Life Among the Dead (Book 4): The End

by Daniel Cotton

  The stiff zombie’s body was misshapen under its coat of snow, with an oddness to its frame she had to investigate on her way through. Cracking a shell of ice that surrounded it like a white sarcophagus, she let the halves fall away to reveal a sight that gave her the willies. His face is a red skull, savagely stripped of its meat. He’s naked save for a hospital ID band, and his chest cavity splayed open with stainless steel implements exposing his organs to the elements. That was a really bad day for you wasn’t it, Donny? She had silently asked him after risking the resulting shiver to look at his plastic ID bracelet.

  The dead man is exhibit A in her case to leave, whatever is allowing individuals like Donny to walk once more will be at it again once the world warms up. They need to get to high ground and hunker down. It won’t be much of a life, but at least it’ll be living. We’re gonna be great, you’ll see.

  13

  Used. Violated. Abandoned. Archie lays in the dark where he was left, his pants still around his ankles, fully exposed. He shivers, not only from the cold draft that caresses him but from the tears he fights to keep at bay. He wonders if he could have done something, fought back against the woman. Was the old saying true? Do nice guys always finish last? His shame and humiliation turns to hatred, he hates Miss Andry.

  For a brief instant during this seemingly endless void where he is of no use to his captor, he thinks he heard a voice calling out, crying somewhere nearby. His first impulse was to help whoever it was, betting that it was Stephanie. But, he can’t help anyone until he helps himself.

  His hands are cuffed behind his back, his feet still bound to the table he is on with his pants around his ankles. He tries to think about how the woman will get him back to his confinement, what might she do first. Will she pull up my pants, or unlock my feet? he ponders. The dog catcher’s tool is still around his neck, but the pole used to guide him just hangs off to the side. It’s useless to him as a weapon without hands to wield it. In a state of mind he has never been in before, angry and desperate enough to harm another person, he asks himself if he can do it, if he can somehow get the better of her will he be able to kill. “Absolutely.”

  The object of his rage enters, humming to herself. She seems to be in better spirits. Miss Andry ceases her tune once the floor light is switched on with its blinding intensity and she can see her donor just as she left him. The man is stunned by the sudden illumination. The searing pain causes him to buck, instinctively trying to shield his eyes with his encumbered hands and has to settle for turning away. Any plans of escape or overpowering his jailer are chased away by the light like a shadow.

  He can feel the woman move closer. He hears her light footsteps on the floor. She’s at his feet. The yoke around his neck is in her hands now. Archie forces himself to open his eyes. If he wants his freedom he will have to act, No more Mr. Nice Guy.

  Miss Andry raises his pants mid-calf to access the shackles binding him to the table. This is her first time releasing a donor, everything worked well in her head, but actually trying to undo the locks one handed so she can maintain control of the yoke is problematic. The next time she plans on changing the procedure, use a belt to keep her donors on the table and allow her to lock and unlock their legs with greater ease. Archie aims to ensure there is no next time.

  Once he detects the second metallic click the captive bucks, kicking his legs out. Miss Andry is knocked back onto the floor. Archie rolls off the table making sure his feet hit first since his hands are still behind his back. His pants are still down but he is out of her control. That’s something, he applauds himself. He can’t run, his strides are reduced to careful baby steps lest he trip himself. The wooden pole hangs loosely from his neck, his only weapon.

  Miss Andry is furious. She rises to her feet and has to laugh at the comical sight of the half-naked man as he hops around trying to swing the pole with jerks of his body. He couldn’t have expected to go far, she chuckles. The lazily lobbed pole is easy for her to catch so she can regain control of the situation, or so she thinks.

  Once the woman has the pole in her hands and begins to push and pull him into submission, Archie waits for the right moment. He allows her to think she has him until she is positioned just right, the pole lined up like an arrow between them. The prisoner sees his chance and lunges forward, pushing the wooden shaft at her with his throat in a sudden jab.

  The impact against his windpipe forces him to wheeze, the damage done to his tormentor is far worse. The end of the pole struck her hard in the mouth, splitting her lower lip open on her teeth. She releases the pole in favor of clutching her bleeding mouth, Archie hops at her driving his shoulder into her body to knock her into the rolling cart she had set up for her collection, empty plastic specimen cups are sent clattering to the floor. Off balance, Miss Andry falls to her knees, the man lets his rage take over as much as it can considering his limitations.

  With no way to strike her his only recourse is to use his body weight. He heard the keys she used to release his ankles hit the floor and assumes the one to the handcuffs is among them, he is determined to get those keys. On top of the woman who now struggles against him he thrashes, battering her head with his own. Though he is affected by every thump, she receives two as her skull bounces off the hard floor. The partially naked man wiggles his way up her body to get his shoulder to her throat, he presses with all his might until she gives in, and then he holds it a bit longer.

  This might have been a bad idea, he realizes as he removes his shoulder from her limp neck. She was the only thing keeping him and Gar alive, if he can’t get the keys the other captive will starve, plus if he has killed her, she will come back from the dead. He’ll have no way to defend himself then. Keys.

  Archie rolls off of her and searches the immediate area, his eyes are moving so fast and with such panic he has to check everything twice. The man is kneeling, hands behind his back as if bobbing for apples as he scans the middle of the room now, closer to where he had decided to fight back. Off to the side he locates them, his actions caused Miss Andry to drop them near the table.

  He shuffles to the keys on his knees, positioning himself above them so he can blindly grasp the ring. His eyes are fixed on the woman’s body, expecting her to rise at any moment, dead or alive it will be bad news.

  Keys in hand he needs to unlock himself. There are only four to choose from on the ring, he must select by feel until he comes to a small one that is different than the others, no jagged teeth, just a simple protruding square. It is a frustrating endeavor to try and insert the key into a hole he can’t see, all he can do is probe around and hope for the best. It’s no use. He lets out an infuriated groan.

  Archie needs to get his hands in front of him so he rolls onto his back and attempts to squeeze his lower half through his joined arms. It’s not easy, he isn’t as limber as he was as a child, back then he’d be able to make the move no problem. Today it is a struggle, he has his backside through and just needs to get his feet through the hole. His toes are just in the way.

  A moan stills his efforts. It came from Miss Andry, he has to steal a glance at her from between his knees. She’s moving, he hasn’t much time. The presence of immediate danger gives him the edge he needs to force himself to work harder, push through the pain and discomfort until his hands are in front of him at last.

  On his way to his feet he raises his pants, his eyes never leave the woman on the floor that begins to get to her feet as well. Archie tries to stay calm as he glances at the cuffs to find the keyhole and pop them off. He removes the dogcatcher’s tool from his neck and waits for his opponent to make the next move.

  Miss Andry turns slowly in his direction, there are no signs of anger or pain. He knows she’s dead. As she advances on him with a new purpose, something else driving her, he snaps the wooden pole over his knee and readies the jagged end. He isn’t going to capture her, instead he uses the implement like a spear and plunges it deep into her body. That rage resurfaces, has him stabbing h
er again and again. Deep down he knows the wounds are inconsequential, but the woman had violated him. He needs to hurt her even though she feels no pain.

  Dozens of thrusts, each penetrating as deep as he can go, end with him driving it into her head. She falls to the floor, never to hurt him again. Archie is exhausted having killed Miss Andry twice. The nice guy inside him returns to take on the guilt. He knows it was the only way, that the woman had to be stopped, but that doesn’t erase the fact he has just taken her life. If he has one consolation it’s that he can now free Gar.

  Claiming the pole just in case, Archie heads out of the treatment room with the keys and lantern. In the silent halls he can hear something. Gar had mentioned that Miss Andry had the dead walking the halls as a means of defense. This doesn’t sound like zombies, more of a whimpering. Somewhere nearby, someone is crying.

  Following the sounds of sadness to a door not far from where he was just held, he stands with is ear to it. He can hear a person within, alone and scared. He enters leading with the light, the mournful sounds become a wince of pain as Stephanie turns her head away from the glow.

  Strapped to a table much like he was, he is happy to see her, even in the state she is in. dressed in a hospital gown, her legs lashed to stirrups. Andry had taped her mouth shut with duct tape, the seal had come loose allowing enough of the captive’s cries to escape so he could hear her and ultimately come to her aid.

  “Hey,” Archie says softly to her, she is trembling thinking the evil woman had returned. “It’s me. Archie. I’m going to get us out of here.”

  The tape is the first thing he removes. “She…She…” Stephanie says unable to speak between sobs.

  “She’s dead,” Archie assures. “I had to kill her.”

  The news should have been a relief for the woman to hear, the ordeal is over and she is being unbound. But, it isn’t. Far worse things have already happened that cannot be undone. “She killed Peeta.”

  Archie’s heart sinks into his stomach, Gar had said the woman wanted only girls, but he is actually shocked she had gone that far.

  “Right in front of me,” the mother says. She doesn’t move though nothing is holding her to the table any longer, her legs have been taken out of the stirrups. “She killed my baby.”

  “I’m sorry,” Archie says, wishing he could do more for her. He strokes her hair and gives her all the time she needs.

  They grieve the atrocity together in silence, Archie no longer feels bad about taking Andry’s life. It feels justified.

  “There’s another person here,” he tells her. “I have to go free him.” He places a kiss upon the top of her head wishing it was enough to take away her pain though he knows nothing ever will. “I’ll be back in a sec.”

  He props the door open to let what little light he can in since he will need the lantern to find his way back down to Gar. If I can find my way, he thinks with dread.

  Standing in the hall he tries to recall the way he was dragged up here so he can backtrack. He senses movement in the treatment room, the crinkle of the paper, Stephanie is sitting up on her table. At first he thinks that she may wish to join him, not wanting to be alone. He waits to allow her time to collect herself. He wants to ask if she’s coming with but can’t bring himself to disturb her. He listens to her sniffling, the aftermath of a good hard cry, then strikes off through the halls.

  He hates to leave her but figures she needs time, there isn’t anything in the world he can do to make this better. About to exit the fertility clinic and venture through the halls, Archie stops. He can’t think of anything worse for a person than to lose their child, to a mother their child is their whole world, without them there wouldn’t be any reason to go on. He races back to her as fast as he can, too fast as he takes a turn too wide in the dark and bumps against the wall. He keeps going until he’s back to the treatment room.

  The floor is slick now, she has stopped crying. In the middle of the floor she lays in her own blood ready to join Peeta. The scarlet puddle is vibrant in the glow of the lantern he sets down to go to her. Stephanie had found something in the room sharp enough to slit her wrists deep. Archie tries to put pressure on the wound, blood soaking into his pants as the mother resists his efforts. He can’t get a good grip on her blood slick wrists as she wrestles out of his grasp.

  Her limbs begin to slow, weaken. He can get his hands clamped around the wounds now but he’s too late. She dies, a peaceful look upon her face, perfect serenity as if she can see Peeta waiting for her in the hereafter.

  Archie knows he must finish her so she doesn’t return, all he has to use is the jagged spear. He closes her eyes and turns her head to the side, it takes him a moment to work up the courage to plunge the weapon into the sleeping angel.

  Victorious yet defeated Archie staggers out of the clinic and into the unknown halls. He really liked Stephanie, could see them being happy together before the abduction. He had so many great daydreams about it as they drove from the Midwest, practically living a second life in his head.

  His shoes squeak on the smooth floor, he’s almost completely covered in blood, Stephanie’s and Miss Andry’s. He can’t resist feeling sorry for himself having lost his companions, all of his dreams being dashed in an instant. Guilt for feeling this way adds to the mental baggage that weighs him down. To make matters worse, he’s lost.

  Staring at his shoes on his way to the stairs, downtrodden and tired, he fears he may have over shot the door he had been slammed through. Now he finds himself deep within the hospital, soaked in blood, detecting the rumored protectors of the place. Familiar moans drift and echo through the corridors and from behind doors. Archie turns, thinking the source is right behind him, again and again until he can’t make heads or tails of his location, which way he had come from or where he needs to go. The hall stretches off in either direction, endless dark tunnels that go on forever, both looking identical. He searches the floor for his own footprints, trace evidence of how he got here, but like an ink stamper they had gradually faded to nothing.

  Hands slap against doors and windows, the misplaced man can see dead figures pressing against blinds within the clinics. They can see the light, he panics. Can they smell the blood?

  Archie runs. He chooses a direction and charges ahead. He needs to get to Gar and away from the wailing dead he is riling up. His eyes are on the floor hoping to catch sight of his footprints, he travels further than the point he feels he should be seeing his path and fears he may have to turn around and make his way through the gauntlet of groans once more.

  Not giving himself time to back down he hurries the way he had just come in a quick pace. The appetite of the dead is teased once more. Starved, they beat on the glass. Footprints at last upon the floor, faint red stains that become thicker the further down the hall he goes. Archie searches every door for a sign telling him he’s found the stairs. He finds two.

  On either side of the hall he sees red signs of a stick person on a set of risers and a precautionary reminder that in emergencies people should use these rather than the elevators. The trip up here was quick and rather abusive, he can’t remember if he was turned left or right after being shoved through the door. He takes the steps to his right, slowly opening the door and heads down. All he hears is his own tense breathing as he creeps down. He distinctly recalls going up two floors, four sets of stairs bisected at the middle by brief landings.

  The moment of truth arrives as he comes to the door he presumes will lead him to Gar. He detects no sound as he gently cracks it open. Nothing looks familiar, not that it should considering the manner in which he had been escorted. He is certain that he’s on the correct level at least.

  The signage on the walls is not helpful other than to give him a general direction. He believes Andry held them in a ward which is to his right. To the left he would find only clinics, the pharmacy, and an exit. He is on the ground level, the temptation to just head for the way out is hard to resist. He can’t, he must free the other
prisoner.

  The hall branches off to other units, He has to check them all until he locates Gar. Though he hears no moans of zombies, he senses movement, or believes he does. He’s closer now but that fact only makes him more on edge. He wants to just turn around and make for the exit yet he chooses a starting point for his rescue mission and begins.

  Another long dark corridor. His chest aches with tension as he slowly makes his way, the fact that he isn’t positive that this is the correct floor makes the situation worse. He fears he will come out empty handed and have to travel hall after hall forever. He wants to call out to Gar, getting the man to respond would certainly help matters, or just rile up any undead guardians Andry may have planted here. He continues in silence all the way to the end.

  None of the doors resemble what he saw when she took him up to the clinic, she had shoved him through a set of double doors, but all he finds in his light are singles. The space she held them in seemed very large but his perception may have been thrown by the darkness. At the end of the line he finds an emergency exit, a plain gray door that looks very enticing to use.

  Maybe just a peek outside, he thinks. Fresh air to clear my head. There is no window to see if the other side is safe, anything could be lurking out there. He debates opening the door ultimately deciding he must. His hand pushes the bar to release the latch, in the same motion he shoves the door wide.

  Glorious afternoon sunlight shines down on him, warming his face. The emergency exit opens to an alley leading into a barren field of concrete. Across this sun soaked paradise is a nightmare, Andry has indeed planted her protectors, corpses standing in a line span the path to freedom, barring any hope of quick passage. The woman had somehow tied them together at the wrists. In her paranoia, she alternated the direction in which the zombies face to defend against any wishing to enter, and stop anyone wishing to leave. An unwinnable game of Red Rover.