by White, Ben
"But what are we doing? We should—"
"We're getting out of here."
"B-but we could do that with the others—"
"They don't want us."
Zack stared up at his big sister as she dragged him along—then looked down at her leg, at the brace attached to her boot.
"Your foot—"
"It's fine," Imogen lied. "Just keep walking."
"I could help—"
"I can walk. Now shut up."
The corridor ended at a door, which Imogen listened at for several seconds before opening. On the other side was one of the many near-identical corridors of the Phoenix Complex, utterly unremarkable.
"I hate all these wrecked comics," Zack said, as Imogen led him out. She shot him a cold glance. "Imogen, where are we GOING? Even those guys didn't know how—"
"We're heading down. Down and out."
"But the lower floors are filled with ... with ... you know—"
"With zombies, Zack, just use the word."
"Um, and the main entrance—"
"Yes, I heard."
"And even Mr Muncaster said, he said about the side exits, and how they're gonna, I mean they were gonna—I mean, how some might be clear—Imogen, HOW are we gonna get out?"
"Just follow me."
Zack stared up at his sister as they walked along the corridor. "You've got a plan?"
How can I plan? Imogen thought, her eyes fixed straight ahead. My plan is 'surviving', nothing more than that. Surviving, and ... just surviving. She glanced down at her brother and her jaw clenched at the expression on his face.
"We'll head down," she said. "Getting to the ground floor is the most important ..."
They'd come to an outer corridor. Like every other outer corridor its wide, floor-to-ceiling windows had been blown in and glass covered the carpet. This corridor looked out over the surrounding paved park, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows. I'm amazed there are still trees standing, Imogen thought, as she gazed down.
"I read somewhere, I mean I remember reading, that trees are really tough," Zack said, as if reading her mind. "Like even when everything else falls down or whatever trees can still stay, um, good."
More than trees were standing. Even without her glasses Imogen could see movement, could see the shambling gait of the blurred figures down below—
Zack scurried to catch up to his sister as she moved away from the window.
"Is your leg okay?" he asked. "You can lean on me if you want, I don't mind, do you need to lean on me?"
Imogen said nothing.
"Um, where did you get that bat? It's really cool, it looks like a really good one I mean, do you think I should have a bat too?"
"No."
"Or just, um, maybe a sword?"
"You don't get a weapon."
Zack stared up at his sister, mouth hanging open in indignation.
"What! That's so unfair, why not, why do you get a—"
"You just don't, Zack, don't question me."
Glass crunched underfoot as Imogen limped along the corridor and her brother stomped sulkily along behind.
"Don't stomp," Imogen said, glancing back at him coldly. "You're only wearing sneakers, the glass could go through."
"Okay, MUM."
Imogen's teeth clenched. "Do NOT call me that," she said, stopping to turn on her brother. "Just shut up."
"I don't get WHY I don't get a weapon, what if I get attacked?"
Imogen shook her head as she turned away.
"Imogen!"
"So don't get attacked."
"Aw, Imogen!"
"Shut up, Zack."
"But—"
Zack cut himself off with a yelp—Imogen had stopped and he'd walked into her back, biting his tongue. She shot him a chilly glance then looked ahead again.
"Oh my god. Is he dead?"
Imogen ignored Zack as she limped forward. Slumped against the wall of the corridor in a sitting position, as if gazing out at the view, was a still figure dressed as a motorcyclist or car racer—all in white, from his sturdy double-strapped sneaker to his racing leathers to the white helmet on his head. The only exceptions were the helmet's black visor and the red blood the figure's right foot was covered in. There was a trail of it, a dark line against the blue of the carpet, leading away up the corridor. He was attacked, Imogen thought, the zombies managed to rip his sneaker off and they mangled his foot—but he got away somehow, and dragged himself here, and now he's either dead or dying, in any case unconscious—could zombies follow a blood trail? Would they? If they were following him, they'd have caught up by now, wouldn't they? But what if he dragged himself up stairs, or—
No, Imogen told herself, just stop. Don't think about this. It's not important.
"Stay back."
Zack stared at Imogen as she walked closer, close enough to prod the man with the end of her bat—he didn't react. She prodded harder, and he slumped to the side.
Without further hesitation Imogen held her bat out for Zack to take, then went to kneel beside the figure. Working as quickly as she could she unbuckled the helmet and got it off his head, revealing a young, bearded face beneath, ugly red where it wasn't deathly pale, and all over glistening with sweat. Yellow and brown pus seeped from his eyes—and from the corner of his mouth. Dying, Imogen thought, not quite dead. Too difficult to get his leathers off, but the gloves—they unstrapped easily and Imogen tugged them off, before standing and stepping back as quickly as she could. She thrust the helmet and gloves at Zack, snatching back her bat as he struggled to hold everything.
"Put them on," she ordered.
"They're too big!"
"Deal with it. Do them up tight—just wrap the thing around." Imogen watched Zack struggle with the glove's straps, then rolled her eyes and knelt beside him. "There," she said, tightening it, before picking up the other and putting it on his other hand.
"Ow!" Imogen was not gentle with the helmet—it was far too big for Zack and wobbled on his head, but she pulled the strap up tight under his chin. "Imogen! Too tight!" Zack pushed up the helmet's black visor. "Why—"
"You said you wanted armour."
"But not like—"
"Anything that can stop those zombies from scratching or biting or grabbing you is armour. It doesn't matter what it looks like."
"But it's heavy, it doesn't fit me, it STINKS—"
Imogen let Zack's whining fade as she gazed down at the corpse. Without looking back at her brother, she started walking again.
"Imogen—"
This time Imogen didn't even need to glance back to cut off her brother; he did it himself.
Soon after leaving the dying man behind, they came to a wide staircase at the side of the corridor. Imogen grudgingly accepted Zack's help in getting down, and the corridor below was clear—at least at first.
"Zack," Imogen said, her voice low. She'd heard an increasingly familiar sound, and put her hand on her little brother's shoulder as she looked around—it was from a side corridor that they came, two of them, moving slowly, one dressed in red overalls with a yellow nametag, the other with a bloodied blue shirt, ripped open to expose his side, the fake chainsaw attached to his right hand dragging against the ground. The shirt, Imogen thought, even as she guided Zack to walk away from the two zombies, that's what let him down—his side had been torn open, his ribs exposed, guts dangling in a glistening mass.
"Oh, gross," she heard Zack whisper—his voice shook and his body was trembling. Imogen tightened her grip on his shoulder, both leaning on him for support and guiding him forward—but less than a minute after the two zombies by the stairs had been left behind they came across another group, at least a dozen, spread throughout the corridor ahead. Zack tensed beneath Imogen's hand and she jerked him away as a few of the closer ones started to shamble towards them, heading back towards a side corridor, but down that there were another three in a close group, all of them wearing red and black uniforms with little arrow insignias—the
y were standing still, apparently unaware of Zack and Imogen's presence, but even as Imogen considered her options they all turned and began walking towards her, that horrible purring sounding out—
Imogen pulled Zack towards another corridor, one she hadn't wanted to use, it was one of the narrow ones with doors on either side, and the floor was scattered with more comics than usual, and as Imogen passed each doorway she tensed, expecting one of them to lunge out from within.
But none did. And the corridor beyond was clear, oddly clear, even the comics thinned out, and there was no glass on the floor, no broken windows nearby—Imogen allowed herself to relax, just slightly, as she and her brother walked slowly onwards.
Then she noticed the sound—it didn't come from zombies. It was coming from her brother. He wasn't crying, not yet, but he whimpered with every shaky breath, and his hands were trembling even with the thick leather gloves.
"This is too heavy for me, it's a hassle," Imogen said, stopping to pull off her bag. She thrust it at Zack. "You have to carry it."
Zack stared at it, then reached out with a trembling hand—Imogen jerked the bag away.
"You are NOT allowed to take anything out without my permission. Understand?"
Zack nodded slowly. Imogen eyed him a moment, her eyes cold, then she pushed the bag into his hands.
"Put it on and keep moving," she said, already walking. Zack slipped it over his head, the helmet a minor nuisance, and then hurried after her. Imogen half-glanced back, not really looking at him. "You can take ONE bar from it. ONE."
Imogen returned her focus to the corridor ahead—it was dimly lit, hardly any of the lights were broken but they were clearly meant more for 'mood' than 'illuminating deadly hidden zombies'. She could hear Zack rummaging through the bag behind her. More side corridors, she thought, and some rooms behind those doorways, we need more stairs, why do none of the stairs in this place connect more than two levels? What a stupid—
The rummaging behind her had stopped, and she looked back to see Zack was staring at the bar he held.
"There's only one nut bar," he said, his voice quiet. Imogen shook her head as she looked forward again. "Imogen, there's only—"
"So?"
There was silence for a few seconds, then Imogen looked back again—Zack's eyes were wet. She rolled her eyes as she limped away.
"Just eat it, Zack, for god's sake—"
"But it's your—"
"I don't care, I really don't care, if you want that one then eat that one, just don't—"
Imogen let out an angry, pained grunt as she slipped on a comic and fell heavily to the floor, her bat falling from her hand and rolling away.
"DAMN ALL COMICS EVERYWHERE FOREVER!" she yelled, raw emotion making her voice harsh and strange. She waved Zack away as he ran to help, then pushed him hard when he didn't step back. He looked at her, hurt, then turned away. As Imogen pushed herself up he began trying to unwrap the bar, struggling to get a good grip with the clumsy gloves he was wearing.
It took Imogen a few seconds to get her breathing under control and steady herself on her good foot, then—
Purrr.
It was soft, almost gentle, coming from inside a nearby room. The door was gone, and as Imogen stared she saw the zombie limp into sight—it had been a boy, younger and even smaller than Zack, wearing big round glasses and black and purple robes with a cheap toy owl hanging limply from one shoulder. Imogen glanced at Zack as she retrieved her baseball bat, saw that he was staring at the boy, the nut bar lying forgotten on the floor beside him.
"Come on," Imogen grunted, grabbing her brother by the shoulder and pulling him into walking, leaning on him as they limped away—the zombie boy's leg was damaged and he was too slow to catch them, and soon Imogen and Zack emerged back onto the outer corridor, further along now, past the group of zombies that had blocked their path before.
"Imo—"
"Shut up."
"But—"
Zack cut himself off with a small squeal as a panicked scream sounded from further down the corridor. Imogen pushed him into moving as another scream cut through the still air, and after a few steps they saw its source. Just in sight around the curve of the corridor there was a group of zombies closing in on someone struggling with a door—an emergency exit that wasn't opening.
Imogen was already turning away, pulling Zack along as she headed for a side corridor.
"Imogen! We have to help her!"
"We absolutely do not," Imogen said flatly, as another scream sounded from behind.
"But—"
"All we 'have' to do is keep ourselves alive. Nothing else."
"But—"
"Shut up before they hear you and come after us."
Another desperate scream sounded out, turning shrill and pained before suddenly stopping. Imogen didn't look back, just kept walking, but after a moment she realised Zack was crying. She rolled her eyes.
"Quiet."
For a few seconds Zack obeyed, then he started sniffling again.
"Quiet, I said."
Silence from beside her. This passage led straight through to another outer corridor, long and curved, completely clear of zombies—although with piles of white cloth along its sides. There'll be another staircase, Imogen thought, going down to the second floor—she gritted her teeth together as she heard a sob from beside her, and turned to hit her brother in the head.
"Ugh," she grunted—she'd forgotten about his helmet. Hitting him hurt her more than it did him—and his sobbing only got louder. "Zack, if you don't shut up right now—"
There was a soft purring from nearby, from beneath the piles of white cloth, and Imogen pushed Zack back and gripped her bat tight. The cloth began to move, and Imogen gave her brother a pointed look before grabbing him and pulling him with her as she limped away, the crawler's purring growing louder as they escaped—then turning into a long howl.
"Great," Imogen muttered. At the end of the corridor two zombies had come into view, both wearing tight purple and black kimonos and having difficulty walking because of them. Zack's hand was around Imogen's wrist now, tight and getting tighter, and she leaned heavily on him as she headed straight for the two zombies ahead.
"Stay back," she said, before shaking Zack loose and limping forward, bringing her bat up in a short arc that knocked the nearest zombie's hand away. This gave her the opening she needed to thrust the blunt end of the bat against its chest, pushing it to the ground. The other zombie wasn't close enough to hit, so Imogen resettled her good foot and regained her balance, and she gripped her bat with both hands and drew it back—timing, she thought, as the zombie shuffled closer, half of her attention on the one she'd already downed, it's just timing, that's all it is, just—
"UGH!" she grunted, swinging the bat as hard as she could at the zombie's head—an intense shock rang through Imogen's arms at the impact, and the zombie was sent crashing against the wall. "ZACK, COME ON, NOW!"
His hand was in hers in an instant and she yanked him forward, turning the pull into a push that sent him past the two downed zombies—she followed, whacking a flailing claw away as she passed, and then she was with Zack once more, in the next corridor, another outer corridor, and the stairs were in sight—surrounded by zombies, but clearly in sight, and there was a path, a clear path, and Zack put himself under Imogen's arm so she could lean on him, she could feel him trembling hard, and together they shambled towards the stairs as zombies lurched towards them—Imogen had to let go of Zack to strike out at one, then another, pushing both back, then they were at the stairs, and they could see there were more zombies down below but it was too late now, too late to do anything but head down—there was a crawler halfway up and it howled as Imogen stumbled down and Zack tried his ineffective best to help her, they were almost falling by the time they got to the bottom, Imogen's tense, nervous, irritated silence doing nothing to calm Zack's fears, he was trembling worse than ever—
"Imogen ..."
This at th
e sheer number of zombies all around, dozens of them, most of them ahead but almost as many behind, and one enormously fat zombie blocked a side corridor, and all of them—all of them—were hunting Imogen and Zack, lurching towards them, arms outstretched, purring, their broken fingers and bone claws twitching as if in anticipation.
Imogen glanced left and then right, and then up the stairs again—already some of the zombies from above were stumbling down, falling and sliding—
"Imogen?" Zack's voice was tight with panic. Imogen grabbed his wrist and started limping towards the side corridor, zombies closing in from all sides, the fat zombie lumbering towards them from within. She took a breath, then brought her bat up to connect with the zombie's chin, the result a horribly unpleasant clacking noise and a moment of lost momentum, and then she raised the bat and brought it down hard on the zombie's head, the result of this a hollow clonk and little else. The zombie grasped out for her and Imogen stumbled back, Zack steadying her from behind.
Impact, Imogen thought. Stopping power. Not 'damage'.
"They're close," Zack whispered, his voice choked and tearful, and Imogen planted her good foot and shoved the blunt end of the bat as hard as she could into the fat zombie's chest. It stumbled away, teetered for one horrible second, then fell heavily backwards, still clawing at the air.
"ZACK, GO!"
Imogen slammed the bat against the zombie's arm as it reached towards Zack, her brother letting out a squeal of panic as he ducked to the side and sprinted past.
"STOP!"
Zack skidded to a halt, up the corridor, a few metres away now, and the fat zombie was trying to right itself, to roll, to get up, and Imogen glanced back to see that the zombies behind were just a few metres away. She started limping, gasping out as the fat zombie's claws scraped against her boot, jabbing down instinctively with her bat but missing, the blunt end thudding uselessly against the carpet, and now it had a grip, now it had her, now she was falling—
"No!"
Zack's arms were weak and his hands were small and the comics slipped beneath his feet—but his effort in keeping Imogen upright gave her the instant she needed to push herself forward, crying out as she put her bad foot down—and falling again, Zack beneath her, the zombie's claw tight around her foot, and the ones behind were gaining, and she let go of her bat to push Zack out from under her, he was squirming free and his shoes pushed painfully into her as he got himself out—