According to the timestamp on the security footage, it was time to leave. I stood up. My eyes landed on the television as it cycled through more footage from the security cams. The cafeteria appeared on screen. A few zombies lingered in the building but it looked like the three of us could take ‘em. There wasn’t much in Mr. Bixby’s office that would be of use to us except the golf clubs. Each of us grabbed one and followed Reagan through the secret exit.
She led us outside and we all assumed the faux-zombie shuffle we used to make it to Mr. Bixby’s office. We moved through the crowd, undisturbed on our way to the cafeteria. It was located in building Three, the shortest building on the lot, standing only one story with windows like the office building. The layout inside was fairly simple. There was the kitchen and a hallway with the bathrooms that wrapped around in a circle, leading back into the dining hall. The dining hall was a large open space with circular tables and chairs scattered throughout. A long buffet lined the wall that separated the dining hall and the hallway, stocked with almost any food you could imagine. It was the place where every employee on The Bixby Network’s payroll could eat free meals at any time of the day.
Reagan stopped in front of a metal cellar door in the rear of Building Three. She quickly tapped in numbers on its keypad, opened it, and started down a set of stairs into a dimly lit corridor. We walked along for a while until we reached another door. She opened it and another set of stairs appeared that ended at the ceiling. Light filtered through the cracks in the floor above through a trap door. Reagan climbed the stairs with slow, measured steps. I followed her, my sweaty hand holding onto the golf club tightly. Brendan was close behind. The stairs narrowed the closer we were to reaching the door above us. Reagan stopped when there was nowhere left for her to go but up. She handed her golf club to me and pushed against the ceiling until it lifted, casting more light on us. She peeked through the crack she created, scanning from one side to the other.
“It’s safe. Come on,” she whispered to us and pushed the door as she walked up another step. More light flooded into the passage. She climbed up the rest of the stairs and stood on the side of the opening, extending a hand to help me up. I handed the two clubs to Brendan and took Reagan’s hand. She stepped aside to make room for me as she guided me up and I did the same to make room for Brendan. He handed us our golf clubs before we shimmied aside for him to close the door. It blended seamlessly into the tiled floor again.
We were in a cramped supply closet, standing with mops in buckets, brooms, paper towels, toilet paper, and enough bottles of cleaning stuff to keep the building spotless for at least another millennium. We shuffled around again to make room for the three of us to fit with the well-stocked shelves.
“Do you know where we are in the building?” I whispered to Reagan. The closet door was closed but I didn’t want to take any chances with our safety.
“Do I look like an architect?” she whispered back. “No, I don’t know where we are. Let me look.” She tiptoed toward the door, opening it a crack and peeked into the hallway. She closed it quickly and turned back to us.
“I think we’re in the back hallway.”
“How far away from the kitchen are we?” I asked.
“Not far. We should be fine getting there from here.”
“Okay.” I waved for them to come closer to me. “We’re here to get food. Enough to last for a couple of days. Nothing too heavy and nothing that will go bad quickly. Get just enough so that we don’t starve. We have to keep our strength up. We can get more when we’re somewhere safe.”
Both of them knitted their eyebrows. They had questions.
“We can’t bring too much stuff with us. It’ll weigh us down and make us easy targets,” I explained.
“Makes sense,” Reagan said nodding. “But when will we be able to find food again?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then shouldn’t we get enough now, just in case we don’t find food later on?” Brendan asked.
“We don’t have anything to carry it all in. I shouldn’t have left my bag behind in Props,” I sighed.
“Here, I think I’ve found something.” Brendan reached over my head and pulled down a box from one of the shelves. He took a few clear trash bags from it, handing a bag to Reagan and one to me before putting the box back on the shelf.
“I think we should open the trap door again. In case we don’t have time to open it later. We need to be on our toes from here on out. Danger is everywhere.” I shivered at my own words. There were zombies in the cafeteria. I’d seen them on the security footage. Once the storage closet door opened, we had to be prepared to fight.
We shifted in the tight space to give Reagan room to get the door open again, shuffling to either side of the opening to avoid falling in the hole in the floor. The three of us looked at each other. Brendan cocked a nervous grin and Reagan bit her lip. We all knew we couldn’t stall much longer but none of us wanted to leave.
I took a step forward and set my golf club down beside the doorframe.
“What’re you doing?” Brendan asked.
“I can’t carry the club and the bag at the same time. I have to leave something behind. You two have my back, right?”
“Of course.” Brendan nodded. He looked to Reagan who bit down on her lip again, her eyes darting from me to the floor. Brendan bumped her arm with his elbow causing her to nod.
“I have your backs too.” I flashed a half-smile and went over to the door. I took a deep breath. I had no idea what was waiting on the other side of the door but I opened it wide enough to slide into the hallway. I should’ve opened it a little wider since I bumped my shoulder on the way out. I bit my lip to muffle a quiet whimper.
I stayed close to the wall and surveyed my surroundings. We were in the back hallway where the restrooms were located. Not too far from the kitchen as Reagan had said. The kitchen was a few yards away. I pressed my back against the wall and looked in front of me. Zombies wandered past the large windows. Not all of their faces were familiar. I had to move slowly not to attract their attention through the glass.
My heart raced but I couldn’t let fear get the best of me. I had to focus. I drew in another deep breath, filling my lungs to capacity and let the air out slowly, shaking my head to collect my nerves.
Get the food. Get the car. Get mom.
I put on my game face and turned toward the kitchen, immediately spotting another challenge. I’d forgotten about the break in the wall that led to the kitchen from the dining hall.
Reagan and Brendan slithered out of the door and joined me.
“What’s the hold u—“ Reagan’s question was cut short by a gasp. She froze at my side.
“We have to be as quiet as possible,” I whispered. Brendan nodded silently but Reagan didn’t respond. Her eyes never left the zombies outside the window.
“Reagan, do you hear me? Reagan?”
Her eyes flickered to me and she nodded. “Quiet.”
I took a breath and crept forward, pausing at the end of the wall. I peeked into the other room. Five zombies were in there: two by the entrance, one on the far side of the room, and two at the buffet, staring at the food on display that was on the verge of spoiling. I held my breath as I swiftly moved past the opening.
I made it to the kitchen without a peep and waved Reagan forward. She moved quickly, joining me without a sound. Brendan followed, crossing the space in three steps of his long stride. All of us must’ve been holding our breath as we moved toward the kitchen because once we were there safely, there was a collective exhale before we began quietly raiding the steel cabinets.
The kitchen was stocked with more than the three of us could eat in a dozen lifetimes. I had to resist the urge to throw as much stuff as I could fit into my bag. Reagan and Brendan didn’t show as much restraint. Going against my orders, they loaded their bags with so much food, the thin plastic threatened to burst. They must’ve emptied two or three cabinets apiece. My bag was filled with pr
ocessed junk but most of it had an expiration date of . Though I would’ve liked one of the shiny red apples sitting in a crate on one of the counters, it wouldn’t last. Junk food was better than starving.
I checked the clock above the industrial stove.
“Guys, we need to get moving,” I whispered as I tossed a bag of pretzels into my bag and hoisted it over my good shoulder.
Brendan stuffed a few more things into his bag and tied it off. He picked up his golf club with his other hand. “I’m set. Reagan?”
She threw her bag over her shoulder. “Ready.”
“Great. Let’s go.” I turned to head back out of the kitchen and stopped dead in my tracks.
Reagan gasped from behind me. Brendan muttered swears. The pair of zombies from the buffet had wandered toward the kitchen. Their heads tilted at unnatural angles; rot running from their mouths. They were slow in their approach and far enough away that we could get out but where would we go? They blocked the door to the supply closet. I turned to see if there was another way to escape. There was a door at the far end of the room, near the sinks and dishwasher, but it led outside and right into the legion of zombies hanging out there. That was a no-go.
In one quick move, Brendan handed off his bag to Reagan and had his golf club at the ready. He dashed past me, bumping me into one of the tables. A stack of dishes crashed on the floor arousing moans and growls from the other room. They knew we were here.
“I’ve got this!” Brendan said as he charged the zombies. He swung the club, striking the old guy zombie with a beer belly dressed in a fugly Hawaiian shirt in the head. He went down in a fit of twitches and jerks. Brendan removed the putter from the man’s skull and swung it at the other zombie, a woman with graying hair wearing the same ugly shirt. She put up more of a fight than her companion. She growled at Brendan, chomping her teeth as he went to hit her again and missed. He swung the club again, this time hitting her. He did it again and again until she was down and there was no possibility of her getting back up.
“Come on.” Brendan waved us toward him as he lifted the club over his shoulder, bits of brain dripping from it onto the floor.
Reagan hustled, dropping her club and carrying the two heavy bags with her as she passed me. I didn’t have time to pick it up on my way out of the kitchen. The moans from the other room were getting louder. Growls came from the other end of the hallway where I spotted another zombie waiting—a little girl with pigtails in one of theDia of the Dead shirts that were sold in the studio’s gift shop.
Brendan helped Reagan over the bodies on the ground into the supply closet.
I stepped over the broken dishes, ready to follow them inside when I heard yapping coming from the restrooms at the end of the hall where the little girl stood decaying.
I know those yaps.
I took off, stepping over the bodies, slipping a bit on the black liquid that pooled on the floor near their heads but managed to stay on my feet. I ran past the middle-aged zombie who was making his way toward the kitchen from the dining room. I bypassed the open door of the supply closet—tossing my bag to Brendan as he and Reagan yelled for me to get in there. But I didn’t stop. My body was on autopilot, moving on its own while my brain was focused on the yapping from a moment ago. I kept running. The little girl with the pigtails didn’t move. She stood at the end of the hallway, dangerous dark eyes on me. Her meal was being delivered. At the exact moment I reached for the bathroom door, she leapt forward, letting out a fierce snarl and broke into a quick sprint. If I had opened the door a second later, she would’ve taken a bite of my arm though she was missing her two front teeth.
I closed the door behind me and moved a garbage can in front of it. The yapping turned into barking.
A “shhhhh” came from one of the stalls. The barking stopped with a yelp.
“Frank?” I asked, cautiously walking past several stalls.
“Dia?” a familiar voice called.
“Mom?” I ran to the last stall and swung the door open.
“Mom!” I gasped, covering my mouth. Trisha Summers huddled in a corner of the stall. She leaned against the wall, her face drenched in sweat. The front of her shirt covered in splattered blood and a trail of black goo the color of the puddle beside her. I rushed over to her, ignoring the growls and scratching at the bathroom door.
“No!” she said, pushing me back as I tried to kneel beside her. “Stay back.”
I moved away, looking her over. “Mom, why are you here? What’re you doing here? I thought I told you I—”
“I said I’d meet you at eight.” She smiled weakly.
I wanted to yell at her for not listening to me. I wanted to call her “hardheaded” like she would’ve called me if I disobeyed her but all I could manage was, “What happened? What happened to you?”
“A bite.” She drew in a long breath and began coughing. Black liquid dribbled down her chin. She lifted up her arm for me to see.
“NO!” I screamed, looking at the wound on her arm. “NO! NO! NO!”
“Shhhh. It’ll be alright, honey. It’ll be fine.” She spoke slowly, not sounding like herself. Her voice was weak and lacking too much sass to belong to Trisha Summers.
“No, Mom. It won’t be all right,” I sobbed. “It won’t be fine. Nothing’s going to be fine ever again.”
I couldn’t stop the tears if I wanted to.
“It will be once you get out of here. Out of the city. I watched those movies you had. The people usually do better once they get out into a rural area. You said you were with Reagan, Brendan, and Kaci. You all have to stick together.”
She coughed up more black liquid and struggled to lift her arm to point to something behind me. “Grab that bag over there.”
I turned around and found a black duffle bag with Frank curled up on it. I went over to it, shooed Frank aside, and picked it up. It was heavier than it looked.
“Open it.” She coughed.
I sat it back on the floor and unzipped it. Sitting on top of everything was a small black gun.
“Do it,” Mom said from behind me. I looked at her over my shoulder. The blue rash had begun to take over her brown skin. Everyone changed at different rates. Some faster than others. I didn’t know how quickly it would affect mom but I knew time was running out.
“I can’t,” I said through tears.
“You have to. I know what happens after you’re bitten. I-I-I’ve seen it. I want you to remember me as me. Trisha Summers: fly diva, cool mom.” She tried laughing but it was more like a choking gurgle. “Not as one of them.”
My body shook with silent sobs. I couldn’t do it for Kaci, and I certainly wouldn’t be able to do it for my own mother. Though there was nothing I could to stop it, I didn’t want to my last memory of her to be what she was asking of me.
“Mom, I can’t. Mom, I—“ I turned around to face her. She began to shake.
It felt like all of the air had been sucked out of the room. Time slowed down as I looked into the bag again and pulled out the gun. I wasn’t expecting it to be so heavy. I hated the way it felt in my hand. It was as deadly and dangerous as what my mom would become. I closed my eyes and whispered my goodbyes to Trisha Summers. I reopened them to a room blurred by tears. I aimed the shaking barrel at my mother. She’d stopped convulsing. Instead she leaned against the wall completely still. She looked like she was just taking a nap. Dreaming about something she loved—shoes, books, Frank, and me. She looked peaceful.
Seconds ticked by, feeling like hours. I promised myself to remember everything about her except this moment. I promised to remember Trisha Summers the way she was and not the monster that blinked open black eyes. I inhaled sharply, steadied my hand and squeezed the trigger. A loud pop ended the low growl a few feet from me. Just like that, I’d lost everything I had in the world.
FIFTEEN
I dropped the gun and doubled over, puking caviar on the floor. I wiped my lip with the back of my hand and looked at mom. I wanted to run to
her. Wrap my arm around her. Squeeze her. Rock her. Stay with her forever.
I didn’t.
My feet were planted on the ground. The small hole in her forehead and the gore on the wall behind her kept me away. All my plans had come undone. I’d been so set on rescuing my mother that I hadn’t thought about what would happen if I weren’t able to. There was no room for that thought before but it was all I could think about now. I just knew I’d be able to get to her, be with her and we’d be able to figure the next step out together. Like always.
I wasn’t like Dia Muerto at all. She was a hero. She came through in a crunch to save the day. I was nothing. I had failed both her and my mother.
A metallic screech snapped me back to reality. The garbage can in front of the door had moved. The little zombie girl had finally made her way inside. She growled as she stalked forward, passing the row of sinks on her way to us. Frank whimpered and ran away from the stall’s open door. I wanted to stand there and let her do what zombies did. I wanted to give up. Frank whimpered quietly. I looked down at his brown eyes. He was a good pup and didn’t deserve to be zombie chow. I shook my head in attempt to clear away the darkness. My focus shifted to Frank. He was all I had now. I slowly moved out of view, dragging the duffle bag with my foot.
“Frank,” I hissed as I pulled the bag closer and tried to coax him inside. He must’ve sensed the danger we were in. He hopped into the bag; listening to me for once instead of thinking I wanted to play a game. I struggled with the bag, trying to get it across my body with one arm and the added weight. I shifted it to my right side and reached for the gun with the left hand. I almost had it when the girl let out a wild growl.
Dia of the Dead Page 16