Dawn of the Rage Apocalypse

by Timothy W. Long

  “Nice work, Turner,” Roger scolded me.

  “There’s a dead guy here.” I shook with revulsion as I moved away from the corpse, and this time, thankfully, didn’t knock over even more shit.

  “Another dead guy? Does he look as bad as the guys out in the hallway?”

  “Christ, but that gave me a scare,” I said honestly and pulled out my vape pipe to hit it a few times. “He didn’t look too bad. There wasn’t any mucus on his eyes. He kinda looked familiar, to be honest.”

  “Maybe it’s your long lost brother.”

  “I hope not. I can’t afford to pay for his funeral.”

  I slid across the floor and pushed back as a newly revived horde of ragers went to work on the door again, probably drawn back by the noise I’d caused. One of them struck the window and that really made me cringe. The second they figured out that they could easily break in via the glass, we were fucked.

  It was as if they had read my mind.

  “Are you guys still down there?” Mindy’s voice came over the radio.

  Roger handed me the receiver and then got up into a crouch with his upper body pressed against the desk.

  “Yeah, we’re here, and we’re screwed. The power’s out, we’re stuck in a dead-end room, and a bunch of those things are right outside the door.”

  “Can you guys, like, I don’t know, fight your way out of there?” Mindy asked.

  “No, Mindy. We can’t fucking fight our way out of this. We’re outnumbered. Just put Mitch on, okay? Maybe he has an idea, and please, for the love of god, don’t tell me he went for burgers.”

  “He didn’t go for burgers. So which side of the building are you on? Do you have, like, the direction? North, south, you know.”

  I lifted the radio into the air and shrugged at Roger in disbelief.

  “We’re in the northwest corner,” Roger said.

  “Northwest corner, why?” I said into the radio.

  “Okay. See you in a few,” Mindy said and clicked off.

  “Wait, what?” I asked. “Yo, Mindy?”

  The ragers got a little more creative and hit the door with a huge thump. Maybe they were using the corpse of the dude Roger had just shot in the head as a battering ram. One of them went for a window. The glass held up, but for how long? I got my answer a few seconds later when the other side shattered. Glass rained down inside of the room, and one of them leapt up onto the window sill and then tried to wiggle inside, but they got hung up on a piece of glass sticking out of the frame. They struggled, let out a scream of pain—or rage, and then sank down onto the shard as another guy jumped on top of the first one.

  He had a neat little beard and wore a doctor jacket like I had seen Elizabeth wearing. But this guy was already covered in gore, and as he tried to slither through, he got a fresh coat of rager blood. The sound of his skin, as the guy got dragged across the chunk of glass, was weirdly similar to cloth being ripped apart.

  There are some things in life you don’t want to hear. It would be one of the many things that haunted my dreams for years to come, assuming I lived out the next few minutes, one of many things. Like shooting a guy. Smacking a woman in the head with a hatchet. Getting drunk with a pain in the ass lady doctor. Watching her walk around in a tiny little robe, and then calling me out for it later. Okay, you take the good with the bad.

  All things considered, if I had to pick a friend to die with, it wouldn’t be Roger, but he was who I was stuck with. To be honest with myself, I’m not even sure I’d want to die with Mitch and or Mindy. I hadn’t known them that long, but I also hadn’t bothered to keep up with my high school pals, and at the grand old age of twenty eight and six months, it wasn’t like I was going to be able to connect with any of them anytime soon, let alone talk them into coming down here so I could have a pal to die with.

  Crazy what the mind thinks about at a time like this. All those little things rolling around in the noggin while raging fucking zombies try to rip through a door, crash through window, and then beat us to death before sinking teeth into our flesh.

  “Dude!” Roger smacked me.

  I shook off the thoughts and got back to reality. Then reality tried to bite me in the ass.

  She smashed through the window like it was made of plastic. Glass sprinkled around me and some of it, annoyingly, went down my shirt and scraped at my back. What, no safety glass? Who had designed this utter labyrinth of horrors?

  “On your right,” Roger said as he got up and used one of his few remaining rounds to blast a rager.

  At least he had managed to jam up his window with a pair of corpses.

  I swung my hatchet and clobbered the woman coming in on my side. She flopped against the window frame, then lunged inside and slithered across the desk. I kicked her back as she got to her hands and feet. Roger didn’t have time to help because what I had thought was a dead rager had instead gotten its hands on Roger’s shirt and now pulled him toward her mouth. He punched her over and over again but she didn’t give a shit.

  “Why won’t you give up?” I yelled as I swung again.

  Her head snapped to the side as I made impact. She took the blow like a champ, dropped like a rock, and I wasn’t left struggling to yank the axe out of her head.

  The next rager had already hit the windowsill. He was a tall and skinny bastard with long hair and enough mucus around his eyes to power an entire tribe of slugs. He looked like he had escaped from a 70s prog rock band, and he smelled like he hadn’t showered since that era.

  “Keep bottling them up!” Roger yelled as he fought off his attacker.

  He turned his gun around and smacked the rager upside the head with the butt. Then he drew his arm around and did it again, but the maniacal attacker wouldn’t let go.

  “Doing my best,” I said.

  I really was. If it wasn’t for the fact that I had just fought off multiple opponents while hungover, exhausted, and in dire need of barfing in a corner, I would be the epitome of a lean, mean rage zombie killing machine.

  Another hatchet whack and the tall guy, I nicknamed him Frenchy, stopped moving, but left his body in the unenviable position of being stuck with his ass in the wind and hanging out of a window. Of course another one wanted to crawl on top of Frenchy and make me into a white boy trash sandwich.

  I hit that son of a bitch too, and realized, that we had, against the odds, managed to stop them in their tracks.

  Roger wiped something from his forehead. It may have been blood, mucus, or sweat; honestly, your guess is as good as mine at this point.

  “When does the next wave start?” I asked.

  “That is so not funny.” Roger grinned.

  “Kinda is.”

  “Not even fucking close.” Roger fought laughter.

  “Did you see that tall, weird long-haired guy? I nicknamed him Frenchy, and he’s in a 70s progressive rock band that used to open for Jethro Tull.”

  “Who in the hell is Jethro Tull?”

  “A band my dad used to listen to. The lead dude stood on one foot and played the flute.” I shrugged.

  “On purpose?”

  They bashed into the door again and I jumped. Give it a rest, guys, for real. I hadn’t been this tired since I’d tried to do a 10k back in high school for a fundraiser. Before you go applauding me for my philanthropic endeavors, you should know that I only did it to impress a girl. She hadn’t even bothered to show up, telling me later that she just hadn’t “felt it.” I had felt it, every damn step of the 10k.

  Frenchy jerked in the window. I spun around, put my hand on the desk, and then realized that he wasn’t alive, despite the fact that I was ready and willing to cave in the other side of his head. It was one of the other ragers, grabbing his upper body and pulling. A second one put his hand on Frenchy’s shoulder and together, whether they meant to or not, they pulled him out of the hole.

  It only got worse as they figured it out on the other side and started working on the guy stuck to the broken glass. That didn�
�t last long and the long shard snapped, freeing them to pull their comrade back into the hallway.

  The second assault began in earnest. Roger and I stuck to our sides and fought the rage monsters as they gave the second effort their all. One of them managed to slither into the room because I was busy dealing with a five foot two Latino dude with mucus for hair gel. I’d already tried my greatest hits, that is, one around the head, and one right in the throat with the sharp end of the hatchet, but he’d pulled to the side at the last second and the axe had sunk into the side of his head and taken off part of his ear, leaving a blood-spewing hunk of flesh on his face. The hunk of ear dropped across my hand. I tried to shake it off but that just flopped the lobe into my hair.

  Ignoring the fact that I was now wearing someone else’s body parts, I put my knee in his chest, pinned him to the wall, and then used the heft of the axe, along with a huge downward swing, to cave in part of his skull.

  Son of a bitch, but that rattled right up my arm, and the worst part was that he wasn’t even dead.

  Another rager crawled in the window, this one a man after my own heart since he wore a jumpsuit just like the one I wore to work. Yep. I now had to contend with a raging janitor.

  Could this day possibly get any worse?

  “I don’t know how much longer I can do this,” Roger said between panting for air. “How many are left out in the hallway?”

  “Can’t tell. More. A lot. I don’t fucking. Know.” It took some effort to get the words out because every other word had to coexist with my need to suck in oxygen.

  The lights came on overhead and I gotta tell you, I have never been so unhappy for illumination in my life. The amount of blood, mucus, and outright gore that littered the floor could power five dozen death metal album covers. Seriously. They could bring in half of all Norwegian bands, put them in the room, and have a photographer go absolutely crazy.

  The air conditioning kicked in, but it wasn’t enough to override the sounds of the ragers as they squealed, grunted, and barked for our blood.

  Something crashed down the hallway, and suddenly there were even more footsteps out there, so that was just fan-fucking-tastic. Not only were we going to die buried by rage zombies, and then join them, but we were going to be part of an army inside the building. Why had I listened to Elizabeth Breeze? I should have done the smart thing, gone home this morning, scrounged up some of that money she had paid me, and got back to work on killing my hangover with a bottle of vodka and a case of Red Bull.

  A gun blast rang out, followed by another.

  “Get down!” shouted Mitch’s familiar voice.

  Roger and I took one look at each other and then kissed the ground.

  Gunshots, loud, and rapid. Screams, whether from our rescuers or the ragers, made me cover my ears.

  The last guy who had been coming inside the window jerked as bullets pelted his side. He turned to confront his attacker and the side of his face disappeared. Another gun spoke, this one repeatedly, and loud enough to make me want to scream. Instead I kept my head down and covered by my hands.

  After what seemed like forever, the shots petered off and I took my hands off the top of my head. Then I shook them as I realized they, along with my head, were now covered by even more gore and body parts.

  “You guys, like, okay in there?” Mindy yelled.

  “Holy fuck balls.” Roger breathed a sigh of relief. “Wait. Did we really just get saved by M and M?”

  I stood up and couldn’t believe what I saw.

  “Looks like they had some help,” I replied.

  Standing in the center of the hallway, holding what I thought was an MP5 complete with a small holo scope, and carrying a couple of extra magazines in her pants pocket, was none other than Elizabeth Breeze.

  Don’t get me wrong, I was happy that they had rescued us, but what I didn’t understand was how confident she looked holding that gun.

  Then a hand that wasn’t Roger’s fell on my shoulder and I just about pissed myself.

  20

  It was the guy from the back of the room. Had to be. A few minutes ago he had been a corpse on a table covered in a tarp. One of his eyes had been gouged out, and his cheeks and forehead were covered in deep furrows that weeped pus. The one eye regarded me, but it was blue, surrounded by bright blood vessels, at least one of which had popped and left a bright red spot right next to his pupil.

  I backed up a step, lifted my hatchet to kill this guy, and stopped at the wind up because Elizabeth shouted “No!”

  “Oh shit. Kill him!” Roger yelled and advanced on the guy.

  “If you kill him I’m going to shoot you in the head, and if you think I’ll miss, you won’t believe what happens next.” Elizabeth warned us.

  “He’s one of them!” I protested.

  Except was he? He hadn’t moved since he’d put his hand on my shoulder. I took another step backward, stepped on a dead guy’s hand, and almost fell down.

  “No, he’s not,” Elizabeth said as she advanced on our location. “That’s Latimer.”

  “I have so many questions,” I said. “So many.”

  Then I sat down on the edge of the desk and suddenly felt like I was falling, but of course I wasn’t because someone was right there. They put their hands on me and floated me off on a cloud.

  * * *

  I know what you’re thinking. Wow, this guy can’t hold his liquor and gore.

  After I passed out I had a vivid dream of a man who looked vaguely familiar, putting his hand on my shoulder, and then around my neck, and squeezing until I was on the verge of passing out. Then teeth, crooked and broken, had ripped out the side of my neck. Luckily for me this dream only lasted long enough for me to wake up, scream, thrash around, and then try to fight off someone who grabbed my hands.

  Shivers rode my body, and what felt like a fever raised my body temperature. I broke out in a cold sweat, and my back became a twisted knot of pain.

  I wish I had the constitution to jump up from an ass-kicking like we had just endured. I wish I was in better shape. I wish I wasn’t addicted to caffeine and nicotine. I could keep wishing until the zombies came home to nest and it would get me no closer to having any of my wishes come true. I swear to god. The minute this is all over, I’m going to get in better shape.

  I opened my eyes, saw the ceiling, jolted awake and flew to my feet because I woke up in the same location as the body I had found. The one who had touched my shoulder a minute ago and nearly set off a heart attack in my still too-young-for-artery-clogging chest. I brushed at my torso, expecting to find the same tarp that had covered the other guy. Was I dead? Had I been bitten? Was this the place they took dead ragers?

  I didn’t feel dead, but I did feel like someone had spent a few hours beating me with a stick.

  There was only one thing that would help. I needed a Red Bull. Or three. The only problem that the nearest was half of a can in Elizabeth’s Range Rover, unless Roger had some in his ride. The minute we were out of here, I was going to hit the nearest store, buy some smokes, and then down few drinks. Was it too early to start mixing Red Bull and vodka?

  “Hey. Anyone got anything with some high power caffeine? Oh, and while we’re at it,” I paused as the room continued to come into view. “Would someone explain to me just what in the fuck is going on here?”

  I didn’t mean to shout the last part, much. I guess I was a little confused and a lot pissed off.

  “Calm down, Mr. Grumpy.” The face of Elizabeth hovered into view. “Did you know that you snore?”

  “You!” I exclaimed. “This is all your fault. All of it. Since the minute I met you I have been chased and attacked by rage zombies, and nearly killed more than once.” I paused. “How long have I been asleep?”

  “Not long enough to get your beauty rest,” Roger quipped. “We all took a break, but you were sorta broken, so we let you sleep.”

  “We have to go,” I said in shock. “What’s going on out in the city? Is it al
l contained? Are we able to go home?”

  “Calm down and let me explain what’s going on.” Elizabeth tried to put her hand on my shoulder.

  “And what are you doing with that?” I pointed at the gun hanging by a harness from around her shoulder.

  “Saving you from turning into one of those, as best I can recollect.”

  “Dude.” Roger appeared at the other end of the room. “Hear her out. She’s been really smart. Without her help, we’d be so screwed right now.”

  “Where did all of the guns come from?” I asked.

  “We brought them from Roger’s car. Remember when I told you guys we were on our way? Gaaawd. It’s like you both have bad memories or whatevs. Roger asked the same questions,” Mindy interjected.

  “It’s a Hummer, and I distinctly remember telling you all to sit tight,” Roger said with a frown.

  “Like, what were we supposed to do? Sit up there and wait for you guys to get eaten?” Mindy scoffed. “Roger, say thank you. There’s no need to be such a butthole.”

  “Thank you. Now who’s going to pay for all of that ammo? You guys probably blew through a few hundred bucks worth. Shit ain’t cheap.” Roger’s frown had clearly not turned upside down.

  Mindy wore her bright yellow Pokemon Pikachu backpack. Mitch must have spent fifty bucks trying to win it from one of those claw game machines. I bet she had some energy drinks stashed in there.

  “Elizabeth came out of a side door and helped us figure out how to get down here. Then she totally used that tablet thing to get the building going again,” Mindy said.

  “It was simply the back-up generator kicking in. Once the power had been restored, I was able to get a wireless connection and restore my access to all of the doors and elevators. Then I went out there and gathered up you lot,” Elizabeth said.

  They had shoved the desk aside and some of the bodies had been dragged away from the entryway, but it didn’t stop the room from looking like a horror special effects artist had exploded in there.