Battle Axe

by Alan Spencer

  Hayden returned to his effort of unlocking the man shackled in the corner, unable to stare at the show any longer. He understood he was in no danger.

  Six keys later, he unlocked the corpse. The man tossed down his shackles and joined in the effort of re-building the parts. Hayden counted twenty bodies created in a half hour’s time. He was so mesmerized by the show, Hayden joined in the effort.

  Very Little Time

  Dr. Glover allowed them some time alone in the recreation room. Cindy was taking a nap on the couch, and Boyd sat across from her with his feet on the coffee table nursing his glass of liquor. He was unable to take in a buzz the way his thoughts rushed in at him.

  Cindy stirred awake, asking him a question that matched what kept circulating through Boyd's head. “What do you think about Dr. Glover's explanation?"

  "It doesn’t matter, because those dead bodies are out there causing all that mayhem. That’s truth enough for me. The evidence is clear. We have only one option to take."

  “You think Dr. Glover can save us?”

  “We’ll save ourselves. He’s just pointing the way out."

  “What do you think will happen to Hayden?”

  “When the body shields come to pick him up, I bet they interrogate him to an inch of his life. Lots of torture. The world thinks he’s dead, so what's to hold them back from tormenting the shit out of him until he gives them the answers they want? Being a detective, I have a few tricks up my sleeve too."

  Cindy came in closer, craving more personal talk. “What’s the first thing you’re going to do when we escape?”

  “Clean myself up and take these damn prison clothes off and burn them. Then, I'll visit my wife. I'll thank her for everything she's done for me."

  “You think she’ll be ready to see you?" She rephrased the question, sensing his apprehension. "You’re a dead man, in theory, I mean. Maybe she’ll think you’re a ghost? I'd be scared. I wouldn't trust myself if I saw a dead loved one just one day up and come back to visit me."

  Boyd would have to handle the home visit with care.

  How did you drop in on someone who thought you were dead?

  Dr. Glover entered the room after only leaving them for a half hour alone.

  "I've got something for you to see."

  Dr. Glover showed them to another room. He opened a cabinet. Inside were weapons.

  “We’ve got a Remington Sharpshooter rifle, two Desert Eagle pistols, and at the bottom,” he hoisted up a large jet pack looking item with a grunt, “a blow torch. This will be the most effective weapon against them. Guns will slow them down. Shots to the head are best, but not final. They can still scramble to put themselves together. Most of their bodies were packed with embalming fluid when shipped, and that means the chemical is in their skin, and they’ll ignite over flame.”

  Boyd was disappointed at the weapons, but he felt the bulge in his back pocket. The grenade reminded him of what it could do if he just pulled the pin.

  “The blow torch looks heavy,” Cindy said. “Who’s willing to carry that and run like hell?”

  Dr. Glover strapped it on, volunteering. “I am, dear. This is the best weapon, and no offense, it's mine.”

  Boyd shrugged his shoulders. “Fine by me. I'm not lugging that heavy thing around."

  Boyd strapped the Remington Sharpshooter around his good shoulder. Cindy picked up the two Desert Eagle Handguns and clutched them like cowboy.

  Dr. Glover stepped into the hallway, expecting them to follow his lead. The doctor faced the door at the end of the hall, an emergency exit.

  “This eventually takes us to the sublevel exit into a two-level parking lot. It’s a large access the military used to transfer the body parts without being seen by the military recruits in training. I haven’t been down there since I arrived. I was too scared to go alone. I'm not sure if it's changed, or how safe it is to go through there now."

  A crash resounded at the opposite end of the corridor. The sound of pounding against the double doors were followed up by a series of jeers and screams, like a mob of savages. The hinges on the doors were coming loose. Hundreds of hands were banging against the barrier at once.

  “How many are in there?" Boyd studied the doctor, hoping to force an explanation. “Now is a good time to tell us, Glover. Spill your guts. We're running low on time to chit-chat. Those things came from that room you wouldn't let us enter, didn't they?"

  Dr. Glover stammered, then finally spat it out. "It's our storage room of human parts. They were in boxes, sealed up in chemicals. They were dead and going to stay that way. Someone's let them out. Someone woke them up. I-I-I have a living specimen in there chained up for research, but h-he couldn’t have escaped."

  Boyd rushed to the break room, unlocked the door, and discovered a gaping hole in the far wall. Hayden had escaped through to the other side. It was too dark to make sense of what was going on from his standpoint, but Boyd sensed the movement of many bodies through the edges of the breach. Heads peeked through the opening, seeing Boyd. Gobs of saliva foamed down sneering, seething mouths. Retreating back into the hall, Boyd slammed the door short.

  “They want our bodies,” Dr. Glover warned, passing Cindy who stood at the emergency exit. “Hayden must’ve done something to them. All he had to do was open one box, and they’d come awake. The darkness of the boxes and the dim room made them believe they were dead, like in a coffin, but if he opened one, they all sensed it once the light hit their eyes. I had it under control, and that son-of-a-bitch ruined it."

  “We have to leave,” Cindy insisted, shaking Dr. Glover’s arm to the point she almost knocked him to the ground. “It doesn’t matter, they can be destroyed later. Fuck them. Let's save ourselves!"

  “They may never be destroyed,” Dr. Glover said. “Don't you see, I was going to burn that room when we left, and now it’s too late. I can’t do it with them alive. I can't."

  Boyd urged them through the emergency exit, shoving the doctor extra hard to knock some sense into him after overhearing slivers of wood and paneling shatter and break so loud he believed they would soon dismantle the entire wall. The clop of their feet filled the inside of the break room. Only one barrier remained between them and the living dead.

  Everybody stood behind the emergency exit door. The moment the exit shut, a red siren blared. The halls went dark, except for the blaring red lights. The double doors of the break room were forced open. The dead forced their way forward. Faces strangely untouched by experience, so pale and unblemished, turned hideous with an evil and alien lust scrawled into their features. The dead corralled themselves forward, hell-bent to desecrate their bodies.

  Dr. Glover locked the emergency exit door with visibly trembling hands. The moment the door was secure, the moans and unholy hollering matched the thud of fists against emergency exit door.

  “It won’t hold them long,” Dr. Glover warned. “Down the steps, hurry! No time, no fucking time left!"

  They descended the first set of stairs until they came across another door.

  Dr. Glover threw back the passage immediately, lunging through without any hesitation. “This is the access to the tunnel. It leads to a parking lot and the way back outside. I think we're going to make it outside without them catching up."

  The door above then crashed open, the door itself rattling down the steps. Boyd wanted to ask the doctor more questions, but there was no time.

  Dr. Glover guided them down into the straightaway hall and secured the entrance behind them. Seconds later, the dead had reached the final barrier.

  They sprinted to the end of the corridor. This was a lengthy stretch that left them coughing and struggling for breath once they reached the end. Dr. Glover tried the last door, the final barrier between them and the outside. Opening it, a gust of cold air blasted them. Looking on, Boyd spotted a station wagon parked mere feet from the entrance. The car itself was embedded in barbed-wire mesh, layers and layers of it, transforming the car into a piece of post-m
odern art.

  "We need to buy ourselves more time," Boyd said. "Come on, help me."

  Boyd opened the passenger side door. “Wedge out the car seats. We can light them on fire—set a barrier between them and us! Hurry, help me. You said to yourself, doctor, they're covered in embalming fluid. Let's light them up."

  Boyd bent down, removing the front car seat. They rolled it down the hall like an awkward bowling ball. Without having to signal him, Dr. Glover blasted a jet of flames from his flame thrower, like a fire-breathing dragon's breath. The cone of incendiary heat rendered the car seat into a burning pyre.

  Boyd told Cindy, "Get a head start and run, but watch your ass. We're right behind you. Go!"

  “I’m not going without you, Boyd."

  “Move your ass, you got me? Do what I tell you and beat your feet!"

  After Boyd ripped out the passenger car seat, she took the cue, and got moving.

  Boyd tossed the car seat into the hall, and Dr. Glover again cased it in flames.

  Boyd yelled at the doctor. “Cover Cindy, I’m right behind you. Keep your eyes wide open!"

  The doctor did as he was told. Boyd checked the hallway. He assumed the law enforcement role, and in this case, he had two citizens to protect, and he put their lives before his own.

  “Are you coming, Boyd?” Cindy shouted in the distance. “Boyd, answer me!"

  A door crashed open before he could summon a reply. Naked forms, orange in the firelight, tribal in movement, advanced unaffected by the flames until one of them crossed the car seats unknowing of its impending harm. The flames spread across dozens of bodies, the blue-white chemical flames engulfing them. It was disturbing how their faces didn't reflect pain. Their eyes stayed drawn to Boyd.

  More rushed through the fiery barrier, their flesh smoldering and giving way to muscle tissue. Boyd fired random shots from the M-16, hoping they'd be slowed, and then he finally retreated.

  Boyd could see Cindy and Dr. Glover climbing over a military jeep. The whole parking lot was jammed full of vehicles. Fire-lit shapes pursued behind him. They were coming in too fast. Boyd ducked behind a concrete roadblock. Dr. Glover and Cindy waited behind a nearby stack of tires and were happy he was the first to reach them.

  Boyd had an idea.

  “You two take cover. I’m throwing the grenade. Stay down!"

  Boyd pulled the grenade out of his pocket. He ripped out the pin.

  “THREE SECONDS BEFORE IT EXPLODES!”

  Boyd ducked, hands over head.

  BOOOOOOOOOOM!

  The four vehicles ahead of him detonated. The gas tanks ruptured and added to the chaos of explosions. The concussion reverberated underfoot. Shrapnel and barbs flung across the arena of battle, audibly slicing and cutting through dead bodies and wet meat.

  WHUP-WHUM!

  A ball of blue and white flames arched high when a new explosion pounded hard and kicked out a thick mushroom cloud. Fires danced in burner jet fashion. This was his final chance to escape, so Boyd lunged over a set of tires, battling onward to survive.

  Boyd surged ahead, exiting the parking lot. When he caught up with Dr. Glover, the victory was cut short. The flame thrower spat out gobs of fire into a group of the dead awaiting them on the other side.

  They were surrounded.

  And Cindy was missing.

  Hot Pursuit

  Hayden had followed the dead charging after the living. He cleared a stack of tires, hurdling them. Hayden dodged fire and explosions. He navigated his way out of the parking area. Behind him, vehicles spat fire, lifting up from the ground, as tires, and fenders, and glass shot in all directions. Everything in the parking lot was encased in blue and white flames. Silhouettes of bodies were thrown up, a few slamming into the ceiling, while others were blown in half, and still, more were coming to attack the living undeterred.

  Hayden pinpointed the woman, all alone, retreating from the parking structure. She slipped on a patch of mud and hit the ground on all fours. The woman couldn’t make it to her feet, disoriented.

  He noticed movement from the nearby road. More of the dead materialized, roused from other hideaways throughout the perimeter. Fifty were approaching from the dark, while fire-lit beings added to that surmounting total. The man in the lab coat utilized a flame thrower, wielding it successfully.

  The woman still didn’t get up. Hayden took the opportunity. He closed in on her, careful to stay out of eyeshot of the man with the fire gun. A gash bled from her forehead, her face slick with blood. She breathed softly, her sweater torn up at all angles from small cuts from the barbed-wire. Hayden lifted her up, and he heard the man with the flamethrower shout, “Put her down, you cretin!”

  Carrying her in his arms, Hayden sprinted through the dead crowd with the payload. He charged down a nearby hill, slashing through a creek, and clearing a quarter of a mile before slowing down. The man didn’t follow—couldn’t follow. Bursts of orange flickered and died, flickered and died. The fight was unending.

  The woman was heavy in his arms, but the warmth of her body, the smell of her blood—the smell of meat—encouraged Hayden to move further into the large expanse of an open field.

  Hayden questioned his choice of direction. The woods were gone. No cover. Darkness everywhere. The destination ahead was mysterious.

  She spoke dreamily, half-submerged in unconsciousness, “What’s…what’s going on?”

  Hayden dressed up his voice to be soothing, craftily mimicking Boyd's.

  “It’s okay, we’re safe. You took a mean knock to the head earlier. I’m finding a place to hide. Close your eyes and rest for now. It's all behind us."

  The words were effective. Cindy had fell into unconsciousness, at peace. Crossing yet another creek, he turned his ankle on a series of loose rocks treading uphill. His shins were wet with mud, each step a waterlogged clop. Hayden eventually treaded upon land again.

  Racing into darkness, fearing he was going nowhere, or about to hit a perimeter wall, he was reassured by the sight of a flag waving on top of a pole in the distance. Pavement thumped underfoot, instead of earth. A large facility with a tin roof took shape through the lifting shadows. Hayden approached the front access door, and peered through a window into a mess hall. Tables and chairs were stacked with nobody inside to use them.

  Hayden placed the woman on the steps and opened the door to inspect the inside. She was asleep or unconscious, he figured. She’d lost so much blood, he couldn’t be sure, but he couldn't leave her unattended long. He imagined one of the dead things taking hold of her and having their way with her. The potential loss of good clean female meat convinced him to pick her back up into his arms and carry her inside.

  Carrying her still, Hayden weaved through dozens of tables, trying to figure out where to go next. Nothing had been used in the room for a long time, everything covered in a thick layer of dust.

  He came upon the kitchen area. Inside, Hayden rested the woman on the counter top. He searched the place for rope, rifling through shelves and drawers, and failed to locate anything to bind her extremities. Instead, he removed the woman’s stockings and tied her arms together. She was helpless, at his whim like the hookers he drugged back in the day. He wasn’t a torturer, but he gave into that morbid urge to play with his victims on the rare occasions, talking them up as if he' d have mercy on them, or that he'd let them go, or even promising that he'd just take one bite, and yes, he believed them when they said they wouldn't tell the cops about them, and yes, they could go free.

  Other desires bloomed in his mind. How far could the knife enter flesh before they screamed out in mortal terror? What emotions could he drudge up if he ate the woman’s meat in front of her? Could he get her to eat her own skin, and would she take pleasure in it? Could he convince this woman to take pleasure in it, like Brandy had?

  Enough with thoughts.

  Let's carve some flesh.

  Hayden selected a five inch blade and a boning knife from a drawer.

  Not the
best tools. I guess I have to settle for second best.

  Hayden was more interested in eating skin than having sex, but he didn’t avert his eyes when he peered up her skirt and viewed her blue cotton panties. They were dirty, sweat stained, along with the rest of her wardrobe. She needed to be cleaned, but first, he decided to seek out another place. For what he wanted to accomplish with this tempting body, he required zero interruptions.

  He took a moment to plot his next moves. He’d take the woman with him and survey the nearby area for a better hideaway for eating fresh flesh. Carrying her out by the arms and whisking her into the night, Hayden looked forward to the sweet possibilities.

  The Search

  Boyd was thrown onto the ground from behind. Fingers plunged into his clavicle wound. Teeth clamped down on the exposed meat, reaping wicked conflagrations of pain. Cringing through the raw sensations, Boyd drove his elbow into his attacker's face. The corpse was thrown back two steps, but it was already bending its body to pounce yet again.

  “Get down!” Dr. Glover shouted from five yards out. He raised the nozzle of the flame thrower. “I’ll incinerate 'em!"

  A giant ball of orange enshrouded the figures surrounding Boyd. The heat was so intense, their dead skin was immediately downgraded to crispy dermis. Boyd spattered a round of rifle-fire at the incoming horde charging out of the parking garage.

  “They’re coming from everywhere,” Boyd cried out, looking on at the hills, and the streets, and the houses where they kept impeding closer. “How many of these damn things are there?”

  “It’s impossible to say,” Dr. Glover shouted back. “There are more of them being stored throughout this facility as the years go by. I never knew the exact number. Perhaps hundreds. I pray not a thousand."

  Boyd's mind returned to Cindy. "Did you see where Cindy went?"