Screams. Everyone in the elevator seemed to be hollering at once, either in panic or trying to stop others from panicking.
“We’re gonna fall!” Christopher.
“Oh, Jesus, please!” Dorcas.
“Someone help me get this damn door open!” Buck.
“Kenny!” Maggie.
“Everyone shut up!” Aaron.
And his voice did it. He was standing in the back corner of the elevator, the only one who seemed to be unaffected by the sudden jouncing. “The elevator won’t fall.”
“What if the cable breaks?” Buck again. He was scrabbling at the doors with his fingers, and Ken could see dark streaks on the burnished metal. Blood. The man had already broken his skin and nails, clawing at a door that wouldn’t open.
We’re going to die here.
“The cable don’t matter,” said Aaron. “There’s electromagnetic brakes on the rails.”
Buck hesitated for a moment in his panic-scratching. Turned and stared at Aaron in amazement, as though he had just found the blue-ribbon winner in the idiot contest. “Electromagnets don’t work when the power’s out, you dumb shit.”
Aaron’s jaw clenched. In a low voice he said, “The electromagnets keep the brakes open. So when the power goes out, they clamp down. No power, no falling.” He took a step toward Buck. “And you need to calm down or I will calm you down. Forcefully.”
Buck looked like he was going to rise to the threat, but instead he doubled over in a coughing fit. Smoke had saturated the elevator cab. Ken’s eyes were watering, and the light in Christopher’s hand was being dampened by a greasy yellow-gray smog.
Buck straightened. “Don’t…” (coughing) “… tell me to….”
He couldn’t finish.
Ken saw something. He didn’t recognize it at first. And then recognized it, but couldn’t believe it.
He had seen the zombies vomiting acid. The bilious stuff was black and thick, a tarry fluid that melted through metal and concrete and wood with equal ease.
But that was what he had seen in the light of day.
Here, in the gloom of the dark and smoke-filled cab, Ken saw a dot of light on the ceiling, a purplish glint that reminded him of the black lights the DJs used for some of the high school dances –
(Only there’s no more high school, there’s no more world, for crying out loud.)
– or at some of the clubs he and Maggie used to go to. Smoke roiled around it, and a low sizzling skittered through the cab. The acid glowed. It burned, both inside and outside. But the light it brought was cold. Cold light that burned. Beautiful color that would kill.
The sight of it made discordant bells go off in Ken’s head.
The glowing drop of acid finished searing its way through the ceiling tiles. It rolled into a ball and began to elongate, an oval pearl extending into the cab right above Buck’s head.
Ken grabbed the big man and yanked him over. Hope squealed as she was pancaked between the two of them, but Ken didn’t have time to worry about whether he had frightened her, or if she was even reacting to this or to some other, unseen stimulus.
“What the hell are –“ Buck fell on top of Ken, but stopped speaking when he saw the acid fall to the floor and start sizzling through the spot where he had been standing.
Everyone moved instinctively to the sides of the cab.
Ken cast his eyes around. Looking for Maggie. Caught her glance, saw the terror in her eyes.
The car lurched again. He wondered how many of the things were on the walls and ceiling of the elevator, how many were clinging below the floor. How many would it hold? Surely the brakes would have to give out eventually.
So would they fall to their deaths?
Be asphyxiated by the smoke?
Or be burnt by the acid?
He looked at Buck. The man was shaking. “The doors won’t open,” the big man said. He sounded like he wanted to add the words, “I want my mommy.” Instead he simply repeated, “The doors won’t open.”
And Ken saw more acid – not a drop this time but a stream – gathering on a crack in the ceiling directly above him.
62
A scream pulled Ken’s attention away from the beading string of glowing liquid above him.
It was Aaron. Not just screaming now, but shrieking. And coming from the unflappable cowboy the sound was nearly as out of place as the sight of the disembodied hand that had gripped Ken’s leg earlier.
Still howling, Aaron shook his left arm, then slammed into the wall of the elevator, not seeming to mind that he hit his dislocated and broken fingers into the wall.
Ken had seen a rabid animal once. A wolf. He was eleven, hiking a trail near Caldwell with his Webelos Scout den. It was late fall, and an early snow had already fallen. Some of the parents wanted to cancel the hike, but the Den Mother, a woman named Mrs. Prescott who Ken remembered as being lanky and so strong she could probably bench press God, had successfully argued that the drive to Caldwell would probably be the most dangerous part of the trip.
She was mostly right. The hike was nice. Snow frosted the evergreens that anchored the edges of the trail, but little of it was on the trail itself. The scouts were bundled up in layers of clothes and most had thermoses of hot chocolate in their coats. It was fun. Just enough snow to make a snowball from time to time, not enough to make it miserable.
Ken had run ahead to avoid being hit by a snowball, in fact, when he saw the wolf. He ran around a sharp curve in the trail and saw the beast. It wasn’t doing anything. Just standing there. Its fur was black with white spots, its muzzle streaked with flecks of froth and blood.
Ken froze. The wolf didn’t seem to notice him at first. It was biting its own leg. Then it spun around three times, chasing not its tail but nothing at all.
Mrs. Prescott came around the corner next. The wolf noticed Ken now. It growled, drawing its muzzle back to show teeth so long and sharp that Ken thought he was going to faint dead away.
The wolf jumped at him. And Mrs. Prescott proved to be not only strong, but a believer in concealed carry laws. She pulled a gun out from under her jacket and pulled the trigger and put a single shot right through the wolf’s right cheek.
The wolf flopped at Ken’s feet. He screamed and cried. Mrs. Prescott held him and rocked him and told the other Den Mother – Ken could never remember her name – to take the boys back to the cars while she waited next to the wolf’s body until someone could call in the shot and get the thing hauled off for testing.
Ken didn’t go back to scouts much after that. But he remembered the look in the wolf’s eyes when it jumped. That mad, lost look.
And that was what he was seeing in Aaron. Pain and a need to do the irrational that was so deep-seated it became sublime.
The cowboy rammed himself into the wall. Again and again. Then began rubbing the left side of his body against the wall, writhing against it like he was trying out for a job as the world’s worst exotic dancer.
And still screaming.
“He’s changing,” said Christopher, shrinking away from Aaron.
Then Aaron charged at Ken.
63
Ken was still on the floor, still half-pinned by Buck’s larger form. He couldn’t move couldn’t move couldn’t move.
And even if he had been able to move… where would he have gone?
They were all stuck. Trapped.
Aaron rushed across the elevator. It was large, perhaps a freight elevator. Something used to haul up large furniture or machinery. Things the building management wouldn’t want the tenants to see on a regular basis.
Thank goodness, at least we’ll die discretely.
Not a huge consolation. Ken had a second to remember Aaron wading into a stairwell full of zombies – and somehow emerging with only a few broken fingers – before the cowboy’s deadly hands reached for him.
He shouted. Tried to scramble away.
“Ken!” screamed Maggie.
“Don’t!” yelled Dorcas.
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Aaron ignored them both. Smoke seemed to be pouring from his body, transforming him into a monster.
Buck lurched. “Leave them alone,” said the man. His voice cracked. But he tried to get between Aaron and Ken. Or maybe between Aaron and Hope, who was suddenly silent.
Either way, Aaron smashed a fist into Buck’s chin, sending the big man rolling into the elevator doors, crashing into Maggie’s legs. He lay there and coughed and spat blood.
Aaron grabbed Ken.
Ken tried to get his hands up. He had fought before. He had taken martial arts his entire life. He should be able to do something. Anything.
He made a fist.
Aaron slapped his balled-up hand away.
Punched his throat.
And suddenly, Ken couldn’t breathe.
64
This is how you die. The world doesn’t explode. The monsters don’t kill you. It’s a crazy cowboy karate-chopping your throat.
The thoughts bounced around in Ken’s head like BBs in a blender. He felt like he was overheating. Could practically hear himself overheating.
But that was wrong, wasn’t it?
Shouldn’t he be going numb?
Shouldn’t he be dying… faster?
He realized Aaron was shaking him. Yelling. Not screaming, not shrieking. Yelling. Words.
“Stop trying to hit me, ya crazy kid!”
And Ken realized that he was still pummeling at Aaron with his good hand, still had his bad hand wrapped as much as possible around Hope, pinning her to him. She was silent, head down on his chest like she was looking forward to hearing the last beats of his heart.
Aaron batted Ken’s hand away again, and his face screwed up in a scowl. “Quit it or I’ll crack you in the throat again.”
That penetrated the fog that had invaded Ken’s brain. He also realized he was breathing. Not dead at all. Somehow alive, somehow still breathing.
His throat hurt like hell.
“Why’d you….” His voice sounded like a combination of rusty nails and chunks of dirt. He hacked. Tried again. “Why’d you hit me.”
“’Cause you weren’t gonna move and I didn’t have time to chat.”
Aaron looked up. Then down.
Ken followed his gaze. Gulped. “Thank you,” he said. His voice came out as a murmur, and this time it had nothing to do with his bruised vocal cords. “Thank you.”
“Welcome.” Aaron looked again at the hole where the acid had eaten through the ceiling, and the matching hole in the floor where Ken’s head had been a moment before. “Don’t imagine you’d have liked that.”
“I thought….” Ken coughed. The sound was louder than he expected. He realized it was silent in the cab. “I thought you were changing.”
“Why would you think that?” Aaron seemed torn between amusement and offense.
“You went all crazy.”
Aaron showed him his left arm. A long line of black, charred flesh ran from his shoulder to his elbow. “Some of that goo hit me. Just a drop, and it did this.” He shuddered. “Never felt anything like that. And I been through some things.”
The elevator pitched again, falling a few inches.
“We can’t stay here,” Dorcas whispered.
“How do we get out?” said Christopher. The two of them were in the far corner, nearly holding one another as though they had taken refuge in each other’s arms when Aaron had gone crazy.
“The doors won’t open. They’re stuck,” said Buck, rolling over and clutching his nose. Blood streamed from his fingers and spattered the floor.
Ken realized something in that instant.
He had thought before that it was silent in the car. He was wrong. It wasn’t silent in the car. It was silent outside.
In the next moment, Hope sighed. Ken looked at his daughter. She was grinning in a way he had never seen. An old smile, the smile not of an innocent child, but of someone who has seen far too many things that are far too dark.
She winked.
And outside the car, several coughs sounded.
Acid sizzled. Not randomly, but directly above Buck’s head, above Dorcas and Christopher, above Ken and Aaron.
The things outside had found a way to target them.
65
Everyone moved.
Ken tried to roll away. Got tangled in himself. He heard the sssss-hissss of acid above him.
Feet pounded on the floor.
He grunted. Rolled on his bad hand. The stumps of his missing fingers scraped on the floor. He almost screamed, but something stopped him. He bit his tongue and the inside of his cheek. The new pain drew his mind away from the red bloom of agony centered at the stumps of his missing fingers.
Hope was still smiling. Grinning.
How do they know where we are?
The thought entered his mind that they knew because Hope was here. That they knew because she knew.
She was wrapped in that crap for hours.
What if they did something to her?
What if they changed her somehow? Made her one of them? A spy? What if they see whatever she sees?
No. That’s impossible.
Of course, everything else that had happened in these hours was impossible as well. Why not one more thing?
And the answer was simple: if the things knew everything they were doing, then there was no hope of escape. So that couldn’t be the answer. Because it would be a useless answer. And Ken wouldn’t accept a solution that ended with his family and the rest of the survivors – the rest of humanity – doomed.
So no. Not some kind of telepathy.
What else?
He tried to get to his feet. Hope’s weight on his chest, her body dragging at the belt that cinched them both together, pulled him off-center. He almost fell again. His good hand went down on the floor. Fingers plunged into nothing.
There was a hole there.
Something grabbed his fingers.
He pulled them back, terror wringing a curse from his lips. The things were underneath. Waiting for someone to put a hand through the floor, perhaps? Just waiting to bite?
What would happen if someone changed in here?
The answer was a nightmare movie that played out quickly in his mind.
He realized the others were screaming as they moved away from the acid that hissed through the ceiling. Realized that everyone was making noise. Too much noise to think.
Buck’s foot went through a hole in the floor. He yelled and yanked it out, and Ken saw fingers clutching at the man’s heel.
Maggie cried out in terror.
Dorcas hollered as Christopher was almost splattered by a stream of acid that fell from above, then splashed against a wall that hissed and started to dissolve.
Smoke.
Coughing.
Screaming.
Too much noise.
Can’t think.
Too much.
And Ken suddenly understood.
The elevator fell another three inches. More.
Screams.
He didn’t know if they would have enough time to get out. The things outside were too many and too heavy. The brakes must be shot.
They were going to fall.
66
“Shut up!”
Ken’s shout worked, though probably more because they were surprised at the outburst than because of any inherent power in his still-gravelly voice. Everyone fell silent. Trying to split glances between him, the sizzling ceiling tiles, and the spots that were gradually opening in the floor.
He gestured them to move toward the center of the cab. Finger over his lips.
It had been silent.
Hope had been silent.
She had been cooing and calling on the cables. And even in the elevator for a few moments.
Then she stopped.
Why?
And Ken had thought that it was quiet for a moment in the cab, but he was wrong. It had been quiet outside. The things, the growling, snuffling, snarling things,
had been silent.
He remembered the ones that bounded over the bridge of their fellows. The ones with eyes covered. Blind, but not falling.
Chirping.
And the acid falling from the ceiling. Vomited forth after each of them screamed, or spoke.
They were listening. The monsters were hearing. Targeting them like sub-killers looking for U-boats. Dropping acid instead of depth charges, but the idea was the same.
Silence was salvation.
Ken pulled everyone together.
The sizzle-spit-crackle of burning acid was the only sound.
The elevator cracked. Plunged a full foot. Christopher inhaled, and Ken wondered if the young man was going to scream and kill them all.
Dorcas slammed her hand over his mouth. She nodded at Ken. She understood.
They stood in a tight circle.
Waiting.
The elevator creaked around them.
What now?
67
Hope was staring at him.
Liz still dangled from the carrier on Maggie’s chest. Ken wondered if it was better this way. He didn’t know if he would be able to deal with it if she opened her eyes and stared at him with that same knowing gaze, or gave him the same grin that Hope kept turning on him.
He looked away from her. Back at Maggie. Her eyes flitted to his eyes, then away, to his eyes, then away. Not looking at anything else, but not able to face him for long, either.
We’re in trouble.
He knew it wasn’t just the elevator, either. Wasn’t just now. It was Derek. It was losing their son.
He was the father. He was the protector. The one thing he was supposed to do was keep his family alive.
And he had failed.
He turned to the front of the elevator. More to avoid having to look at Maggie than for any concrete reason, but as he turned he thought of something.
They’re not smart.
Yes, they are.
But not smarter than us.
He went to the doors. Careful to avoid putting his foot through the hole that Buck had nearly plunged his own leg through a moment before. The doors were open a quarter-inch. Enough to wedge his fingertips between. No more. He pulled with his good hand.
The Colony: Renegades (The Colony, Vol. 2) Page 11