We couldn't see any zombies inside the building, but they were in there. The three of us looked at each other.
"What are the odds," I said, "that that little girl is even alive in there?"
Jesse got out the walkie-talkie. "Irving to HQ," he said. "Irving to HQ. Over."
"HQ here," came the response.
Jesse explained the situation. They hadn't found the guy yet. We were to go ahead as planned.
Great. To make matters worse, while we were stalling, the nearby zombies had sensed us, and at least 30 of them were slowly making their way towards the bus. Some were coming out of Hollywood 20; some were coming across the street. In a few more minutes, we'd be surrounded.
"If we're doing this, we'd better get going," said Mick.
Right. We were off the bus in under thirty seconds, and we split up again to get into the theater. I had to duck a couple zombie arms, but for the most part, I easily evaded the zombies. Once inside, there were more zombies, and they were closer together. We moved together so that we were back to back, our guns facing out. This way we could see all directions, and each of us had a direction covered. The only way to get through a crowd of zombies like this was to shoot.
We inched through the lobby, shooting any zombie within a foot of us. We got to the ticket-taker stand, and Jesse, who was facing forward, yelled, "I can see Theater Four. They're clumped up there."
I squeezed my trigger into the face of blonde, teenaged zombie. "How many?" I asked. I was facing behind us.
Mick, who was sideways, looked over his shoulder. "A lot."
We got closer, carefully stepping over the bodies of the zombies we had just shot.
"Damn," said Jesse.
"What?" I said.
"Door's barricaded," he said. "Two other doors nailed up tight over it. Guy must've known the zombies would get in sooner or later."
A zombie with one arm lunged at me. I shot it. We'd stopped moving.
"How'd the guy get out of here, then?" asked Mick.
"More importantly," said Jesse, "how are we going to get in?"
The zombies were closing in on us. I kept shooting, but I didn't like being stuck here. The hallway we were in was narrow, and once it filled up with zombies, there wasn't going to be much wiggle room.
How were we going to get in? I tried to think while I aimed at zombies, and suddenly, I knew. "Exit door!" I said. "All the theaters have an exit door."
"Right," said Jesse. "Let's get outside."
Jesse and I started moving towards the lobby. Mick didn't move.
"Wait," he said. "How will we know which exit door it is?"
"Jameson," said Jesse, "we'll figure it out outside."
"We could get that barricade down," Mick said. "We're almost there."
"The exit door will be the one where the zombies are clustered up," I said.
Jesse and I were still moving.
"How is that better than this?" Mick said.
"Jameson, behind you," I said.
He whirled and pulled the trigger just in time.
"Come on," yelled Jesse, and, finally, Mick followed us.
Getting out was easier than getting in. Within moments, we were out of the theater and running around the back to find the exit door. Sure enough, there was a group of zombies huddled up against the wall.
"That's the exit door," I said.
"I still don't get it," Mick said. "We're still going to have to fight through them."
"There's less of them," I said, "and this door isn't barricaded."
"It's still locked," said Mick.
I looked away from Mick to roll my eyes. Jesse noticed and grinned at me. I started to grin back, but I noticed a small hand reaching up for Jesse's arm, just behind him. My eyes snapped down. A zombie kid. "Irving!" I said.
I was too late. The thing grabbed Jesse and bit into his wrist. Jesse screamed, putting his gun against its head and pumping it with bullets. Then he turned and started shooting zombies at the exit door. Mick started shooting too. I couldn't stop staring at Jesse's bloody wrist.
Jesse couldn't get a zombie bite. Jesse was good. He was the best on the strike force. That couldn't happen to Jesse. Not Jesse, who'd always held up the raids for food hunting for bottles of Jim Beam. Not Jesse, who could pick zombies off while the chopper was landing—perfect head shots, every time. Not Jesse, who had cute little curls on his chest, who'd frantically apologized for getting off too fast when we—
"Quinn, a little help here?" asked Jesse. His voice was harsh.
I leveled my gun. I shot.
We waded though the bodies to the door. It was unlocked.
"He left it open for us," said Mick.
"He was taking a pretty big chance," said Jesse, as we got inside and locked the door. We all switched on our flashlights. "They might not know how to use doorknobs, but they could have turned it on accident, or it could have gotten wedged between two of them and—"
"Let me see your arm," I interrupted.
Jesse shook his head. "There's no point, Quinn."
"Um, guys," said Mick.
"What?" I said, not taking my eyes off Jesse.
"There's no little girl here," said Mick.
I turned away from Jesse and surveyed the theater. There was a small fire pit in front of the seats and some stacked cans of food. Mick was standing up the aisle, near the door, where a sleeping bag was unrolled. But he was right. I didn't see a little girl. We all immediately began searching each row, looking under the seats. Nothing.
"Radio HQ," I said.
Jesse reached for the walkie-talkie. "I don't have it," he said.
"Look harder," I said.
He did. "It must have fallen out when that thing bit me."
"Great," said Mick. "That means if they find the guy, we aren't even going to know."
I sat down in a theater chair and stared at the blank white screen. After a moment, the guys sat down too. We were quiet. I don't know how long we sat like that. It seemed like forever. Mick was looking at the screen, like I was. Jesse was staring at the wound on his wrist. Finally, I said, "Irving, you're losing a lost of blood. That's just going to speed up the process. Let me bandage it."
He shrugged, so I got the first aid kit out. I tried to think of something to say while I bandaged his wrist. I couldn't. Generally, when someone's hurt, I try to reassure them that everything will be all right. With a zombie bite, that doesn't really work. And who was I to say anything anyway? I didn't know how he felt. I wasn't going to turn into a zombie. Anything I said would just rub that in.
Suddenly, Mick spoke up. "That little girl is gone. She's probably dead. We're probably gonna be dead too."
I had finished bandaging Jesse's wrist. He moved his arm away from me and looked down at it, flexing his hand as if to test its effectiveness. "Well, I'm as good as dead."
"Don't," I said.
"What?" said Jesse.
"You shouldn't talk like that."
"Why? 'Cause it upsets you?" Jesse asked. "I'm sorry, Quinn. What with you and Jameson here being immune and all, I know you understand."
"You've never been bitten," said Mick. "Maybe you're immune too."
"No," I said softly.
"It's turning all greenish-purple already," said Jesse. "I'm not immune. I'll probably lose use of my fingers in half an hour."
No one said anything.
"Look," said Mick finally, "what happened to you, Irving, is just bad. It royally sucks. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I'm immune. But the fact is, it wouldn't make any difference if I wasn't. You'd still be bit, and—"
"Shut up," I said. "Just shut up, Jameson. You can't talk to him like that when he's been . . . when he's . . ."
"I'm not dead yet, Quinn," muttered Jesse.
"No," said Mick. "I didn't ask for this all right? I didn't ask to be immune to zombie bites. I didn't ask to be on the damned strike force."
"Well neither did I," I said. "God, you're such an ass, Jameson. Look at me!" I stood up,
all five foot six of me. "I'm a skinny, average-sized chick. Before the outbreak, I never even exercised. When they recruited me, I couldn't lift the guns. You used to be in the Air Force for Christ's sake. Even if you weren't immune, you should be on the strike force, and yet you act like—"
"You know what your problem is, Quinn? You can't handle the fact that you're not special anymore. I'm immune too. And to top it off, I'm more suited to kill zombies than you are. Must make you feel pretty unimportant."
That wasn't true.
"Oh, both of you shut up," said Jesse. "God, it's such a trial for you to know you're never gonna be one of the walking dead. It makes me sick."
Mick had made me mad, so I yelled at Jesse. It didn't make any sense, but it felt right. "Is that why you broke it off, then, Irving? Were you jealous?"
"Oh God," said Jesse. "I wondered when you'd bring that up. It wasn't like we were married, Quinn. Hell, I don't even remember saying I wanted to date you."
"Whoa," said Mick. "You two have a history?" It sounded like he was grinning. I turned my flashlight on him just to make sure. Yep. Ass.
"This is none of your fucking business," said Jesse.
"I don't know," said Mick. "I think Quinn's got a point. I mean, she's hot, she can fight just as well as you can, and she's survived zombie attacks. What would you really bring to the relationship?"
"Stop it," I said. "Irving, I don't want to hate you while you're dying. So I'm over it, okay? I was an idiot."
"Hey," said Jesse. "For the record, I wasn't . . . I mean, I didn't mean to like hurt you or anything."
"Oh, get over yourself," I said.
"Maybe Jameson's sort of right. I mean, a girl like you really doesn't need anybody does she?"
I just shook my head. "Well, this is touching, but we're in kind of a shitty situation right now, and I think we should figure out what we need to do."
"I guess we go back," said Mick. "Right? There's no girl here."
"Maybe I could go out and try to find the walkie-talkie," said Jesse.
"For all we know you left it on the bus," I said.
"The door," said Mick. "The guy didn't leave it open. The little girl did when she left."
"Yeah," said Jesse.
"Yeah," I said.
We all stopped for a minute. Something was wrong with that. That couldn't be right because—
"Then why were the zombies clamoring to get in here?" I asked. "They had to be drawn to something. Somebody's in here."
"Nobody's in here," said Mick. "We looked everywhere."
I gazed at the theater, my flashlight sweeping from one corner to the next. The exit door. The seating banks. The aisle, where the sleeping bag was. The fire pit.
"Could there be like a lingering smell from her or something?" Mick asked.
"No," said Jesse. "No, we don't think they can smell."
I chewed on a fingernail and looked up. Sometimes staring at the ceiling helps me think. It didn't seem to be working this time. I let my eyes slide forward, over the ceiling, to the . . . projection booth!
"Duh!" I exploded and sprinted up the aisle to the back of the theater. There were two doors. One was the door out. I tried the other door. Locked. Nothing a few bullets couldn't fix!
The guys seemed to have followed my thinking and were right behind me. I shot the doorknob to hell and the door swung open. We hurried up the steps. A terrible stench greeted us. For one horrible second, I was convinced we were too late. She was dead already. But then I heard a faint coughing, and I nearly tripped over the girl, who was lying at the top of the stairs.
I knelt next to her, shining my flashlight on her face. She was small, maybe six or seven. Her hair was pasted to her forehead with sweat. Her eyes were closed. Shining the flashlight a little lower, I was able to identify the stench. She'd had what we teachers call an "accident," actually several accidents. She probably hadn't been able to move, she was so sick. She was burning up with fever. Maybe she hadn't even been conscious.
I stripped the girl's soiled clothes from her body. "Get the sleeping bag," I called over my shoulder. We could wrap her in that.
"Wait," said Mick. He'd done me one better and spied a pile of the girl's clothing with his flashlight. I dressed her and picked her up. Her head flopped backwards over my arm, and she moaned softly.
"I'll take her," said Mick.
I started to argue, but stopped. I handed the girl to Mick. He cradled her in his arms. "She's so small," he murmured.
"She's very sick," I said. "Norman wasn't lying about that. We've got to get her back right away."
We headed back down the steps into the theater.
"Well," said Jesse, "either way we go out, there will be more zombies outside than there were when we came in."
"The exit door's obviously the best," I said.
"But still," said Jesse, "we'll have to fight though the crowd. Whoever's holding the kid can't shoot, and the other two can't cover all directions. Plus, her legs will be dangling. A zombie will just grab her and take a bite."
"As sick as she is," I said, "that might turn her in under an hour."
"And I'm guessing that wouldn't make good ol' Norman too happy," said Mick.
"We should have thought about all this," I said.
"Right," said Mick. "When we were rushing to get to the mainland or when we were getting chased by zombies?"
"Norman's not going to change until tomorrow," I said.
"We can't know that for sure," said Jesse. "And besides, the longer we wait here, the more zombies gather out there."
He was right.
"I have an idea," said Mick. "Who says we've all got to go for the bus. I could fight my way out to it and pull it around. I bet I could get it right up to the door, with just a couple of feet to spare. The exit door opens out, and if I got the bus close enough, it would open into the bus, creating a barrier on one side. Do you know what I mean?"
"No," I said.
Mick gestured with his hands. He put them parallel to each other, with his left hand outside and his right inside. "This," he said, waving his left hand, "is the bus. This is the door." He waved his right hand. He swung his right hand out like it was a door opening. His fingers collided with his left hand forming an "L" shape.
I nodded. "Okay, I get it."
"So, one side is blocked. One person can cover the other side and one person can carry the girl. Once we're all on the bus, we're out of here."
I nodded slowly. "It could work."
"Um," said Jesse. "My arm. I'm losing . . . I don't think I can carry the girl."
"I can carry her," I said.
"No offense, Quinn," said Mick, "but as you said, you're a skinny average-sized chick. Your body isn't going to offer her much protection. Maybe Irving could carry her with one arm."
"Maybe," said Jesse. "Or maybe I should just go get the bus."
"I can get the bus," I said.
"Quinn, you can't drive stick," said Jesse.
Damn it.
"It won't matter if I get a few more bites either," Jesse said.
"I guess that's true," said Mick quietly.
It was the best idea we had.
We went over the plan a few more times, even mimed it once. Once we felt pretty sure with it, we gathered around the exit door. The little girl was propped up in one of the theater seats. She hadn't regained consciousness, but she cried out a few times. Poor thing was probably delirious.
Jesse flattened himself against the door. He was going to push it open with his back just enough to get his gun out and go out shooting. Mick and I stood at the door, guns drawn as well.
"Okay," said Jesse, turning the knob and inching the door open. Zombie fingers immediately appeared in the crack. Jesse pushed his gun through it and started to shoot. We heard the thud of a body dropping. Jesse pushed the door open further. A dead zombie fell inside, wedging the door open.
"Shit," said Jesse.
"Don't worry about it Irving. Go!" I said.
Jesse scrambled over the body and out the door. I put my foot on the dead zombie's head and started to push it out. It was almost out the door when a live one tripped over it and fell face down on my foot. I tried to back up and fell backwards. Instinctively, I dropped my gun to catch myself with my hands. The zombie started to crawl towards me. I crab-walked away, feeling frantically for my gun.
"Jameson," I yelled.
But Mick was busy with two other zombies that had climbed inside. I couldn't feel my gun, but I managed to get to my feet and start kicking the face of the crawling zombie. I kicked and kicked and kicked. The thing kept coming. Finally, I landed a kick square on its nose and drove bone into its brain. It stopped moving.
I stole a glance at the floor and located my gun, which I swooped up and aimed at the zombie coming in the door. I shot it. It went down. I ran to the door, pushing with all my might on the dead zombie propping it open, and pulled it closed.
Four dead zombies littered the floor, and I was out of breath. I felt sick inside. There was no way Jesse was going to make it. Mick and I checked the little girl and sat down. We caught our breath.
Mick said, "There sure are a lot of them out there."
"Yeah," I said.
Fifteen minutes passed. No beeping.
"I think," I said, "that we should try to cut a hole in the ceiling from the projection booth and get up on the roof. We'll draw the zombies to the other side of the building. Then we can run back here and make a break for the bus."
"You got a saw lying around?"
"Maybe we could use our guns."
A muffled horn blasting came from just outside the door.
"He made it!" I said.
Mick gathered up the girl, and we went for the door.
I swung the door open fast, and it just met the side of the bus. So far, so good. However, there was no way to keep the door open. It was making a barrier against the zombies on one side, but they were pushing hard against it. I wedged the door with my shoulder and started to shoot. But now, Mick couldn't get out.
Margo Quinn, Zombie Fighter Page 2