by Perrin Briar
“Mommy hug,” Amy said.
“I wish I could hug you, baby,” Susan said. “But I’m far away right now. I’m at work trying to fix things.”
“Rosie hurt,” Amy said. ‘Rosie’ was Amy’s way of saying ‘Rosario.’
“I know,” Susan said. “But she’ll take good care of you. Mommy loves you very much.”
Tears spilled down Susan’s face as she had a one-sided conversation with her daughter. She absorbed every sound and utterance. It might well be the last time she would get to hear them.
Z-MINUS: 3 hours 1 minute
Susan sat in a corridor facing an empty doorframe, staring into space. It was her turn to be on watch. A few table and chair legs poked out from the darkness beyond. She sat with a dumb smile on her face, running through the conversation she’d had with Amy.
She was truly the light of her life. There was nothing else she needed nor wanted. Rosario had put the kids upstairs and locked herself in the bathroom. It was a dismal end to an amazing life, but what else could she do? It was strange to think Rosario could be anything other than a loving mother figure. But now she represented a threat, and despite all the happy memories and all the loving emotions Susan associated with her, it took but an instant for Susan to know what was truly important to her.
Amy. She would fight tooth and nail for her daughter, would do anything necessary to keep her safe. Anything.
Phil grunted at the exertion of sitting down beside Susan on the floor. He took out a flask of water, filled two cups and handed one to Susan. She pulled from it.
“This isn’t exactly how I imagined our drink together would go,” Phil said. “But I’m glad we finally had it together.”
Susan smiled.
“Me too,” she said. “Though I’d be even more glad if none of us had to be here.”
“I’ll second that motion,” Phil said.
He looked up at the barricaded obstruction they’d built on the staircase landing.
“How did it ever come to this?” he said.
“To what?” Susan said.
“To us, sitting here, watching a bunch of chair legs in case they move,” Phil said. “We were meant to change the world, eradicate the possibility of this kind of thing from happening. What happened?”
“We were too late,” Susan said. “We were getting our little ducks in a row, but it was already open season.”
“It would have been nice if we knew there was a deadline,” Phil grumbled. “But it might not be too late. I mean, that’s what we’re here for, right? The cure. It’ll put all this to rights.”
“I hope so,” Susan said. “How is Archie doing?”
“Fifty-six percent,” Phil said.
Susan nodded, not knowing what else to say.
Phil downed his water in a single gulp and said “Aaaahhh,” like it was a fine vintage.
“So, what’s up between you and Richard?” he said.
“What do you mean?” Susan said.
“You got divorced two years ago,” Phil said. “But sometimes I see a spark between you. Or am I just imagining it?”
If Phil saw it, could everyone? Susan blushed. She felt embarrassed. She was conflicted when it came to Richard. He was her former husband, after all. Once, she had loved him with every fiber of her being. But then he’d left them.
“I don’t know,” Susan said. “All I know is he’s changing… Becoming more like his old self again.”
“And you like that,” Phil said.
He couldn’t have sounded more disappointed.
“I like that it’s better for Amy,” Susan said.
Phil nodded.
“I can understand that,” he said, though he didn’t sound convinced.
“When you have a kid it’s difficult to do what you want to do, and not what you think would be best for your kid,” Susan said.
“Are you sure that’s what you’re doing now?” Phil said. “Are you sure he’s the best thing for Amy?”
It was said so calmly, without harmful intent, that it took Susan aback. Her mouth fell open and made a sound without her knowing what it was she really wanted to say.
“Uh…” she said.
Creeeeak!
The furniture shunted forward half an inch, like a great bull was forcing it from behind.
“Oh no,” Phil said. “Not again.”
Z-MINUS: 2 hours 49 minutes
Susan and Phil leaped to their feet. They watched, mouths agape. But the furniture had stopped. No more noise. The darkness seemed to maw open wide. Susan and Phil shared a look, fear reflected on their faces.
“You saw it move, right?” Susan said.
Phil nodded.
“Affirmative,” he said.
The furniture moved forward another couple of inches, and in the distance, sounding like it came from the deep recesses of their minds, the whispered groan of a single doomed voice. Susan and Phil stepped aside, silent and calm.
They approached Steve, who was sat on duty at the other stairwell. Richard was with him.
“They’re coming up the stairs,” Susan said.
“Are you sure?” Steve said, getting to his feet.
“Definitely,” Phil said.
“Gather the others,” Steve said. “We’ll meet at the other stairwell and hold them back as long as we can. I can’t believe this is happening so fast.”
“This isn’t working,” Susan said. “They’re coming up faster than we can hold them back.”
“How long till the cure is made?” Steve said.
“We’re just over halfway,” Susan said.
“About sixty percent,” Phil said.
“We’ll have to come up with a way to slow them down further,” Steve said. “Until then, we stick to what we’ve been doing.”
“What should I do?” Richard said.
“You stay here and watch this stairwell,” Steve said.
Steve walked with a limp. His metal arm was too heavy for him. He’d never worn it longer than a few minutes at a time before.
The soldiers gathered around the other stairwell.
Torn faces, like Halloween masks, jutted from the darkness, gruesome, grotesque. The soldiers dealt the undead swift blows to the face, stabbing them in the eyes and impaling their brains. The undead fell back on top of one another, but their lifeless bodies were pushed forward by the crowd behind.
“Form up,” Steve said. “Pairs. Line up, one behind the other. When one pair gets tired, the next pair will take over.”
Oaks and Taylor were up first. They hacked and beat at the zombies as they attempted to climb over the furniture. Blood spewed over the tabletops and chairs, pooling on the floor, their bodies going limp. It was thick, with dark lumps.
The first pair of soldiers grew tired. Steve and Susan were up next. They hammered and smashed the undead’s heads open, brain matter spilling over their destroyed faces. Susan found it remarkably easy to beat their faces in. She just had to imagine the fear on Amy’s face when Rosario had been bitten.
But the furniture was still being pushed back, and the screams and shrieks from the undead were getting the attention of more zombies on the second floor. And yet more were coming up the stairs from the first floor.
Amongst the noise, Susan thought she heard something. It was distant, weak, like a single human voice speaking…
She shivered. It was bad enough having to listen to the undead’s endless pitying groans that she also thought of them as still cognizant. But the sound continued and would not go away. Exhausted, Susan and Steve fell back. Oaks and Jericho took over.
A hand fell on Susan’s shoulder, making her jump. It was Phil.
“Can you hear that?” he said.
“Hear what?” Susan said.
“A voice,” Phil said.
“You can hear it too?” Susan said.
Phil said nothing and just listened, focusing on the whisper-thin voice. It was like a man speaking at the end of a long tunnel.
“It sounds like�
� like it’s coming from the corridor,” Phil said.
Susan’s eyes widened. Fear squeezed the air from her chest. She could hardly speak.
“Richard!” she said. “It’s Richard!”
Z-MINUS: 2 hours 9 minutes
Susan ran down the corridor, her lungs already burning. She ignored the shouts behind her, something from Phil and Steve. She didn’t hear their words.
She arrived at the second stairwell to find Richard holding the furniture in place with his back, his legs braced against the opposite wall. His body jolted forward under the onslaught of the undead beating at the underside of the tabletop. Each blow forced a grunt from his body. Sweat dripped from his forehead, his shirt drenched.
“They’re here!” Richard said, gasping. “Quick! Help me!”
Susan got down and held the table with him. Each zombie strike sent a bolt of pain up her back. She didn’t know how Richard had managed to hold on for as long as he had. The wood at their back splintered and snapped. Susan daren’t look for fear the zombies were right on top of them.
The table pressure released and rocked back. Phil had added his own weight to the fray. The zombie arms protruded from either side of the doorframe.
Steve, Jericho and Taylor stabbed at the infected, the number of undead dwindling.
A thick arm picked Susan up off the floor and stood her on her feet.
“Get up,” Steve said, picking Richard up too. “You’ve done enough. Go.”
The soldiers put their backs against the table. There was a split in the middle. It was going to break any second, each thud a death knell.
“How are we going to get out of here?” Phil said. “They’re coming up both sets of stairs!”
Steve looked one way and then the other, his trained mind working through the possibilities.
The zombies were already spilling out of the other staircase toward them. Oaks, who had been holding the position, moved backward, fighting, but losing ground.
“In here,” Richard said, moving into the room behind them.
They funneled into the room. It was the only place they could go. They shut the door behind them. Each of the soldiers was limping badly, drenched in sweat. The room they’d entered was festooned with small plastic containers, a museum of petri dishes.
The undead beat on the door, giving it its own heartbeat. Sawdust drifted down from the top. Richard gasped for air, still exhausted from his earlier exertion.
“They’re going to get in,” Taylor said in a soft, resigned voice.
“We’re doomed,” Jericho said.
Susan couldn’t accept that, not while Amy was in danger, not while she still drew breath. She turned to look at the room. There was always a way out, always something the creative human mind could take advantage of.
But all she saw were blank walls with no other doors or exits. No mech suit this time. They could jump out the window, but the fall would slam them into the concrete carpark. And then the undead would come, picking their bones clean. At least here they could put up a fight.
And then she paused.
“Of course!” Susan said.
“‘Of course’, what?” Jericho said. “‘Of course’, we’re doomed?”
Susan put on a pair of thick gloves. She input a code into a large vat in the corner of the room. Upon seeing this, Phil said, “Of course!”
“Is anyone else not getting this?” Jericho said. “If it’s all the same to you, I’ll use my guns now.”
“No,” Susan said. “Conserve your ammo. We’re not finished yet.”
Susan opened the vat, releasing a cloud of white mist that spilled across the floor. She reached inside and took out a container of green liquid.
“What’s that?” Steve said.
“Acid,” Susan said. “We’ll use it to burn a hole through the roof and climb through.”
“It’ll never work,” Steve said with a look toward the door. “At least, not in time.”
“It will,” Susan said. “We’ve been working with some highly corrosive materials recently. It was meant as a way to rapidly burn holes through reinforced concrete, metal, you name it. We added a sticky substance to make it easier to apply.”
She tossed the bomb up at the roof. It stuck.
“Get back!” Susan said.
They crowded into a corner of the room. After three seconds, the bomb exploded.
Once the smoke had cleared, they could see the roof had disintegrated and fallen away. Some of the acid had fallen below and scorched holes in the floor too. Undead were already beginning to gather underneath.
The floorboards creaked as Susan stepped toward it and peered up through the hole in the roof. Pipes and wires were exposed. There was still another layer to get through.
“Jesus Christ!” Jericho said. “I’ve only ever seen that shit in Alien!”
Crunch!
The door began to bend inwards under the undead onslaught.
“They’re getting in!” Taylor said.
“Brace the door!” Steve said.
The soldiers did, pressing their weight against it. Anything to buy just a little more time. Phil approached another vat.
“This is the sticky stuff we put on the acid bomb,” he said. “Pure glue. Get this on you, and you have to cut off whichever part of you it sticks to! Better hope it’s not your co-”
“Hurry up!” Taylor said.
Phil smeared the sticky stuff over the cracks and joins in the door. It wouldn’t make it any stronger, but it might hold for a little longer. Susan tossed up another sticky acid bomb.
Boom!
The second acid bomb went off. It immediately began to hiss and consume the roof. Susan peered through it, seeing the room above.
The door rattled as the undead banged and beat on it. The door was fastened tight to the doorframe, but now that too was beginning to lift away from its moorings.
“We don’t have much time,” Phil said.
A pair of soldiers dragged a table over the hole in the floor.
“You go first,” Steve said to Susan.
“It’s no time for heroics,” Susan said.
“It’s not heroics,” Steve said. He lifted his metal limb. “Climbing ain’t exactly our forte.”
“Oh,” Susan said.
She climbed onto the table, Jericho beside her. He put his hands to her waist and helped lift her. She grabbed onto some dangling cords and began to pull herself up. Jericho helpfully put his hands on her bottom to push her up. Susan swore she felt a squeeze.
Next, Jericho jumped and pulled himself up. He reached down and offered a hand to Richard. He was exhausted, barely able to move. The soldiers helped lift him. Susan grabbed Richard’s arm. It was hard work, but they got him up. Phil was surprisingly spry and seemed to leap up in a single bound.
The undead banged hard on the door. The wood splintered and a pair of hands reached inside.
It was Taylor’s turn. Phil and Jericho each grabbed one of her arms. They strained and turned red with the effort.
“Pull me up!” Taylor said.
“We can’t,” Jericho said. “You’re too heavy. Jesus, Taylor. You could do with losing a few pounds.”
Taylor gave Jericho the finger.
“It’s not her,” Susan said. “It’s her prosthetic. It’s too heavy.”
“What’s the use of new limbs if they’re too heavy?” Jericho said.
“They’re early models,” Susan said. “We were going to make them lighter.”
“That’s a great lot of use to us right now, isn’t it?” Jericho said.
“Hope you’re coming up with a solution up there,” Steve said, eyes fastened to the door.
“Take your prosthetics off,” Susan said.
“Are you crazy?” Oaks said. “We’ll be sitting ducks!”
“We already are,” Steve said. “Once they get in here, what chance do you think we’ll have of holding them back?”
He loosened the clasp of his prosthetic arm
and let it hit the floor. The others followed suit. Taylor, with a shake of her head, let her leg go too. She stood on her real leg and handed her prosthetic up to Jericho, who laid it to one side. He reached down, seized Taylor by the hand, and pulled her up.
“Not so heavy after all, huh?” Taylor said.
“I wouldn’t say that,” Jericho said.
The door splintered open at the top. The undead behind it peered inside and growled in excited rage. The door finally broke. The undead spilled inside, flopping to the floor in their haste.
Only Steve and Oaks were left.
“Go on!” Steve said. “You next, Oaks!”
Oaks looked from Steve to the undead, who were getting to their feet.
“You go,” Oaks said. “I’ll hold them back.”
“No,” Steve said. “Climb up! Quick!”
“There’s not enough time!” Oaks said.
He hopped down off the table and swung his prosthetic arm around, smacking the undead with it.
Steve hesitated.
“Steve!” Susan shouted.
She reached down. Steve grabbed her forearm. Jericho, Phil and a couple of the other soldiers helped pull him up too. The moment Steve was up, he spun around and leaned down through the hole.
“Oaks!” he shouted. “Grab my hand you bastard! Now!”
Oaks spun his arm around and smacked another undead across the face, sending it sprawling. Oaks turned and crawled onto the table. He reached up with his hand. An inch short.
“Your arm!” Steve shouted.
Oaks raised his prosthetic arm, to give him the extra height he needed. He met resistance. An undead had hold of the shoulder straps. Oaks’ face screwed up. He knew what was about to happen.
Three undead were on him before he moved a muscle, biting into his soft flesh with blunt teeth. They wrenched hungry mouthfuls free. Oaks’ blood dribbled down their chins.
“Oaks!” Steve screamed.
He reached farther down the hole. Jericho, Susan and Taylor held him back, but still he stretched. His fingers found a strap on Oaks’ prosthetic.
Oaks beat ineffectively at the monsters with his fists. The undead bit hard at the soft parts of his arms, at his joints. Another dug its fingers into his soft belly and set to tearing out his entrails.