw, was that it only fell a few feet. A second corpse stepped on top of the first and almost reached the railing before it also collapsed into the hole. It was filling with the writhing bodies of the first attackers. More, an unending number, continued to climb up the rubble and pitch into the hole, lemming-like, helping those who followed. They only had a matter of minutes before the first of the dead made it over the top.
Kahn searched. He’d lost his hatchet and rifle at some point in the escape. He was unarmed with an injured woman to protect and no means to do so. Carefully, he came to his feet and the crowd of dead reacted in a frenzy, moving quickly to patch the small chasm and reach their prey.
He took the woman into his arms, limping forward slowly onto the road. She now supported him more than he had her during their flight in the stadium. He grimaced, unable to put weight on his ankle, and they inched forward into the broken highway.
The looming structure of the crashed tower curved toward the sky above them. The rotating restaurant was surrounded with dark glass, mostly shattered, and the building itself had come to a stop embedded in the elevated downtown thoroughfare here. It missed striking the Alamodome by only a few feet, and Kahn could see pieces of the red and white spire broken across the narrow space between the two iconic structures. The top observation deck had come apart from the tower, leaving it looking scalped as it lay on its side, and chairs and equipment from the lower eatery were in a heap and spread across the road. Farther along the road to the south, a piece from either the collapsing Alamodome or the fallen tower had broken the highway. There was a twenty-foot space between them and the continuing road. Kahn and the Burned Woman were on an island of steel and broken buildings, and hundreds of the dead were in relentless pursuit.
As they limped forward, Kahn heard a loud twang from the barrier. Both startled, they looked to see the group of dead had reached the lowest steel wire of the shoulder. One by one, the creatures gripped the narrow cable, pulling desperately and being trampled by the next.
“I can’t walk. I must have landed wrong,” Kahn said.
“Your adrenaline wore off,” she replied. “We can’t stay here.” Another series of metallic noises and the creatures were now grabbing at the top, rounded railing.
“Into the restaurant,” Kahn said, moving slowly forward. “We might be able to get through and get away.”
They picked their way through the debris, chairs and tables and serving equipment littering the way as it narrowed into a tunnel to the building. Shattered glass from dishes and windows crunched underfoot.
“It sounds like snow,” Kahn said, listening to the soft crunch of his boots.
“It reminds me of visiting your home,” she replied softly. His eyes went wide, not understanding. She leaned into him, pressing another gentle kiss on his cheek. Like on the roof, he let her, not understanding how or why he felt this way. How she felt this way. She felt so-- familiar.
“My home?”
“Your parents, Halwende, last winter. In Illinois, when Daniel was a baby,” her lips turned up into a semblance of a smile as she allowed the memories to flood through her. Kahn couldn’t breathe, trying to understand how this woman could possibly know his family. She knew his name. She knew his name. She knew his family’s home and his son’s name. Did she know him? His wife?
“How-- how do you kn--”
Oh God...
Chapter 44
- Burning
Burning
They’ll be fine. They’ll be fine...
It’s up to you what happens next...
Let them go...
The large man, one of the Neighbors, dragged her helplessly back into the front door of their home. Her panicked breath expelled clouds of vapor into the dark January air. She whispered quietly to Daniel, trying to stop his tears. Her voice shook. Who were these Neighbors? Why would they do this? What were they doing to Hal?
The man threw her on the carpeted bedroom floor as she held tightly onto her son. He stepped to her bed and picked up a red gasoline can, one of two plastic containers of fuel side-by-side. The man unscrewed the top, and began to pour it on the comforter, splashing the yellowish liquid onto the bed and floor. He picked the second container up and opened it, casting the nozzle onto the bed with the first spent can.
Before pouring, he knelt down and made eye contact with the woman huddling on the floor. She sobbed but met his gaze, tears of fear clouding her vision. The fumes from the gasoline burned her nose and throat. The Neighbor continued to look at her, unfazed by her emotion or the crying child on her lap.
“What’s your name?” he asked. His voice broke the facade of toughness and sobs wracked her chest. He waited as she took several hitching breaths and the sobbing began to taper before he gestured for the answer to his question.
“Aisha,” she said, taking a breath. “Why are you doing this?”
“Aisha,” he repeated, seeming to ponder the name.
“Please don’t do this. Please let us go, let my husband go. We haven’t hurt anyone,” she cried. “Please don’t hurt my baby!”
“You see, lady, that’s where you’re wrong,” he replied. “Your people have hurt us. You’ve hurt America. I seen it. I lost my job because you people keep on coming into our country, taking our food, taking food stamps. Why you think the whole world is laughing at us? Sending us their criminals and killing our people. Mr. Wither says these dead people came because God is punishing us for the immigrants and the gays and because we let people kill their babies. No, it ain’t
right. You people are the real monsters, and you ain’t our Neighbors. Mr. Wither says you ain’t even really people.”
“No, you don’t understand. We’re Americans. My husband was born in Chicago, for chrissake! We’ve done nothing to you!”
“Sorry, lady,” the Neighbor replied, standing with the open gas can. “I’m just doing my job.”
He turned the can and began to splash fuel onto Aisha and Daniel. She howled and turned her face away from the assault. She screamed in protest as he took a few long steps around the room, splashing the remainder of the gasoline on the walls and furniture in the room. Then, tossing the container, he dragged her by the arm into the attached master bathroom. Aisha screamed and fought to no avail, and the big man unceremoniously dumped her in front of the toilet and turned to leave.
She sat helpless as he left and slammed the door, leaving her and Daniel alone in the small room. She tried to comfort the panicking 18-month-old over the sounds of furniture moving outside. She guessed the gasoline-man was moving the heavy dresser in front of the bathroom door. Crawling quickly, she checked the door. It wouldn’t budge.
She was trapped. There was no window in the bathroom and the walls were lined with tile. She and Daniel were both barefoot, having been ambushed at home by the Neighbors. After shoulder checking the door to test if she could move it, she kicked the walls a few times. Nothing.
Turning in circles she noticed the bathtub and a thought sprang to mind. She hadn’t trusted the water for drinking for awhile, but the pipes still worked. Running to the tub she turned the nozzle and cold water hissed from the fill spout. Worried they might hear, she turned the water to a trickle and flipped the stopper to plug the drain. It always leaked a little, but Aisha hoped it would be enough. Clear liquid splashed noisily on the curved edges and she prayed they weren’t able to hear her plot in motion.
Nation Undead (Book 2): Collusion Page 29