Lakewood Memorial

by Robert R. Best

  No wait, not darkness, Dalton realized. His eyes were just shut. And his chin really hurt.

  He opened his eyes. He was on his back in the basement, looking up at the hole he had made. He blinked at the blurry light from the hole. A shape was looking down at him. He blinked again and saw it was Maylee. He groaned and sat up.

  "Shit," said Maylee. "Are you okay?"

  "What happened?" he asked.

  "You fell. And you've been like that for like ten minutes. I thought you were dead."

  Brooke's head appeared next to the hole. "Is he awake?"

  Dalton nodded up at them.

  Brooke sighed. "Thank god. Now get back up here before you get really hurt. This was a terrible idea."

  Dalton shook his head and climbed to his feet. "No way. This is working."

  "Maybe she's right," said Maylee.

  "No!" said Dalton, glaring up at her. "Let me do this! I can do this. And we'll get to talk to Mom because I did it."

  He stepped away from the light of the hole, looking for another light. The unfinished basement was cluttered and dusty, with abandoned tools lying on the floor where the landlord had left them. Dalton knelt and found a wrench, then a rusty hammer, then a flashlight.

  He clicked the flashlight on and a dim, dingy light came from it. Like the battery was weak. Have to hurry, he thought. Battery won't last long.

  "Dalton!" came Maylee's voice.

  Dalton stepped back into the light. "I found a flashlight!"

  "Great," said Maylee. "You can use it to blind the dead people. Just get up here."

  "Dammit, Maylee. Let me do this."

  Maylee frowned down at him. Brooke appeared back in the hole. Maylee pushed her away. "Okay. Go. But be careful."

  Dalton nodded, clicked on the flashlight, and stepped away from the light. He decided to check outside first.

  Using the dim light in his hand, he slowly made his way to the door. The door had a small window with a curtain. He pulled the curtain back and peeked out. He couldn't see anything, so he stepped back and looked at the door itself. It was locked, just like he'd expected. He put an ear to the door and listened. Nothing. Or at least, nothing loud.

  Then again, he realized, how loud would dead people be?

  He grabbed the deadbolt and turned. The lock clicked open. Dalton stopped to listen. Again, nothing.

  He drew in a breath and pushed the door slowly open.

  The grass of his backyard greeted him. Dark and silent. The moonlight he'd seen before was gone. Cloudy, Dalton thought. Just great.

  He stuck his head out to look around. Just in time to see a corpse stumble around the corner.

  Crap! He snapped off the flashlight and ducked back inside, shutting the door as silently as he could. He heard the thing drawing near. He'd gotten a good look at it. It was the man they'd seen out the window earlier. The one with his head bent all the way back. So maybe it hadn't seen Dalton. Had it?

  The shape of the corpse appeared in the door's window. It moaned, muffled by the wood of the door. It stopped just outside the window.

  Crap. It saw me. Or it can smell me.

  And he hadn't gotten a ladder ready to climb back up the hole. Was there even a ladder down here? How could he be so stupid?

  He swallowed, his heart pounding, and stared at the shape in the window.

  With a groan, the shape shuffled out of view.

  Dalton breathed out. It hadn't noticed him.

  He clicked the flashlight back on and scanned the basement for a ladder. He found one, rusting in a corner. He grabbed it and dragged it to the hole. It was the kind that opened to stand on its own, which was a relief. He opened it and placed it under the hole. He looked up at Maylee.

  "Okay. All clear," he said. "You guys start banging in about five minutes."

  Maylee nodded and disappeared from view.

  Dalton drew himself up and turned to head for the door.

  Sixteen

  Angie heard movement coming from the utility closet. She stepped away from the nurse's desk and ran over.

  Park was coming down the ladder, a rifle slung over one shoulder.

  "My god," she said. "I can't believe that honestly worked."

  Park snorted. "Thanks a lot." He stepped away from the ladder.

  Kristen was kneeling by Mr. Paulson's wheelchair, helping Freeda check the oxygen tank. She stood up and walked over to the closet. "Sam? Where's Sam? We heard a lot of noise."

  Sam appeared on the ladder. "I bet you did. That was genius-boy smashing the outside ladder. We aren't getting out that way now." He dropped to the bottom of the closet and adjusted his glasses.

  "We weren't getting out that way before, anyway," said Park. He pulled a box of ammo from his pocket and started loading the rifle.

  "Well, it's nice to have options," said Sam. He nodded to Kristen, who smiled and walked back over to Mr. Paulson.

  "Okay," said Angie, checking her cell phone for any missed calls. There were none. "Let's get ready to move." She nodded to Freeda, who nodded back. Dear God, let my kids be okay.

  Sam was frowning about something. "Give me a second," he said, stepping into the hallway. "Gotta get this thing loaded."

  * * *

  Sam stepped into the hallway and fumbled with his gun. Dammit, Kristen hadn't even touched him. He'd nearly died out there, and she hadn't even touched him.

  Her dad. Always her dad. She barely looked at Sam anymore.

  Of course he'd said okay when the old man needed to move in. How could he not? But the old man took so much damned time and attention. Sam was forty-five and childless. They'd never have children at this rate. Hell, the old man was their child. A vulgar, hateful child.

  Hot tears stung his eyes and he took off his glasses to rub them. No time for this. No time for crying or for being a whiny little bitch about life. Time to man up.

  He put the glasses back on and felt around in his pocket for the box of ammo.

  Moaning came from the nearest patient room.

  Panic shot up Sam's back. How'd those things get inside? How many of them were there?

  Then he realized. It was just Park's friend.

  He breathed out and started to the others for help. Then he cursed himself.

  Fuck, does the pussy need help checking on some sick asshole? Dammit, Shuab, be a man!

  He sighed and stepped into the patient room.

  The sick guy was lying on the bed, moving his head from side to side. The guy's eyes were cloudy and his mouth chewed slowly at nothing.

  "Hey, Moe? It is Moe, right? Are you okay?"

  Moe said nothing. He moved his head around and moaned. He hadn't blinked since Sam had entered.

  "Looks like we'll be getting out of here soon, thanks to your buddy's guns," Sam continued.

  Moe said nothing.

  "Well, fuck you then. What do I look like, a nurse?"

  Sam turned to leave. Moe let out a long groan.

  Sam turned back. "Shit, that sounded bad. You okay?" He stepped over to look down at Moe.

  His glasses slipped down his nose. Sam cursed and took them off. "Hate these things."

  Moe sat up and bit.

  Moe's teeth closed on Sam's cheek and eye. Skin gave way and peeled back. Sam's eye was punctured. Blood and something thicker ran down Sam's cheek as his body shook involuntarily. Hot pain shot through Sam's head and for a moment he was too shocked to scream. Moe's head slid down to Sam's throat and bit. Sam felt a chunk of his neck pull free. He tried to scream then and couldn't. His voice box was gone. Moe moaned and chewed.

  Sam's knees buckled and he dropped. Blood flowed fast. He tried crawling for the door. He was getting weak fast. Moe dropped off the bed onto Sam's back. Sam felt Moe biting into the back of his head. Scalp and hair tore away.

  Oh shit, Kristen. Kristen. I'm sorry.

  He felt dizzy. Far away from the sounds of Moe chewing.

  Then he was dead.

  * * *

  Angie spun away fr
om Freeda as a loud "thump" came from the hallway. Everyone stopped what they were doing.

  "Shit," she said. "What was that?"

  "Dunno," said Park as he finished loading the rifle. He slung the gun over his shoulder. "Let's see."

  Angie and Park rushed into the hallway, then turned to enter Moe's room. Angie gasped when she saw.

  Moe straddled Sam's body, chewing at an open wound in the back of Sam's head. Sam's head rocked from side to side in rhythm with Moe's bites.

  "Oh god," said Angie.

  "Oh dammit, Moe," said Park.

  Mr. Paulson's voice came from the nurse's station. "What the fuck is it now?"

  Park took the rifle from his shoulder. Moe looked up at Park. He moaned, a hunk of Sam's flesh falling from his mouth.

  Angie turned to Park. "Listen to me, Parker. He's not your friend anymore and..."

  Park fired right through Moe's brain. Moe fell backward, legs splayed, and slumped against the side of the bed. His head fell to one side. He was still.

  "Yeah," said Park, lowering the rifle. "No shit." Park sniffed and rubbed his eyes.

  "Sam!" shrieked Kristen from behind them. She pushed past and rushed to Sam's body. "Oh god, god no! No!" She knelt and cradled his head. Blood and muck ran down her lap. "Honey! No!"

  Angie swallowed. "I'm so sorry..."

  "The hell you are!" Kristen yelled. "Sam was right! This is all your fault! You led us back here!"

  "Listen lady," said Park, leveling the rifle at Sam. "You're going to have to move."

  Kristen gasped and pulled Sam's body closer. "You keep away from him!"

  "What the hell are you doing in there?" yelled Mr. Paulson from the nurse's station.

  Freeda ran back and saw. "Oh shit."

  Park sighed and lowered the gun. "What the fuck lady? He's already dead."

  Kristen sobbed and clutched Sam's body. "You are NOT going to shoot him!"

  Angie turned to Park. "Listen. It looks like the head's already injured, so maybe..."

  Park shook his head. "Not deep enough. We have to be sure."

  Angie turned back. Kristen was sobbing and rocking Sam's body back and forth. "Listen, Kristen..."

  "Shut up!" Kristen shrieked.

  "I'm all alone out here, dammit!" yelled Mr. Paulson from the nurse's station.

  Kristen sobbed.

  Angie spoke as softly as she could. "Kristen, we have to be sure. You saw what happened to Moe. If we aren't sure, he'll get back up and he won't be your husband." She felt like a fraud. If her kids were dead, she'd be done. Would she listen to anyone trying to give her perspective?

  Please God, please, don't let my kids be dead.

  Kristen looked down and sobbed.

  "Will some-fucking-one please come help the crippled fucking old man!" yelled Mr. Paulson.

  Kristen took a deep, ragged breath and nodded. "Okay. But let me do it."

  Park frowned, lowering the rifle further. "You know how to use this?"

  Kristen nodded and wiped her eyes. "I know enough."

  Angie nodded and took the gun from Park. "Okay then. Here." She handed the rifle to Kristen. Kristen's hands shook as she took it.

  "Thank you," said Kristen.

  "We'll give you a moment," said Angie, turning back toward the door. Park was blocking the way.

  He frowned at her. "You sure about this?"

  Angie nodded. "Yeah. Let's go."

  Angie, Park and Freeda moved slowly back out to the nurse's station. Mr. Paulson was complaining and yelling for his daughter, but Angie couldn't focus on the words. They all waited nearly ten minutes.

  A shot came from the other room. And the sound of Kristen sobbing.

  Seventeen

  Dalton gripped the flashlight and opened the door. He saw only the backyard, silent and still. A little brighter now. The moon must be back. He snapped the flashlight off and stuck his head outside the door. He looked both ways. Nothing.

  He took a deep breath. He heard Maylee and Brooke start banging on the bathroom door. He heard the corpses moan in response.

  "Hey!" came Maylee's voice, sounding far away and muffled. "We're in here! Come and get us!"

  Dalton ducked out the door and into the yard.

  He took a moment to let his eyes adjust to the moonlight and to listen. He heard moaning here and there, but nothing close. He swallowed and headed for the side of the house.

  Rounding the corner, he saw nothing. He sighed in relief and walked as quietly as he could up the side of the house. He stopped at the corner, where he could see the street.

  A few corpses were wandering up the street. At least Dalton assumed they were corpses. They moved too slowly and too strangely to be human. None of them saw Dalton.

  He heard screams somewhere far off. Voices he didn't recognize. Screams of pain or fear. Maybe an alarm, too far away to be sure.

  He steeled up his courage and poked his head around the corner. The front yard looked clear. He smiled and stepped out, facing the side of the front stoop.

  Cold hands closed on his throat from behind.

  Without thinking, Dalton dropped to his knees. The move was out of panic more than anything else, but he slipped free of the corpse's fingers. He spun onto his rear and looked up.

  It was a woman with blond hair and ...

  Dalton blinked.

  Mrs. Harris. His teacher. He recognized her blond hair and green eyes, but the bottom half of her face was torn to shreds. A wet cavity of blood and meat. Her tongue flopped from side to side. Two bones on each side of her face, what was left of her jaw, worked up and down. She reached for him.

  Dalton screamed, clambered to his feet, and ran.

  He ran to the front porch and looked inside. The living room was a wreck. A big group of corpses was clustered outside the bathroom door, groaning at Maylee and Brooke as they banged on the door from inside. The corpses didn't notice him, but they were blocking the way to the kitchen. He'd have to use the side door, the one the eyeless man had come through.

  He swallowed and hoped there weren't any corpses in there. Mrs. Harris gurgled at him from his right, reminding him to hurry.

  He ran for the other side of the house. Fear of Mrs. Harris pushed him around the corner without stopping to look. He stopped when he realized what he was doing. It was clear. No corpses between him and the kitchen door. It swung to and fro, just as the corpses had apparently left it. He glanced back at Mrs. Harris. She was just past the front porch now, moving slowly and making a low choking growl.

  Dalton sucked in his breath and ran for the kitchen. He stopped when he reached the door.

  Through the doorway to the kitchen, Dalton could see the corpses crowding the bathroom. They were all in the hallway and the kitchen looked clear. He could see the phone in its cradle next to the microwave. The phone Brooke had used to call for the pizza.

  As quietly as he could, he crept into the kitchen and headed for the phone.

  He could hear Maylee and Brooke banging on the door. The corpses were focused on them. None of them noticed Dalton creeping up from behind. He was almost to the phone.

  Groaning came from behind him. Dalton turned. The corpse from earlier, the one with his head bent all the way back, was standing in the doorway. The corpse's back faced Dalton, which meant the corpse's head faced Dalton. The corpse saw. He groaned at him.

  Dalton screamed. The corpses in the hallway heard and turned and groaned at him. Corpses closed in on him from both sides.

  * * *

  Maylee was in the middle of hitting the door, hand raised in mid-strike, when Dalton's scream echoed through the house. The sound sent cold panic through her. She heard the corpses at the door change their focus, heard their groans now being directed at the kitchen. "Dalton!" she yelled.

  "There's too many!" he yelled.

  "I'm coming!" she yelled. She unlocked the door.

  "Maylee, don't!" yelled Brooke, pulling Maylee back. "Let me do it! It's too dangerous."

 
; Brooke opened the door. Over Brooke's shoulder, Maylee could see the corpses moving to the kitchen.

  "Hey!" yelled Brooke. She kicked one of the corpses in the back. "Look, dumb-asses! More meat over here!"

  The corpses turned to Brooke. Maylee could see Dalton in the kitchen, running away from the corpse with his head bent all the way back.

  "That's right!" yelled Brooke at the corpses. "Come on!" She ran down the hallway. The corpses slowly followed her. Maylee stood as far back and as still as she could, amazed that none of them noticed her.

  When the hallway was clear, Maylee snatched up her bat from the back of the toilet and ran for the kitchen. Dalton was barely avoiding the broken-neck corpse, which was stumbling around and grabbing at him.

  Maylee ran up to the corpse and, screaming, slammed the thing across the head with her bat. The thing's head snapped up the other way, landing against the thing's chest. The corpse groaned, muffled now, and stumbled away. She ran to Dalton and grabbed him.

  "Did they hurt you?" she asked.

  "No," said Dalton. "No, I'm fine."

  "Come on, we gotta go!"

  She pulled him out the door and looked up and down the side of the house. A blond woman, face in ruin, was rounding the corner from the front. Maylee figured she and Dalton could get around her. The backyard was too dark to chance.

  "Wait!" said Dalton, pulling on her arm. "The phone! I forgot the phone!"

  * * *

  Brooke ran for the living room, hoping the corpses were following her. She stopped and looked back. Sure enough, they were stumbling after her, groaning and working their jaws. She looked around for a weapon. Nothing. Just toppled furniture, a ruined TV and ...

  her phone!

  She rushed over and bent to pick it up. She opened it and started punching in 911.

  The corpses reached the living room. They came at her, groaning.

  No time for phone calls. She closed the phone. "Guys!" she yelled, hoping Dalton and Maylee could hear. "Go out the kitchen door! I'm going out the front!"

  She turned to rush out the front door. The pizza boy stood there, neck gaping and oozing dark blood. He gurgled and hissed at her.

  Without thinking, without time for thought, Brooke backed away. Cold hands fell on her shoulders. She spun, screaming. The man with no eyes groaned at her. She wrenched herself free, backing away from the approaching group of corpses.