The Loving Dead

by Amelia Beamer

  Michael dragged Audrey as quickly as he could. The hall bathroom was closer, but his bedroom would be a better option. If they could get there. Audrey moaned, and it was mostly momentum that kept him from dropping her. That was a good sign, though; moaning meant she was close to consciousness. That she was still human. Not enough time had passed for her to start turning, and he didn’t think she’d been bitten anyway. He hoped not, at least.

  Michael dragged Audrey into his bedroom and dropped her on the floor. He went to shut the door and would have made it except for Cameron reaching inside. The hoody Michael had tied Cameron’s hands with had already come off. Michael pushed the door as far closed as he could. Cameron’s gray fingers twitched as Michael leaned against the door, hoping Cameron would get the message. If they could just hole up in the bedroom, he could call an ambulance and Audrey would come around and they could figure out what had really happened that morning and everything would be OK.

  The door was thin, and wouldn’t hold up to anything beyond a good slamming. Michael had been meaning to get a nice, solid one ever since they moved in, something a bit more soundproof, but he couldn’t really justify the cost. Now he wished that he had. And wished that he’d bought a gun, for just this eventuality. Michael knew that owning a gun greatly increased your chances of being shot, and that had always been argument enough. He’d never wanted to own a gun. Except now. Now he really wanted one. Friend or no friend, Cameron had turned on him, and he had to protect himself. Without looking, Michael picked up something from the shelf nearest to the door. It was a cobalt vase he used to store quarters. He beat Cameron’s hands with it, showering the floor with coins. Maybe he broke a few fingers. Cameron didn’t seem to notice. Michael hit him harder. Cameron opened the door a few more inches. This wasn’t going to work.

  Michael abandoned the vase and grabbed Audrey, who moaned again. He dragged her backwards as Cameron came into the bedroom. Moving as fast as he could, Michael opened the sliding door onto the back deck and pulled Audrey out, setting her down to close the sliding door just in time. Cameron beat his hands against the door.

  It wasn’t possible to lock the sliding door from the outside, so it was merely a matter of Cameron figuring out how to open it. If he was the kind of zombie who could figure out doors. Zombies, in every tradition, were kind of dumb.

  He took a second to catch his breath. “Audrey?” he said. She stirred, opening her eyes. “Oh, thank God. Audrey?”

  “Um, hi,” she said. Her smile was large and unconnected to reality. One of her pupils was larger than the other. That couldn’t be good. He had to get her to a hospital. She at least had health insurance. And then maybe they could make it to the old armory in San Francisco, now owned by Kink.com. Or somewhere equally defensible. Despite the bat under his bed, which in hindsight he should have gotten, buried as it was behind old magazines, he’d never expected zombies in his house.

  “Michael?” Audrey reached one hand up, and grabbed Michael’s jeans. She pulled herself up to sitting. “What’s going on?”

  Cameron knocked on the sliding glass door. He grinned, then humped the glass. Michael touched Audrey’s hair, and she smiled up at him. He had to take care of her, damn all of the zombies. She struggled to stand, and he helped her up. She smelled like peppermint soap and morning-after booze. She leaned on Michael, and he turned her so she couldn’t see Cameron. He didn’t want her to freak out.

  “Audrey, honey, you and I are going to go on a little ride.” Michael patted his pocket, and had a moment of panic, trying to remember where his car keys might be. He habitually hung them up on the rack by the front door, where everyone was supposed to leave their keys in case someone needed to move a car. But no, there they were, in his other pocket. He took them out to look at them, just to make sure. Then it was a matter of getting to the car. The deck was right off of the street. Michael tried to decide which part of the wall would be easiest to scale. It was made of wood, stained dark. The house’s owners had built the wall to allow privacy for the hot tub that used to be on this deck. The hot tub went away, his landlord had told him, when the circuits were repurposed to put in an air conditioning system. Not that Michael minded having AC on some days, but he wouldn’t have minded a hot tub. The deck was a small, enclosed space, with a few low-maintenance plants. Normally he used it for storage, but in a cleaning spree before the winter he’d put all of the boxes and crap in the basement, to keep them out of the rain. There was nothing to stand on. Maybe he could knock down one of the walls, so that they could get through, but what if Cameron got out?

  They’d have to scale the wall.

  “I’ll boost you up, and then climb after you,” he said. “Can you do that?”

  Audrey was having a hard time standing. She leaned against Michael. This might not work. Maybe he should call an ambulance instead. The fire department was only a few blocks away; they had ladders.

  Michael took out his phone. There was no signal. Coverage was lousy in the hills.

  “Damn,” he said.

  chapter nine

  The Zeppelin had landed with the cabin at a 45-degree angle. The world was sideways. Kate lay on the wall. The zombies were on top of her, their faces close enough to kiss. Blood dripped from Nora’s open mouth onto Kate’s cheek. Her eyes were so empty. Kate turned away, barely avoiding a bite. Where was her phone? She was really glad that they had tied the zombies’ hands, and she was terrified.

  The window-side of the Zeppelin was now the floor. Under the window, which was smeary with blood, there was dirt and smashed yellow grass, already dry from the California spring. Land. Even if she broke the window, they couldn’t get out that way, unless they dug a hole. That would take too long.

  The zombies moaned, and outside the bathroom door, more zombies moaned. The screams had been so loud earlier. Now it was only moans, soft and pervasive, like a choir of tone-deaf monks. It had happened fast, then.

  “My whip.” Kate said aloud. She managed to stand, planting a foot on each of the zombies. It seemed safe to look away, so she looked to Walter. He was passed out, slumped on the toilet. His weight rested mostly on his head. Kate winced, realizing that he’d taken the brunt of the landing in his spine. He really was going to need to see his chiropractor. “Walter?” she said. Then louder. She reached over and slapped him, gently at first. His nose started bleeding. Kate fought back tears. The zombies moaned and twitched under her feet, threatening her balance. Surely one of them was lying on her phone. It occurred to her that she didn’t actually know Michael’s phone number. It was programmed into her phone. Kate steadied herself by putting a hand against the wall, which was sort of the ceiling. One of her feet was sinking. She wouldn’t look down, didn’t want to see her foot squishing into intestines. Blood was soaking into her shoes. It was still warm.

  Kate took a breath. Escape was so close. The Zeppelin had finally landed, and they could get away: all they had to do was get out of the bathroom, and then out of the Zeppelin, and they could figure out where they were and hitchhike or call a damn cab—they couldn’t have drifted that far—and get somewhere safe. And now Walter looked half dead—was he even breathing? Kate put a finger under his nose. She couldn’t tell.

  “Walter,” she whispered. She realized that she actually cared about this guy. He looked so vulnerable. Despite all of their bedroom activities, she’d never seen him sleep. Not that he was asleep now, exactly, but that his face was arranged in something like rest. Except for the blood dripping down his cheek.

  Maybe going crazy wasn’t a terrible option. That would absolve her of responsibility. And maybe she wouldn’t be aware of being disemboweled and eaten, though surely the pain would bring her back. She tried to reason, tried to breathe. Her clothes and hands were smeared with vomit; the room reeked. It was stifling. Her phone, that was first on the list. She looked around the cockeyed bathroom, feeling woozy. There, the phone was in the sink. She grabbed for it, cursing. It was wet. She cursed again. The screen had gone
dark. She stabbed at it, trying to turn it back on. She shook it.

  Chutzpah, she thought. “Whapeesh,” she said, gesturing with the phone. Then again, louder. “Hold still,” she said loudly.

  The zombies grabbed at her jeans, pulling her towards them. Kate panicked. She stepped on Christine’s head, trying to bash in her skull with the soft rubber soles of her Chuck Taylors, wishing she wore Doc Martens. She braced herself against the sink—the handrail was on the ground somewhere—and jumped, landing her heels on the zombie’s face, then again. Again. Until there were crunching sounds. She didn’t want to look, but had to. Christine’s face was a bloody mess, her nose broken. Some bone fragments must have lodged themselves into her brain. She lay still. Nora let out a howl. Kate jumped again, holding onto the sink for balance, and brought her weight down on the other zombie’s face. Kate’s mind was blank, only dimly aware of the task at hand. She could feel teeth and bone through the soles of her shoes. Her feet were wet. She kept going until both zombies were quiet. She dared not believe they were actually down for the count; they might come back. The undead were like that. She and Walter had to get out of there.

  “Walter?” She grabbed his hand, pulled at it.

  “Wha?” he said, without opening his eyes.

  “Walter, wake up,” she said. “I’m begging you, wake up. Please.”

  His eyelids fluttered. Kate saw that his eyelashes were awfully long, and was surprised that she’d never noticed before. Good eyelashes were always wasted on men. She touched his cheek, wiping the blood away. “Walter. Sweetheart. Please. Come back.”

  His eyes opened. Kate had a rush of fear that his eyes would be white; that the fall had killed him and he was coming back as one of them. But his eyes were blue, like normal, and bloodshot. That wasn’t normal, but she could work with that.

  “Are you okay?” she said. “Can you sit up?”

  “Ugh,” Walter said. “Ow.” He was at least alive. “Gross,” he said, looking at the zombies. “Rough landing.”

  Kate wiped her hands on her jeans and helped him to sit up. “We have to go,” she said. She gestured to the bathroom door, which was now closer to the ceiling. “Can you stand up?” She thought of the Passenger Briefing card—there were two exits on the Zeppelin. One was just across from the bathroom.

  Walter made a face. “Ow,” he said. Kate pulled him up, and he stumbled a little as his feet landed on a zombie. It made a squishy noise. “Come on, we have to go. Can you walk?” Kate held Walter’s hand, trying to steady him.

  “You know, I was planning on asking you for a late lunch after our little outing, but I rather would like to go home, I think.”

  Kate pulled at the door, and a man’s body fell inward, knocking them both down. The Zeppelin rocked from the motion. Kate couldn’t tell if he was alive or dead, zombie or person. “Whapeesh,” she said, gesturing with the phone out of habit. “Hold still.” The light came back on, against all odds, and the phone emitted its own whapeesh. Kate screamed in triumph. The zombie held still. His eyes were vacant and white. He opened his mouth. Kate struggled out from under him, and tugged on Walter’s hand. He acquiesced.

  “Let’s go, let’s get out of here.” She pulled herself up out of the bathroom, brandishing her phone. The girl with the pink hair was lying right outside. She smiled and reached towards Kate. “Hold still,” Kate shouted, whipping her phone. “Keep still.” The zombie obeyed, disappointed. Her eyes tracked Kate. “Hold still,” Kate said. She pulled Walter after her.

  The cabin was full of zombies. Most of them were still in their seats, with their seatbelts strapped. They moaned and struggled. Maybe they weren’t smart enough to free themselves, or maybe they were just waiting for someone to give them permission to undo their seatbelts. “Keep still,” she told them. The floor was smeared with blood and offal. The smell was only marginally better than it had been in the bathroom. The exit was just on the other side of the cabin. Kate tried to find purchase to climb up the floor. Her hands slipped. Unable to stop herself, she vomited. The watery puke ran downhill. Tears slipped from her eyes. She wiped her face with her arm and spat. The flight attendant, now a zombie, was moaning. He struggled to his knees. Part of his face was missing. He didn’t seem to notice.

  “Come on,” Kate said. “Walter, come on.” She put the phone in her mouth, holding her breath as her stomach rose again. With both hands she reached up and caught hold of the base of an empty chair, and pulled herself towards it.

  “Walter?” Kate looked back. He was lying on the slanted floor, covered in muck. The flight attendant was reaching for his face, as if to caress him. Kate put out a hand, and Walter took it. His fingers were slimy; she had to grip him by the wrist. Kate pulled, bracing against the chair. It was a good thing he was slender. The flight attendant climbed after them.

  Kate stood on the chair, and reached towards the door. It took a moment to figure out. Finally, she unlatched it and pushed it open. She climbed out and slid down the side of the Zeppelin. Walter slid down after her, and she managed to roll out of the way in time. The door banged shut.

  They lay for a while in the dirt and grass, catching their breath. Kate wiped her hands on the ground. Dirt stuck to her skin. Wiping her hands on her grimy clothes wasn’t any better. She spat. Her throat hurt, and her mouth tasted of stomach acid and bile. Her water bottle was in her bag, lost to the Zeppelin. She allowed herself a moment to imagine the hotel room at the Claremont. A long shower. Two bathrobes smelling of cotton and bleach. They could throw their mucky clothes out the window. Order room service, enough food for an orgy. Plus a bottle of wine. No, two at least. They could hide out behind that sturdy hotel door until this whole zombie business blew over. Maybe get a room with a hot tub, if the Claremont did that. It was a stupid idea, but she held the image in her mind as if it was safety itself. She wouldn’t let herself think about what she’d done to the women in the bathroom. She wouldn’t.

  She sat up on the grass, and for the first time she saw the view: San Francisco enshrouded in fog, islands and bridges in the distance, a telephone pole. Telephone wires sliced the view of the Bay. They were lucky not to have landed on the wires, which were about as tall as the hill. The blimp’s hull was wedged against two tall evergreens at the eastern edge. The hill was flat and just large enough. They were lucky, Kate thought. They must be in the Oakland/Berkeley hills; further to the east the ground turned to soft valleys for a long time. California’s breadbasket, the Central Valley. And beyond that, the Sierras.

  The ground gave off a baked-dirt smell. It was patchy with grass that had gone to seed, with waist-high thistle bushes intermixed. A group of gnats moved in a tight circle for reasons only they knew. Birds sang. That seemed weird; they should be quiet, the way they were before an earthquake. The afternoon sun was warm. She stood to get a better look at the land. The hill sloped down towards a snakelike two-lane road not far below. It seemed familiar, but all of the roads up in the hills curved like that. She walked further, avoiding the thistle bushes. There was an empty parking lot below the hill. It looked familiar. Beside it was a small wooden building: a chemical toilet. There was a fence made from wooden posts. There was a sign. It couldn’t be. It was. She gave a cheer. “Walter, I know where we are! We’re at the start of the Huckleberry trail!”

  “Set the damn thing on fire,” Walter said. His voice was weak. He lay on the ground, looking rumpled and old. He looked at the Zeppelin with righteous indignation. It had betrayed him. She wondered if he’d demand his money back. If there would be anyone left to demand money back from.

  Kate knelt by Walter. “You’ll set the hills on fire if you do that. Plus, it’s helium, we went over that already. And do you even have a lighter?” He didn’t smoke, not that she knew of.

  “The door doesn’t latch from the outside, now, does it?” he said in a professorial tone. Sometimes he liked to put Kate in her place.

  “Maybe they’re not smart enough to figure it out?” Kate looked at the d
oor. The flight attendant looked back at her through the windowpane. What remained of him, anyway. The Zeppelin was laid out on the hilltop like a sacrifice to some steampunk god. “What do we do?” she asked, not expecting him to answer.

  “You go, and I’ll stay here and keep watch.” He started humming “Taps,” the trumpet solo she used to have to play when the high school marching band did the Memorial Day ceremony. He sounded so melancholy that she shivered.

  “Damn you. That’s ridiculous, and you know it. I’ll call 911.” She checked her phone. No service. “Shit. You have any bars?”

  He took his phone from his pocket. “No.” He tossed it onto the dirt. “Motherfucker, can you hear me now?” he yelled.

  Kate picked it up. Walter carried the newest iPhone. She put it in her pocket. He wasn’t thinking clearly. “We’re less than a mile from my house,” she said. “Ten minutes, tops. Can you walk that far, my dear?” Sometimes sweet talk helped with him.

  “Zombies,” he said. “Zombies.” His voice was flat. She was sure he hadn’t been bitten. It must be shock.

  “Screw them. There’s nothing we can do here, and we need to get somewhere to call the cops. We have a magicJack phone, a landline.” She helped him to sit up. She was exhausted. She needed to get back and check on Michael. And maybe she and Walter could both grab a shower, maybe some food; there might be leftover pizza, and there was soup, because when soup was a dollar a can, you bought it. Surely Michael had some clothes that would fit Walter, though it would be loose on him. The mental image of Walter wearing Michael’s sweatshirt and jeans didn’t sit right in Kate’s mind. Too close for comfort. Never mind the zombies that were at the house. She’d never taken Walter home before, and it occurred to her that she’d had reasons. She had different reasons now, not just her messy room and her messy housemates, all the details of her messy life.