The Living and the Dead

by R. J. Spears

  “Is Naveen okay?” Kara asked.

  “She’s with Jason and Brother Ed. Brent, Linda, and Chelsea went with them.”

  “Good,” she said.

  “This isn’t over,” I said. “We have to get out of here. Kilgore won’t stop until we are all dead. I have no idea if Marlow is still alive at all.”

  She said, “Okay,” but I wasn’t sure how willing her body was. “Joel, can you find my clothes?” She asked and I could hear the pain and shame in her voice.

  That was just another bitter reminder of what had happened and how powerless I was to stop it, but there was no time for self-pity. The zombie apocalypse was a pitiless bastard without an ounce of mercy or an inch of forgiveness. From the sounds of what was happening outside, we both knew that if we didn’t get out of there, and that meant right away, we would both be dead.

  After a couple seconds of searching, I found her clothes piled in a corner of the room. Getting her dressed was a real challenge. Her body had been battered, and any movement was excruciating. As I dressed her, I noticed a large puncture wound in her side. It was about a half inch long, but I couldn’t tell its depth. Blood oozed out of the wound, but it seemed to be clotting.

  Still, it looked quite nasty.

  “What’s this?” I asked as I pointed toward the cut. “How bad is it?”

  She looked down, but not to see the wound. She didn’t want to look me in the eye.

  “I put up a little fight at one point,” she said. “He put his knife to my stomach and threatened to open me up. I got afraid for the baby, so I stopped fighting.” She paused for a moment as if waiting for strength to talk. “Even when I stopped, he jabbed the knife in, I think it was just to prove who was in control and what he could do with me. It’s not too deep, I think.”

  Another chill passed through my body and I felt sick to my stomach. I decided I could take on the psychic damage done to both of us later. We needed to get moving immediately or there wouldn’t be a later. I managed to get her clothes back on and we considered that a major victory. The next challenge was getting her on her feet.

  After two attempts, I let her take a breather, but the gunfire was getting closer by the second. The exchanges were fewer and further between. There was no way for us to tell who was winning because it didn’t matter. Whoever won meant we were losers because the victors were coming after us.

  “Kara, we have to get moving,” I said, trying to sound patient and understanding.

  “I know, I know,” she said as she sat on the side of the bed, panting from pain. There was no petulance or resentment in her tone. She was trying to marshal her resources.

  “I’d carry you out, but I have this feeling that I may need to do some shooting to get us out of here.”

  “I don’t need to be carried,” she said. I think she was trying to convince herself as much as me.

  “Tell you what, I’m going to back into you,” I said. “I’ll lower myself down. You grab my shoulders and I’ll pull you up. After that, lean into me and I’ll lead us out.”

  “Okay,” she replied.

  I did as I had said and it took her two tries, but she latched onto my shoulders with one arm and wrapped the other one around my waist. Moving as gently as I could, I slowly raised myself up and she held on.

  “I’m assuming that is a gun poking into my stomach?” she asked.

  “Yeah,” I said, remembering the pistol I had tucked in the waistline on the back of my pants. “Do you want me to move it?”

  She said, “No. Let’s get moving.”

  That was easier said than done. It was like moving with someone stitched onto my body from behind. (Please, no human centipede jokes.) She clung tightly to me and that was good, but my freedom of movement was next to nothing. Our forward progress was measured in inches rather than feet.

  All the while, the gun battle being waged outside was getting closer. There was a blast of fire that, for some reason, I thought came from Kilgore and his men. A response would come from Marlow’s men, but there seemed to be less of them because their shots were fewer and far between.

  “I need to switch you to my side,” I said. “Can you do that?”

  “I think I can.”

  She almost slipped to the floor, but I held her up. My ability to move increased by fifty percent, but it was still slow going and less steady for her. Once she had a firm grip, I reached back onto the bed and grabbed my rifle. Handling it one-handed wasn’t going to make me a marksman if I had to shoot, but it was the best I could do. I hoped I wouldn’t have to face off with anyone, but I’d do what I had to if it came to that.

  We moved along like a team in a three-legged race. It wasn’t fast, but we finally made some decent progress. Getting out the door turned out to be harder than I expected, but we managed it in a series of pivoting moves. She grunted and moaned several times, but I could tell she was holding back.

  The corridor was just as dark as it was before. We navigated around the bodies of the scruffy dwarf and Mephisto. Out of context of the zombie apocalypse and what we had just been through, they would have been a horror show but they were just a couple more dead guys. Been there, done that. Too many times.

  It’s funny the things you get used too.

  Chapter 40

  Approach Paths

  “Madison, is that a gun?” Ellen asked in a soft whisper as she held the girl close. There was something hard pressing against her side. It was hidden beneath Madison’s over large coat.

  Madison gave an almost imperceptible nod.

  A thousand questions ran through Ellen’s mind. Where did you get this gun? Why did you come back? What do you know about what’s going on outside?

  Too bad she couldn’t ask any of them. At least while Lodwick was nearby.

  “Let me have the gun,” Ellen whispered.

  Madison shook her head more emphatically than when she had nodded a moment ago. Ellen decided not to press it as she relaxed her embrace with Madison.

  “Who is attacking from the outside?” Lodwick asked, nearly yelling. He trained his gun on Freddie. “Do I need to shoot this man, or am I going to get some answers?”

  No one spoke for several seconds as the tension in the room amped up. It jumped up a few more notches when Lodwick cocked his gun.

  “We don’t know who attacked the complex?” Ellen shouted.

  Lodwick dropped his aim from Freddie and turned toward Ellen. “That’s not good enough. You had this whole rebellion planned. You had some crazy zombie pied piper leading zombies against my men. Somebody in your group freed Sergeant Jones. You had to have someone on the outside. I need to know how many people are out there.”

  Ellen held her stare on him but dropped it for a moment before regaining her courage. She looked directly at him and asked, “What did you expect?” She let that hang in the air for a few seconds. “You basically have taken us hostage. Your commander is half crazy. You brutalized us and your commander killed Aaron.” Again she paused. “What did you expect?”

  “Didn’t we take out a whole horde of zombies about to come down on you?” Lodwick asked. “Didn’t we take care of you? All we wanted to know was where Jason Carter was, but you did everything in your power to let him get away and you kept your little secrets.” It was Lodwick’s time to use a pregnant pause to work in his favor. He glanced around the room and seemed to savor the expressions of fear, anxiety, and discomfort.

  “So, do I have to shoot this guy in the head to get a straight answer out of you folks? Who were the leaders of your little rebellion?” Lodwick asked, waving his pistol in Freddie’s direction. Freddie’s eyes widened as Lodwick did this.

  Ellen looked around the crowd, took mental attendance, and then said, “It was Jo Stevenson and Russell Marks.”

  “Are they here, now?” Lodwick asked, glancing around the room.

  Ellen took a moment, then said, “No. I don’t know where they are.”

  “Well, isn’t that fucking convenient?” L
odwick asked in a mocking tone. “Only giving me names of people not here. Do you think I’m an idiot? You know what. I don’t think you’re taking me seriously.” He aimed his gun at the prone Freddie and fired twice. The first bullet hit Freddie in the chest and the second caught him in the neck. The shots killed him instantly.

  Panic rippled through the crowd as they erupted in screams and muffled inarticulate shouts, all of them backing away. One of the elderly women began to openly cry. Ellen’s hand went to cover her mouth in an involuntary response of horror and shock.

  “Stop where you are!” Lodwick screamed. “I told you that this shit is serious. I’m not fucking around!”

  Ellen took a step toward Lodwick and asked, “Why did you do that? He hadn’t done anything.”

  “How the hell do I know that?” Lodwick responded. “You aren’t telling me anything. Maybe I should start shooting more of you? Then maybe you’ll start talking.”

  Ferguson, still jittering in place, took a step closer to Lodwick and whispered, “Sir, maybe you should dial it down a notch?”

  “What?” Lodwick shouted while wheeling around on Ferguson. “I’m your commander. You don’t tell me what to do. I give the commands here.”

  Ferguson put one hand in the air in a gesture of surrender and said, “Sorry, sir. I was just saying.”

  “Saying what?” Lodwick bellowed in his direction while waving his pistol around.

  “Nothing, sir,” Ferguson said, he kept his head down, afraid to meet Lodwick’s stare.

  “What about you Private Mays?” Lodwick asked in the direction of the second soldier standing just a few feet away. “Are you questioning my tactics, too?”

  Private Mays was a clean-shaven soldier of about nineteen. He stood six feet two and had a barrel chest with muscular arms and legs. During the whole breakdown of society and millions of deaths, he was one of those soldiers who maintained a rigid military bearing. “Sir, I’m totally with you.” He snapped to attention as he responded.

  “See, Ferguson, that’s how it’s done,” Lodwick said as he slowly descended from his momentary outrage at Ferguson’s insubordination. “Private Mays is a sterling example of following the chain of command. You need to take note. I’m sure if I asked Mays to take his rifle and fire into the crowd, he would do it.” He stopped and took Mays in with a sly smile. “Private Mays, take aim on that woman. Ellen is her name, right?”

  “Yes, sir,” Private Mays said as he raised his rifle and took aim.

  The people standing around Ellen broke away from her like she was on fire and they were made of paper. A few let out disturbed cries. Ellen pushed Madison away. The older woman, stooped over with oily, ill-kept gray hair, stepped out of the crowd. She shook a fist in Lodwick’s direction while yelling in a voiced that cracked with age and fear, “You can’t do this. You are sworn to protect us. You’re nothing but a bunch of thugs with guns.”

  “Well, well, there’s someone with some balls,” Lodwick said with a slight chuckle. “Pardon me, ma’am. If you hadn’t notice, we can do what we want. Mays, shoot the old bag instead.”

  Mays shifted his aim from Ellen to the old lady in a long loping arc. A wave of anxiety swept across the crowd as they anticipated what would come next and dreading it with every fiber of their beings. To her credit, the old lady stood her ground, unblinking.

  Mays’ finger tensed on the trigger and the anxiety level in the room elevated to such a degree that it felt as if the room might combust. His trigger pressure slowly increased as it seemed like Mays was relishing the moment, taking in every delicious pound of pressure. Just as the tension reached a critical point, a noise filtered in from the corridor and everyone in the room shifted their gaze from the current spectacle to something entirely new and unexpected.

  But it wasn’t really new. It was a low guttural moan followed by a snarl. They had heard it before and while the soldiers were scary, this moan brought on a whole new chord of fear. The Manor people quickly shifted their attention away to the entryway, eyes wide and full of fear.

  The zombie’s moan echoed out of the dark and it was getting louder which meant it was getting closer.

  “Do you think this is going to work?” Henry asked Jo as they jogged down a corridor on the south side of the building. Their quickly hatched plan had the two of them circling around to the back entrance of the dining room. It was a long haul and things were moving fast. The other team of Sergeant Jones and Del had a shorter path and should have probably been in position. Russell stuck with Maggie. Theirs was the riskiest part of the whole gambit.

  Jo replied, “I don’t know, but we don’t have a lot of choices. If what Jones said is true, there are a lot of soldiers close to a tipping point. Almost none of them were happy with Kilgore’s direction, but out of respect, they followed him. Most of them hate Lodwick.”

  “But it’s us attacking them,” Henry responded as they came upon a corner, took it, and started down another long corridor. They both knew at the next corner that they’d have to slow because that was the approach to the back entrance of the dining hall through the kitchen.

  “Well really, it’s not an attack, but the threat of an attack,” she said, breathing heavily from the pace.

  “You’re saying if they don’t go for our bluff, then we’re up shit creek without a paddle.”

  “Basically.”

  They slowed as they reached the next corner and readied their weapons. Jo took the lead and stopped just as she reached the edge of the corner. Henry tucked himself in behind her. Both of them hugged the wall. Jo slid forward and took a quick peek around the corner, then ducked back.

  “All clear,” she said in a whisper. “From now on, we move slow and quiet.”

  Henry nodded his head, but his heart hammered in his chest. Between his fear for his mother and just his fear of maybe having to have a shootout with well-armed soldiers, he thought he had the idea of what a heart attack might feel like. It didn’t help that they had heard muffled gunfire coming from the direction of the dining hall.

  Just like most of the hallways and rooms on the first floor, the lights were on, making Jo feel exposed, but she knew Lodwick wanted it that way. Sneak attacks are hard in plain sight. Still, they knew they could get close enough to be heard and that was the important part.

  Jo stayed close to the wall with Henry right behind her as they moved quietly along. All the while she advanced on the double set of doors to the kitchen, she kept her aim trained on the doors, waiting for anyone or anything to appear. Henry had his rifle aimed at the floor, but he was ready at any moment to break to the other side of the hall and target whatever it was.

  Just like many industrial kitchen doors, there were medium-sized glass portal windows in each door around head height. Jo focused on them. The last twenty feet were ponderously slow, but they finally reached the doors. Jo motioned for Henry to stay back as she made the final approach. He complied, moving across the hallway to the opposite wall where he knelt down and took aim at the door.

  Jo took tentative, quick glances through both windows and saw only the extra-large commercial kitchen. Stainless steel was everywhere, in the commercial freezers and refrigerators and the ranges, stoves, and grills, plus the large prep island sitting in the middle of the room. They had made a priority to keep the kitchen clean. No use taking every precaution against zombies and humans when a foodborne illness could take you down.

  Seeing no one inside, she pushed in on the left side door and took a long look, shifting her body to get the most expansive view she could. She saw no motion or activity. She waved Henry forward, and he came up the right side wall. Just as he was five feet from the door, she pushed the door fully open and entered the kitchen, spraying her aim all over the room, but finding nothing to target. She made a second gesture and Henry moved in behind her as she went into the kitchen. He quickly got a hand against the door to keep it from making any noise as it closed and a moment later, he went inside.

  Once the
y were completely inside the kitchen, they heard a muffled voice shouting inside the dining room and they knew instantly it was Lodwick and he sounded pissed.

  “What the hell is that?” Lodwick shouted. “Anyone see what’s down there?”

  A voice responded, but it was too far away to be clearly understood, but Henry thought it was one of the soldiers.

  “Kepler, check it out,” Lodwick ordered.

  This time the response was clear because the soldier shouted. “Sir, it sounds like a zombie.”

  Henry and Jo looked at each other and nodded their heads. Despite their long-haul halfway around the building, they were on time. They eased fully into the kitchen, moving as quietly as possible toward the doors into the dining room.

  Del wasn’t the best at trusting people. Sure Sergeant Jones had some instant credibility coming into their little party with Jo. It also helped that he had stood up to Kilgore. The problem was that he had been on the other team until that and the other team wasn’t going to make Del’s Christmas card list soon. But the zombie apocalypse made for strange bedfellows and he found himself teamed-up with what used to be the enemy and now was an ally. It didn’t sit well with Del, but he went with it.

  Like Henry and Jo, they too were approaching the dining room, only from a different hallway. Fortunately for them, due to wear and tear, not all the lights were operational, despite Lodwick’s plan to light the place up. So they had the good fortune to be able to move between pools of light and dark, using the dark as concealment.

  It had been Jones’ plan to approach the soldiers from different directions. Mrs. Hatcher and Cynthia were held in reserve. (Jones had determined that Mrs. Hatcher was too high strung to be included in the assault. Including her might just as well have gotten them shot in the back, and that was something he wanted to avoid. Cynthia was a much cooler customer, so she could be useful, but having her in reserve wasn’t a bad idea.)