by James Bierce
The people outside don't seem to notice them, at least not yet anyway. Every minute or so someone comes to the main door and jiggles the handle, then after finding out that its locked, they turn around and walk back down the sidewalk. One woman in particular keeps coming back, at least three times now from Sarah's count. She's wearing pajama bottoms and a tee-shirt, and apparently no shoes — a common trend among the infected it seems. The woman is also completely soaked to the bone, her body shivering uncontrollably as she circles around yet again, this time placing her hands and face against the window beside the door.
While watching the activity outside, it occurs to Sarah that the carpet under her feet is squishing with every step, as if it were soaked with water — or something worse. Thinking that she might be walking in blood, or God only knows what else, she moves over to the side until the sensation goes away. Then, with only a few more steps to go until the bottom, Curtis suddenly stops in his tracks. She hears a voice in front of him, extremely faint and rattling with congestion, like they were drowning.
"Please... help me..."
Curtis moves to the side, exposing a man stretched out on his back lying on the bottom steps, his head resting on the marble floor of the lobby. His clothes are blotchy and stained, but its too dark to tell whether or not its blood. Curtis takes another step down, positioning himself directly beside the man. As he starts to bend his knees slightly to get a better look, Sarah grabs Matt and Ben's shoulders and pulls them closer, then slowly backs up the stairs, bringing the boys with her.
"Please..." the man says again, raising his right hand into the air as he pleads.
Without saying anything, Curtis reaches into his pocket and pulls out his pistol, aiming it at the man's head.
"What's your name?" he asks the man in a whisper.
"Please..."
"I asked your name. What is it?"
In a flash, the man reaches his hand into the air again, this time grabbing for Curtis' jeans. Sarah and the boys take a couple more steps back as Curtis kicks the man's arm away — his foot landing harder than he intended though, sending the sound of cracking bones and tendons echoing throughout the room. The man's body is thrown onto his side, his front now facing away from Curtis.
"I'm sorry, I..." Curtis begins, then the man slowly rotates onto his back, facing him once again — a wicked smirk plastered onto his face as he begins to laugh in a low, raspy voice. Curtis looks down at the man's arm, which is obviously badly broken, then up at Sarah, who is waiting several steps up the stairs, her face filled with terror and disbelief.
"Come on down, just keep to the left." he tells her.
"What if he does something?"
"He's not going anywhere. He's all busted up."
She starts down the stairs again, this time taking the lead ahead of Matt and Ben. When the man sees her he stops laughing and begins speaking nonsense instead — a jumbled mess of rhythmic gibberish that sounds like the ramblings of a madman. She finally reaches Curtis and stands next to him, then allows for the two kids to safely pass behind them, her eyes fixed on the man's face as he continues his speech.
"Sarah, let's go..." says Curtis, who is still pointing his gun at the man's forehead.
As Sarah steps down onto the lobby floor, Curtis finds himself conflicted on what to do with the guy. He's clearly insane, and in all likelihood dying, but he's still a human being — and kicking him like he did is only making the thought of leaving him that much harder.
"Are you coming?" asks Sarah.
"What should we do with him?"
"We leave him. What else are we going to do with him?"
The man stops talking for a few seconds and simply stares up at Curtis with a menacing look in his eyes — his one working hand still struggling to reach out despite being pinned underneath his body. Placing his gun back in his pocket, Curtis joins his family on the stone floor below, and they make their way toward the hallway that leads to the kitchen in the back of the hotel.
Halfway across the lobby, just as they finally lose sight of the staircase, they hear a horrible scream coming from behind them — the same blood-curdling cry they heard earlier in the night. Curtis stops in his tracks as Sarah looks at the front entrance to their left, spotting dozens of people walking toward the door and windows, some of them already looking frantically around the lobby for the source of the scream.
"Nobody move..." says Curtis.
"We have to get out of here!" replies Sarah, trying to keep her voice as quiet as possible.
"We're in the shadows, they can't see us."
Most of the people still aren't doing much aside from peering in through the glass — and then a woman comes to the door, the same woman that Sarah has seen repeatedly, this time pounding her hands against the pane right above the handle. Several of the others start following her lead, slamming their fists and forearms into the windows on either side of the door. Although their movements are slow, and their strength appears to be weakened, Curtis can still see the panes of glass moving with every hit.
"Come on, let's go — but quietly, we don't want them to see us."
Once they're in the hallway and out of sight from the people outside, Curtis turns his flashlight back on, worried that they might run into somebody else before reaching the kitchen. Instead, the place looks to be completely deserted.
The empty rooms of the hotel give Curtis the creeps, and he has to remind himself that they would be even creepier if they were full of people. As they pass in front of the dining area, a large room filled with Native American artwork and absolutely no tables or chairs, the group stops for a moment when they hear something breaking behind them.
"Keep moving." Curtis tells them, picking up his pace to almost a jog.
When they reach the kitchen, Curtis immediately spots the exit door on the other side of the room, a room that looked much more cheerful and inviting when they were searching for food only hours before.
Its layout is simple — cooking surfaces on the left side, prep surfaces on the right side, which also happens to be the back exterior wall of the hotel, and a long stainless steel island running down the middle. The exit is on the opposite wall from them, on the south side of the building.
Sarah notices that the air is cold and humid down here, with a slight musty smell that gets worse the farther into the kitchen they go. As she follows Curtis down the aisle between the prep counter and island, she grabs a small paring knife that's been left by the sink, an act which catches Curtis' eye.
"Are there anymore of those?" he asks her.
Sarah looks around, but can't see any others. The room is mostly bare, with only a few pots and pans hanging from a rack above the main island. There are no other knives or silverware to be seen.
"I don't see another one."
"Keep an eye out, they might come in handy." he says, walking down the main aisle between the cooking surfaces and the island.
"Don't you have one?"
"Just my pocketknife."
"Why don't you give it to Matt..."
Without stopping, Curtis reaches into the pocket of his coat and grabs his knife, handing it to Matt who's following behind him. Matt waits until both his dad and mom aren't looking, then hands the knife over to Ben, who seems more than happy to take it.
They continue on, finally making it to the door that leads to the south side delivery entrance, a door which thankfully has a window in the upper half of it. Curtis peers through it, looking for any sign of movement outside. The clouds are obviously clearing overhead, allowing the moonlight outside to shine brightly on the sidewalk and parking lot on the other side of the glass. Other than a few trees moving in the wind, and the occasional leaf or branch blowing by the window, nothing else can be seen.
"Are you guys ready?"
"Yeah, let's get out of here." answers Sarah.
Curtis grabs the handle and turns it, then pulls the door toward him — but it doesn't move. Thinking that it might swing out, he tries
pushing on it instead, but that doesn't work either.
"What's wrong?" asks Sarah.
"It must be locked."
He looks at the deadbolt and sees that its the type without a lever to unlock it, you need a key instead. He raises his arm to break the glass with his elbow, but then he hears a sound coming from behind them, a thump that sounded like it came from just outside the kitchen. Curtis immediately shuts his flashlight off, then pulls Sarah to the floor with him.
"Matt, Ben, are you on the floor?" Curtis asks.
"We're right next to you." answers Matt, his voice shaky. "I can see them."
Try as he may, Curtis can't see anything in the kitchen beyond the island cabinet in front of them. He carefully stretches himself out to place himself directly next to Matt, but he still can't see anything except for darkness.
"How many are there?" he whispers into Matt's ear.
"Just one. He looks drunk."
"Why does he look drunk?"
"He's walking funny, and he keeps running into stuff."
"Is he walking in our direction?"
"Yes."
"Okay, don't say anything more. Just be ready to run if I say so..." Curtis turns to Sarah, then holds his hand out. "Let me see that knife..."
She hands it to him, then asks... "What are you gonna do?"
The sound of pots and pans crashing to the floor startles both of them, then they hear the subtle taps of footsteps coming their way. He must be halfway across the room already.
"I don't know yet, but I can't shoot him without the others hearing it." He then pulls the pistol from his pocket and hands it to Sarah. "Move under the island, he might not see you guys under there."
"What about you?"
"He won't see me either."
Watching his family scramble to wedge themselves beneath the island, Curtis crawls on his hands and knees down the opposite aisle, trying to get as close as possible to the man before confronting him. He can barely see anything on the other side, and the farther he gets from the windows, the darker the room becomes — but then he spots something moving directly across from him, a muddy slipper that's dragging along the cold tile floor in spastic jerks. Beside it he can see his other foot as well, also muddy, but bare with no protection whatsoever. It finally dawns on Curtis that most of the people they've seen tonight aren't wearing any shoes, or even clothes in some cases.
He considers moving against the man right away, maybe by grabbing his legs and pulling him under the island — but he decides to let him walk ahead just a few feet before making his move. As he squeezes through the open-sided island and carefully pulls himself to his feet on the other side, he tries to build up courage to do what needs to be done. He's now standing right behind the man, knife in hand, knowing that in just a few seconds one of them will be dead.
The thought of contagion has crossed Curtis' mind, and the last thing he wants to do is contract the same disease that's clearly sickened this guy. Time is not on their side, however, and any minute there could be a dozen or more people wandering in from the lobby — some of them in much better physical condition than this guy. This one seems manageable. Besides his odd choice of footwear, he's wearing blue jeans that are obviously put on backwards, a simple t-shirt that's completely soaked through, and an arm that's dripping a large amount of blood all over the stainless steel counter-top beside him.
Curtis follows behind him, trying to match his footsteps to conceal the sounds of his own. This proves to be difficult though. His gait is unbalanced, muffled by the soft cushion of his slipper every other step. Feeling that the time is right, Curtis holds his breathe, tightens his grip, then lunges forward at the guy, nearly stumbling to the ground as his left foot catches on something hard. He regains his composure almost instantly, but when he looks back up, he finds himself staring into the man's eyes. They look dead and uncaring, the eyes of a madman. Worried that he might trip again, he glances down at the floor and spots a large pot. The man lets out a pathetic moan, then reaches for Curtis, grabbing hold of his collar and weakly tugging it in his direction. Curtis takes a swipe at him with the knife, which does nothing but remove the guy's grasp, then pushes him away with his other hand, causing the man to fall back onto the floor.
Curtis picks up the pot up from the floor, then stands over the man's semi-conscious body. The pot is surprisingly heavy and uncomfortable to handle, even empty. Taking a few deep breathes to steady his nerves, he swings it as hard as he can at the man's head, smashing it against the hard tile surface of the floor beneath. He drops the pot immediately, then checks himself for any sign of blood splatter that may have gotten on him. Confident that he's clean, he turns his flashlight on again and looks around at the aisle behind him, seeing several pots and pans that were also knocked down. As he bends down to pick another one up, he hears another set of footsteps in the distance, and he runs back to the locked door and motions for his family to get up.
"Hurry up, we're getting out of here."
Sarah, Matt and Ben climb out from under the island just as Curtis smashes a pot into the window above the door, sending glass flying everywhere. After removing as much debris from the opening as possible, he takes off his coat and covers the bottom of the newly-formed hole, then grabs a chair from the corner of the room and places it under the opening.
"Sarah, you first..."
Sarah steps onto the chair, then pauses as she hears the sound of metal and tile colliding only a short distance across the room. She can hear several footsteps coming toward them.
"Go!" Curtis yells as he pushes her through the window, paying no attention as to whether or not she landed safely. He grabs Ben next and lifts him through the opening. As he turns around to help Matt onto the chair, he can see movement coming down the aisle. As Matt sticks his head out, Sarah's arms help him through to the other side, leaving only Curtis in the room to deal with the unwelcome visitors. After jumping onto the chair and reaching out to Sarah, he feels something grab hold of his pant leg in the kitchen. He kicks his leg out, freeing it from their clutch, then pulls himself through, falling onto the concrete sidewalk outside the hotel.
When he gets to his feet and looks back at the window, he sees a young woman with a fresh wound in the middle of her forehead staring back at him. She's trying desperately to pull herself through the window, but she keeps catching herself on the jagged shards of glass around the opening. Curtis can't imagine the amount of pain she must be in from all the cuts and scrapes, but her face shows absolutely no sign of discomfort — and although her attempt is obviously hopeless, she continues to struggle anyway.
Realizing that his coat is still draped over the door, Curtis contemplates whether or not he should try to grab it — but before he gets a chance, the woman pulls it inside. He glances over at Sarah, who looks terrified, then back at the woman, who's still stretching out as far as she can in order to reach him, despite the fact that the glass is piercing into her stomach with every thrust.
"Curtis, lets go." Sarah pleads.
He realizes that this is the first time he's been able to safely approach one of these people. She's stuck, but it seems she's completely unaware of it. He wonders what could possibly be going on in her mind to make her do such a thing. Curious, he turns on his flashlight to get a closer look, but when the beam hits her eyes she screams and pushes herself back inside, leaving part of her flesh hanging on the opening. As soon as she disappears from sight, another person, this time a teenage boy only a few years older than Matt stands in front of the window. His face is without any form of expression either, and even though he's looking in Curtis' direction, you'd swear he was looking right through him.
"Curtis! Come on!" Sarah screams.
It takes him a second to respond, and when he finally does, he sees his wife and sons already running down the sidewalk toward the beach. As he starts to jog down the sidewalk himself, he turns around and shines the flashlight at the kid. His eyes come alive in an instant, and a madness appears
, like a rage that's been building up inside of him for years. Then, just like the woman before him, he drops out of sight.
He's been waiting for what seems like an eternity, although what he's waiting for he can't be certain. Lately his mind has been muddled and foggy, and for days he hasn't been able to focus on anything for more than just a few seconds — that is, until tonight.
When he first spotted the two boys walking with their parents into the Regency, he was surprised to see anybody moving around in the daylight, especially as carefree as they seemed to act. He, along with all of the others in town, had given up on that long ago, choosing instead to travel at night after the burning light of the sun had disappeared from the skies.
Some days he actually misses it — seeing the rays of light shine through the leaves of the trees, or the way it glistens off the breakers in the early evening. For the most part he doesn't miss his life before the sickness though, back when everything seemed miserable and hopeless — although looking back at it now he can't imagine what seemed so bad. He had a job, and a wife, although he can't remember what he did or what his wife's name was. In fact, he's not entirely sure if she's still alive. Probably not though, few are it seems. Truth be told, he's not even one-hundred percent confident in what his own name is.
It wasn't long ago that he still felt fear, and pain. Now he feels nothing but distrust and anger. The agony of not knowing who he is gets easier by the day, and as the memories fade away they're replaced with a flood of unorganized and mostly senseless thoughts that help to fill the emptiness inside of him. More than anything, he needs focus now, something to slow down the disturbing thoughts and images running through his head. Why this family will be any different from any of the others he doesn't yet know, but they're clearly from out of town, and they don't act like everybody else does. As he watches them climb out of the window and onto the sidewalk, he can feel the compulsions start to take over again — this time stronger than before. Hatred begins to course through his veins, with images of their lifeless and mangled bodies taking ownership of his thoughts. Soon they'll be dead, and the voices and fever that's ripping his mind and body apart will die with them.