Demise of the Living

by Iain McKinnon

  A wave of agreement circulated round the room.

  “We don’t have to do anything right now,” Colin assured her. “He’s secure; he can’t hurt anyone. If we get rescued we can discuss options then.”

  “He is dead, isn't he?” Liz said, matter-of-fact.

  Melissa started to cry.

  “John, go and get Liz a coffee,” Sharon said. “Why don’t the rest of you get a jump on your various projects. Colin and I will see to Liz.”

  One by one everyone else left the room.

  Thomas stood up and loudly thumped his chair back in place under the table. He gave Sharon and Colin a cold look before making his own exit.

  Chapter 9

  New Arrival

  “Karen?” Shan called.

  Karen didn't stir.

  “Karen!” Shan shouted.

  Karen sat bolt upright, panic in her eyes. She looked around the sick bay and slowly her mind focused on her surroundings.

  “Karen, I’m choking for a drink,” Shan said.

  “Yeah, sure,” Karen replied.

  “Pass me another couple of painkillers while you’re at it.”

  Karen stood up from the chair where she’d fallen asleep, still slightly dazed by her sudden awakening. She scooped up the packet of painkillers and passed them over to Shan. With an expansive yawn, she turned and opened the door. The force of the pull aggravated her injury and her arm throbbed. She looked down at the white patch just visible at her neckline. It was itchy and she had to resist the urge to scratch as she walked down to the refectory.

  It suddenly dawned on Karen she shouldn’t have given Shan the painkillers. She had already given her the maximum amount and she doubted Shan was due her next dose. Besides, she knew she would have to ration what meagre supply they had. Shan’s injuries would take weeks to heal, at least, and the two packets of headache tables in Miss Gilmore’s drawer wouldn’t last more than a few days.

  Karen got to the smashed vending machine and reached into its guts for a can. The behemoth lay on the floor, its garish neon-lit facades shattered across the ground like a discarded jigsaw puzzle. It had proven impossible to get inside simply by breaking the front open. The girls, Shan in particular, had vented their frustration with the world on this poor, stalwart piece of equipment. With the machine on its side they had managed to buckle the lock by violent and repeated thumps with the same stone hammer they used to break into the school.

  Karen was about to leave when she heard a splash. She looked down to see a pool of water running out of the refectory. She followed it back and saw that it was coming from the closed kitchen door. She tried the handle but it was locked.

  The flow of water was steady, but not torrential.

  Overflowing sink? she wondered.

  She decided to get Shan her drink, then investigate. She turned and walked back to the sick bay.

  Shan was asleep when she returned, so she left the drink and headed straight for the janitor’s office. Inside there was a case on the wall labelled ‘Keys’. It didn’t take Karen long to jimmy open the lock. She grabbed the keys, stuffing the ones she didn’t need into her pocket, but kept the key for the kitchen in hand.

  When she got back to the kitchen, she saw the pool of water had slowed. There was a thin film of glossy water covering most of the refectory floor, but it didn’t seem to be spreading.

  She unlocked the kitchen door and stepped in. This part of the school was foreign to her. She had been to many of the off-limits areas, (teacher’s lounge, secretary’s office, and the like,) but she had never seen the kitchens other than what she could glean from the other side of the serving hatch.

  The serving area ran the full length of the kitchen and was barricaded by the shutters and the bodies of the Bain Marie’s. Behind that was a tiled wall and stainless steel counter. Under the counter were various containers and items of kitchenware. The tiled wall didn’t cover the full length of the kitchen. Instead it formed a partition separating the ovens and hobs from the service area. From here there was a faint gurgling noise.

  Karen cocked her ear and listened more intently. The gasps and wet slurps came randomly and without reason. She pulled a large green-handled knife from a row of utensils. She walked round the wall, her trainers splashing in the thin film of water, her hand tight around the hilt of the knife.

  As she turned into the room she heard the gurgling noise again. She looked down and saw a small grate in the middle of the floor. The grate was completely submerged and the water was making a faint swirl around it. As Karen watched, another bubble of air popped through the surface tension.

  She breathed a sigh of relief. The disturbing noise was nothing more than the blocked drain’s feeble attempt to swallow the flood.

  With renewed confidence, Karen surveyed the room. There was a large metal door at the far end where the water was trickling out. She walked up to it and eased up the lever handle. The door flew open and a tsunami in miniature came tumbling out. Karen stepped backwards, but lost traction on the wet floor and fell on her butt.

  She squealed at the pain and the cold water soaking her backside.

  She stood up, shaking the dampness from her sleeves and trying to brush the water from her jeans.

  She huffed, realising she’d never be able to shake herself dry.

  In front of her the walk-in freezer lay wide open. Judging by the remaining pools, the water being held back by the door could only have been a few millimetres deep,, but it had had enough force to knock her off her feet. The air in the giant freezer was still cool and the walls still held a coating of frost.

  She walked into the doorway and immediately blocked her own light. There was a florescent strip in the freezer, but with the power off it was as useless as the freezer it hung in.

  Peering through the murk, Karen couldn’t tell what was inside. She squinted, coaxing her eyes to become accustomed to the darkness. Her breath and the dripping of water echoed off the close metal walls. Slowly the abyss started to reveal itself in hues of grey.

  The freezer was about a third full from what Karen could make out. Soggy cardboard boxes and plastic bags of slowly defrosting school dinners sat slumped on the shelves. She managed to locate a bag of hash browns and some battered fish.

  She brought her bounty over to the cooking area. The ovens were electric and therefore wouldn’t work, but when she turned the gas on there was a satisfying hiss. She lit the hob and a steady blue flame burst to life. It didn’t take long to find some oil and a pan and within minutes Karen had plated up two meals.

  Triumphantly, she exited the kitchen, a plate in each hand. The floor was still covered by a film of water and Karen, keeping an eye on her footsteps, was careful not to slip. She emerged from the miniature lake that covered the refectory and began following her wet footprints back to the sick bay.

  Halfway there she stopped and froze in place. A second set of footprints turned right along a corridor where the marks trailed off into oblivion.

  Karen looked down at the fresh wet marks she had just made alongside the first set. The water had begun to dry and the definition was weak. The trail wasn’t as evenly set as hers; they didn’t keep an even pace. She trod her foot down beside one of the tracks. Lifting her foot away, she examined the two marks side-by-side. Her trainers left a slimmer, shorter mark with a more rounded toe.

  She felt the breath in her chest falter.

  Quickly she scurried back to the sick bay.

  ***

  “Do you have to be so noisy?” John asked.

  “I’m hitting a lock with a hammer. What do you think?” Thomas replied.

  John cringed as Thomas punctuated the sentence with a fresh strike.

  Thomas slid the drawer open.

  “Looks like a bust,” he said, peering into the drawer.

  “We still need to check them to make sure,” John said, leaning in.

  “Fire away, chief. I’ll get the next one open.”

  Thomas moved over
to the next desk.

  “Look, you missed a packet of mints,” John said, laying the sweets on the keyboard to stop them from rolling off the desk.

  “Hurray. We’re saved.” Thomas twirled the screwdriver in the air like he was waving a flag.

  “Ha-fucking-ha,” John said sardonically.

  Thomas nodded over to where Liz and Melissa sat.

  John turned to see Liz’s furrowed brow and chastising gaze. He threw a hand to his mouth, realising he’d uttered a profanity in the presence of a young girl.

  “Oh… sorry,” he said.

  Melissa seemed not to have noticed. She was sitting on a swivel chair, spinning herself round and round.

  Thomas walloped another lock.

  “Can’t you keep it down? That noise is going straight through me,” John said.

  Thomas ignored him. He slid the drawer out and gave the inside a cursory look.

  “Melissa,” he called out, reaching in the drawer.

  “Uh-huh?” Melissa answered, putting her feet down to stop her makeshift fairground ride.

  “Here,” Thomas said handing something over.

  “What is that?” John asked.

  “For me?” Melissa asked, taking the object. She turned to her mother. “Can I?” she said hopefully.

  “What is it?” Liz asked.

  “It’s a hand-held games console of some kind,” Thomas explained.

  “That’s someone’s property,” John said.

  Again Thomas ignored him and moved onto the next drawer.

  “You can’t just give that away,” John argued. “It belongs to someone.”

  “Write it down on your notepad and give it a break,” Thomas said without looking up.

  He battered the next desk drawer and pulled it opened.

  “Can I have it, ma?” Melissa asked, confused.

  “You can borrow it,” Liz said. “You need to remember to give it back when all this is over.”

  “Which desk was that?” John asked impatiently.

  “That one there,” Liz pointed out.

  John pursed his lips. He knew very well which desk it had come from, but something officious inside him wanted to make Thomas acknowledge his casual theft.

  Thomas looked disdainfully at the contents, then puffed out a sigh.

  “Next,” Thomas said in a singsong tone as he moved onto the adjoining desk.

  “Whoa, what are you doing?” John asked.

  Thomas waved the hammer and screwdriver at John. “The same thing I’ve been doing for the last half hour.”

  “That’s my drawer,” John said.

  “Doesn’t mean we don’t have to check it,” Thomas countered.

  “Yes it does. I have my personal items in there.”

  “Sorry, I’m under orders.”

  “That’s my desk and you’re not busting it open,” John snapped.

  “Why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Why don’t you want me opening it? You got a chicken dinner in there?” Thomas asked. “Or are you maybe stealing office supplies?”

  “What?! No!” John protested.

  Thomas lowered his voice and leaned in.

  “Maybe a stash of porno mags, eh?” he said with a wink.

  “No!” John said, flustered.

  “Butt plug and a copy of Big Boys in Boots?” Thomas teased, careful to keep his voice down.

  “What? Shut the hell up—you’re sick,” John said, his face flushed red.

  Thomas stood back, a wide smile on his face. “Nah, I’m just fucking with you—”

  “Thomas!” Liz chastised.

  “Sorry, Liz,” Thomas said.

  He moved on to the next desk.

  “You’re not funny!” John spat. “You’re not funny in the slightest.”

  Thomas broke the lock open and pulled out the drawer. He took a glancing look inside and quickly moved on to the next one.

  He looked over at John. The man was still flustered from his ribbing. He was hiding something in his drawer, Thomas knew it. But he also knew it would be nothing special. Maybe a couple of bars of chocolate, a sandwich at best—hell, maybe it was some gay porn. Thomas didn’t care, but what he did care about was his smokes. He knew they would be in here a good few days, at least. Without food, things would be difficult. Without cigarettes, they would be impossible. By distracting John and getting ahead of him he now had the opportunity to swipe any cartons of cigarettes he came across. Of course, he’d have to be subtle about it, but at least now he had some leverage. He could always call John out about the contents of his drawer.

  “What was that?” John asked.

  “What was what?” Thomas replied, smashing open another drawer.

  John walked over to the window.

  “I’m sure I heard a bang,” John said, casting his view out of the window. “There! A guy with a gun—and he’s shooting his way through those things out there.”

  “Good luck to him,” Thomas said, feigning interest as he slipped a packet of cigarettes into his pocket.

  “He’s almost at the building,” John said excitedly.

  He opened the window and the crack of a firearm could be heard more clearly.

  Thomas stopped his pilfering and walked over to the window.

  “Up here!” John shouted. He waved to the man on the ground.

  “Hold on, there—what are you doing?” Thomas asked.

  “He’s seen us,” John said.

  “So what if he has?”

  “We’ll open the front door!” John called out, waving to the man.

  “Hold on. You’re just going to let a complete stranger with a gun come in here?” Thomas asked.

  “He’ll get eaten alive out there. There’s hundreds of them,” John said, marching to the stairs.

  “You’re shitting me, right?” Thomas said, chasing after him. “He could be anybody. He could be some psycho, happy to shoot us for a packet of smokes.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” John said, opening the door to the stairwell.

  Thomas placed a firm hand on John’s shoulder. “You’re not letting him in!”

  “You’re not in charge,” John said firmly.

  “I’m not letting you!” Thomas said through clenched teeth.

  “What’s going on? I heard shots,” Sharon said, coming out of the toilet.

  “There’s a guy in the street,” John explained. “I was going to let him in.”

  From up the stairs came the thundering of feet and Colin came gliding down.

  “Come on!” Colin shouted without stopping. “There’s a man out there!”

  Within seconds the group reached the lobby. It was darker in here than it had been. The light of the day was being sucked into the ragged figures that blocked the windows. Now that they had spotted movement behind the glass, they started pawing and thumping at the windows.

  “How’s he going to get past that lot?” Sharon asked, looking at the crowd.

  “More to the point, how do we stop them getting in?” Thomas asked.

  Colin picked up one of the cheap chairs that visitors would sit in while waiting in reception. Brandishing the chair, he said, “John, you knock the fire door open. I’ll use this to push any back that try and get through. As soon as he’s in, you pull the door shut. Okay?” He turned to Sharon. “You run back upstairs and direct him in.”

  Sharon nodded and jogged to the stairs.

  Even over the moans of the infected outside, they could hear the cracking sound of a gun being fired.

  A few of the besieging creatures turned and started walking towards the source of the noise, but most maintained their position around the glass facade.

  John took up position at the emergency exit. The tinted pane of glass was smeared where the infected had tried to scratch their way inside.

  “Jesus!” John exclaimed.

  “What is it?” Colin asked.

  “These poor bastards. Look at the state of them.” John scrunched up his e
yebrows and shook his head. “They’re… they’re gross.” He tried to swallow down his revulsion. “They're bloody and fucked up. And their eyes? Oh, Christ, I think I’m going to be sick.”

  “Thomas, can you take the door instead of John?” Colin asked.

  There was no reply.

  “Thomas?” Colin looked round, but the maintenance engineer was nowhere to be seen.

  “Fucking dick.” Colin shook his head, then turned back to John. “John, it's me and you. We can do this, okay?”

  John nodded and stepped up to the door.

  A wide spray of blood exploded across the window, accompanied by the sound of hail clattering against metal.

  One of the besieging wretches slumped to the ground. There was a loud crack and a second fell.

  “This is it!” Colin said, bouncing with the chair, readying himself for action.

  The husk of a man by the emergency door disappeared and in its place was a figure with a long auburn beard and sunglasses.

  John jumped in shock, then just as quickly threw the door open. The man dived into the lobby, shotgun in hand.

  Colin thrust the chair out at the opening.

  “Wait!” the bearded man shouted.

  The infected crowd was pushing in and Colin looked around for an explanation to the man’s cry.

  From behind his drooping moustache, the man raised a shrill, two-tone whistle.

  Something brushed past his leg and was gone before Colin could spot what it was.

  “Go!” the new arrival shouted. “Shut it!”

  Colin shoved the crowd back with all his strength, losing the chair to the pawing hands. With the weight of the mob outside in his favour, John was able to slam the door shut with ease.

  Colin let out a sigh of relief. He patted John on the arm. “Good work, man.”

  “Good girl,” the new arrival said.

  Colin turned round to see the man lying on the ground with an energetic pitbull rubbing its snout against his beard.

  “Need a hand getting up?” Colin offered.

  The man was an archetypal biker: head to toe in black leathers, long red beard with streaks of grey, and a skull and cross bones bandana.