by Max Danzig
“Bottom line here,” Peter said, raising his voice. Everyone turned and gave him their full attention, “is we need to look after ourselves first and then think about anyone else who might still be alive.”
“But shouldn't we look for other survivors now?” someone else asked.
"I agree we should get a beacon going," he said, "but there's no point in wasting time looking for other people yet. If there are others, then they'll have more of a chance finding us than us finding them."
“Why do you say that?” Debbie asked.
“It stands to reason,” Peter stated. “Does anyone know how many people lived in this area?”
A couple of seconds silence followed before someone answered.
“There are between thirty and forty thousand people in this town, and there's twenty-five of us here.” Peter said
“So?” said Jason fidgeting.
“So what does that say to you?”
Jason shrugged his shoulders.
“It says to me,” Peter continued, “that looking for anyone else would be like looking for a needle in a haystack.”
Steve nodded in agreement.
“What's outside?” Peter asked.
No response. He looked at the faces gathered around him and glanced across the room at Peter.
“I'll tell you,” he mumbled, “there's nothing. The only people I've seen moving since all of this began are sitting in this community center. But we don't know if it's over yet. We don't know if we will wake up tomorrow. We don't know if what happened to the rest of them will happen to us.”
“Come on,” Jason protested, “we don’t need to hear bullshit like that. You're not doing anyone any favors talking like that...”
“Think about this then.” Peter interrupted. “Since this started have any of you heard a plane or helicopter pass overhead?”
Again, no response.
“The airport's only a few miles from here. If there were any planes flying, we'd have heard them. Anyone hear a plane flying today?”
Silence.
“So how many people do you think were affected?” Steve asked.
“If this was the only region affected,” Peter answered, “it’s logical to think help would've arrived by now. Right?”
“What are you saying?” a man named Tim asked.
Peter shrugged his shoulders.
“I guess I'm saying this is a regional disaster at the very least. The lack of air traffic makes me think it could be at the national level.”
An awkward murmur of stark realization rippled across the group.
“Peter’s right,” Rachel said. “This thing spread so fast there's no way of knowing how large of an area was affected. It was so fast I doubt anything could have been done to prevent it from spreading before it was too late.”
“But this area might be too infected to travel to,” Tim said, his voice strained and frightened. “They might have sealed off this region.”
“Maybe, but it's unlikely,” Peter said.
“So what are you saying that we’re all alone?” Tim asked.
“Yes,” Peter answered.
“So what do we do?” female voice asked from the middle of the group.
“I think we should get away from here,” Peter said. “Look, if I'm being honest I'm just thinking about myself here and the rest of you should make up your own minds. I'm not prepared to sit here and wait for help that's never coming, surrounded by hundreds of dead bodies. I want to get out of this town and find somewhere safe, and see if there’s anyone I know left alive.”
Chapter 11
Peter spent the first five hours of the following morning trying to find somewhere comfortable to sleep. When he rested, he only slept two hours before waking up feeling worse. He'd been lying on the cold floor and every bone in his tired body ached. The main community center was uncomfortably cold. He had a thick winter jacket wrapped around him but he was still cold. At the moment he hated everything, but he hated this time of day most of all.
It was dark, and in the early morning shadows he saw shuffling shapes where he knew there were none. As much as he tried to block the images of what happened outside, they kept invading his thoughts. He tried not to think about his family because he didn't know if they were still alive. His job? That no longer existed, and he realized the people in his office must be dead. His friends must have died too and with them gone were the fun weekend outings they enjoyed together.
With no power, he could no longer see his favorite shows and programs on TV. Besides, they wouldn't be broadcasting even if there was power, he thought. At this point he didn't even want to hum the tune to his favorite songs because it made him remember all that was lost. It hurt too much to dwell on everything. Although gone for only a couple of days, it hurt to think they're now lost forever.
In desperation he stared into the darkness and tried to concentrate on listening to the silence. He thought that by focusing on nothing the pain would go away. It didn't work. It didn't matter which direction he stared in, all he could see were the faces of other desperate survivors staring back at him through the darkness. He was not alone with his painful insomnia.
The first golden rays of morning sunlight edged into the room. The light trickled in through a series of small rectangular windows positioned at equal distances along the longest wall of the main community center. Each of the windows was protected on the outside by a layer of heavy wire mesh.
There was a back window rendered opaque by a layer of spray paint compliments of a bunch of punk kids making their lame statement proclaiming that this was their turf. Peter found it unnerving to think those kids were now dead.
He didn't want to move, but he knew he had to go. He needed to use the toilet but first he needed to summon the courage to get up and go. It was cold, and he didn't want to wake any of the survivors who managed to find some sleep.
The community center was so quiet that no matter how careful he was, everyone could hear every step he took in his heavy shoes. When he got to the bathroom, he found the toilets didn't flush anymore because the water supply stopped working. The group used a few small chemical toilets which someone found with the Boy Scout's supplies.
Even though it had been in use for less than a day it already stank with a noxious combination of strong chemical detergent and stagnating human waste. He couldn't put it off any longer, he had to go. He tried to make the short journey seem easier by convincing himself the sooner he was up the sooner he'd get done and get back to his spot. Strange that in the face of the enormity of the disaster outside, even the easiest everyday task now seemed an impossible mountain to climb.
He grabbed hold of a nearby wooden bench with his outstretched right hand; he hauled himself up onto unsteady feet. For a few seconds he did nothing except stand there to get his balance. He shivered in the cold and then took a few stumbling steps through the half-light towards the toilets. He would be twenty-nine in three weeks. This morning he felt eighty-nine.
Outside the toilet he paused and took a deep breath before opening the door. He glanced to his right through a small window on the side entrance door; and he was sure something moved outside the window.
A shadow beyond the glass moved. For a moment he froze.
Peter ignored the nagging pain in his bladder and pressed his face hard against the dirty glass and peered out through the layers of spray paint and mesh. He squinted into the light.
There it was again.
Forgetting about the cold, his aching bones and his full bladder, he unlocked the back door and wrenched it open. He burst out into the cold morning air and sprinted across the parking lot, stopping at the edge of the road. On the opposite side of the street, was a man walking at a shuffling pace away from the community center.
Chapter 12
The First Mutation
“What's the matter?” a voice asked, startling Peter. It was Eddie Cook. He and three other survivors heard Peter opening the door. Concerned, they followed
him outside.
“Over there,” Peter replied, pointing towards the figure in the near distance and taking a few slow steps forward. “Hey,” he shouted, hoping to attract his attention before he disappeared from view. “Hey you!”
No response.
Peter glanced over at the other survivors before turning to run after the shuffling man. Within a few seconds he caught up as the solitary figure was moving at a very slow and deliberate pace.
“Hey,” he shouted, “didn't you hear me?”
Still no response. The man continued walking away.
“Hey,” Peter said a little louder, “are you all right? We saw you walking past and...”
As he spoke he reached out and grabbed hold of the man's arm. As soon as he applied any force, the figure stopped walking. Other than that he didn't move. The man stood still, seeming not to know Peter was there. Peter thought the lack of response was due to shock.
“Leave him,” one of the other survivors shouted. “Get back inside.”
Peter wasn't listening. Instead, he turned the man around until they were face to face.
“Fuck...” was all he could say as he stared deep into the cold, milky glazed eyes of a corpse. It defied all logic, but there was no doubt in his terrified mind that the man standing in front of him looked dead. His skin was blue-grey, and blood dried in a crust around his mouth, chin and the front of his shirt.
Repulsed and in shock, Peter let go of the man's arm and stumbled backwards, tripped and fell flat on his ass. From his seat on the cold roadway, he watched as the figure staggered off again, moving as if there was lead in its shoes.
“Peter,” Eddie Cook yelled from the entrance of the community center, “Get back inside now, we're closing the door.”
Peter got to his feet and sprinted towards the others. As he approached, he could see more figures moving in the distance. It was obvious by their slow, stilted movements that, like the first man he'd seen, these people weren't survivors either.
He stopped on the sidewalk close to the community center parking entrance. The others had already disappeared back into the community center. He could hear them yelling at him to come inside but in his disbelief, and confusion, it didn't register with him. He stood staring out towards the main road, preoccupied by the impossible sight he now saw in front of him.
Peter noticed many of the corpses that had littered the area near the community center had reanimated and were moving. He wondered if they really had been dead or in a coma. A confusing jumble of thoughts and questions flooded his mind.
“For Christ's sake, get in here!” yelled another survivor from the community center, their voice hoarse with fear.
As if to prove a point, a corpse on the sidewalk ten feet away from him, moved. The tip of the fingers on one outstretched hand twitched, and the body stretched and began to tremble. As Peter stared in silent disbelief, the fingers began shaking as if shocked with electric current and then clawed at the ground.
The shuddering movement spread along one arm as if it were awakening. Soon the entire body was quivering with hitches and jerks. With a sudden jolt the body sat upright. It lifted itself up from the ground and stood swaying on unsteady feet. Once upright it staggered away, passing within a foot of where Peter stood. The thing didn't even seem to realize he was there.
Terrified, Peter turned and ran back inside the community center.
Chapter 13
In seconds the news spread to all the survivors. People ran to the windows throughout the building while others peered out the open door before slamming it shut again.
Steve Marshall, refusing to believe what he heard, climbed out onto the flat roof he stood on the night before.
It was true; most of the bodies had gotten up and moved. Steve stood and surveyed the same desperate scene he'd observed less than twelve hours earlier and saw that most of the cold, dead corpses he'd seen earlier had disappeared. He looked over at the place where the boy with the crooked neck had died.
He was gone.
Chapter 14
Almost an hour passed before anyone dared to move.
The survivors, already shell-shocked by all they had been through, stood together in terror and disbelief and tried to come to terms with the morning's events.
Jason, the authoritative one ready to take control the night before, now had the most trouble accepting what was happening today. He was trying to persuade Rachel, Steve, Peter and Ann Vachon, a thirty-nine-year-old primary school teacher, not to open the door and go back outside.
“But we have to go out, Jason,” Rachel said, calmly. “We need to find out what's going on out there.”
“I'm not interested in going out there,” the frightened man snapped. “I don't care what's happening. There's no way I will go out there and risk...”
“Risk what?” Peter interrupted. “No one's asking you to go outside.”
“Opening that door is enough of a risk in itself,” Fordham said, joining Jason. He chewed on the fingers of his left hand as he spoke. “Keep the door shut and keep them out.”
“We can't take any chances by exposing ourselves to those things...” Jason protested.
“Things?” Rachel repeated angrily. “Those things,” she said making air quotes with both hands, “as you call them are people. Your friends and family could be out there...”
“Those bodies have been lying dead on the ground for two days!” Jason yelled his face just inches from hers.
“How do you know they were dead?” Peter asked, calmly. “Did you check them all? Did you check any of them for a pulse before you shut yourself away in here?”
“You know as well as I do that...” Jason started
“Did you?” Peter asked again. Jason shook his head. “And have you ever seen a dead body walk before?”
This time Jason didn't answer. He turned away and leaned against the nearest wall.
"Jesus, Peter," Mike Fordham, a barrel chested, middle-aged real estate agent said, "of course we've never seen fucking dead bodies walking, but..."
“But what?”
“But I've never seen anyone drop to the ground and not get up for two days either. Face it Peter, they were all dead.”
“Look, Mike,” he sighed, “none of us have a clue what's happening here. The only thing I know for sure is I'm interested in looking after myself and the rest of the people in this community center and...”
“If you're interested in the people in here, why do you want to go out there and...”
"I'm interested in looking after myself too." Peter repeated, still maintaining his calm. "I'm going out there to see if we can find out what's happening and if any of those… beings pose any threat to us."
“And how are you going to find out what's happening?” Jason demanded, turning around to face the rest of the group again. “Who's going to tell you?”
For a moment Peter struggled to answer.
“Rachel studied medicine,” he replied, thinking quickly and looking across at her. “You'll be able to tell us what's wrong with them, won't you?”
Rachel shifted her weight from foot to foot and shrugged her shoulders.
“I'll try,” she said. “I can tell you whether they're dead or not but after that I...”
“But can't you see what you're doing?” Jason protested, taking off his glasses and rubbing his eyes. “You're putting us all at risk. If you'd just wait and...”
"Wait for what?" Steve interrupted. "We're at risk no matter what we do. We’re sitting here in a place where two determined people can bust down the door. Meanwhile we're surrounded by hundreds, maybe thousands of dead bodies, some of which have decided to get up and walk around. Staying here seems pretty risky to me."
Sensing the conversation was about to go into yet another drawn out debate about whether to go outside, Peter made his intentions clear.
“I'm going outside,” he said. His voice was quiet, yet carried with it an undeniable force. “Stay in here and hide if you wan
t, but I'm going out and I'm going out now.”
“For Christ's sake,” Jason pleaded, “think about it before you do anything that might...”
Peter didn't stop to hear the end of his sentence. Instead he turned his back on the others and walked up to the main door out of the community center. He paused for a second and glanced back over his shoulder towards Steve, Rachel and Ann. The rest of the survivors were silent.
“Ready?” he asked.
After a second's thought Steve nodded and made his way to stand next to Peter, closely followed by Rachel and Ann. Peter took a deep breath, pushed the door open and stepped out into the bright October sunlight.
Chapter 15
It was surprisingly warm. Steve watched as Peter walked away from the old wooden building to the road. When the first undead body staggered into view, he stopped and turned back to face the others.
“What's the matter?” Rachel asked concerned.
“Nothing,” Peter murmured his voice shaky.
The three other survivors walked towards him and stood close. Steve noticed a crowd had gathered to watch them from the doorway of the community center.
“What're we going to do now?” Ann Vachon said. She was a short, round woman with a flushed red face that was now beginning to lose much of its color.
Peter looked around for inspiration.
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “Anyone got any ideas?”
Three faces returned three blank expressions. A few seconds later Rachel cleared her throat and spoke.
“We need to have a good look at one of them,” she whispered.
“What do you mean?” Ann asked her voice quiet. “What are we supposed to be looking for?”