by White, Ben
"GO! RUN!"
But he wasn't running, he was grabbing the bat and hitting the zombie's arm—
"ZACK, RUN!"
—and it did nothing—
"JUST RUN!"
—and those behind were closer—
"RUN!"
—and closer—
"RUN!"
—and the zombie's arm jerked—
With a hard gasp Imogen kicked her foot free and scrambled forward, Zack grabbing at her arm with both hands to pull her, the bat fallen to the side of the corridor. The fat zombie howled and swiped at Imogen, its claws scraping down the length of her boot, and another zombie lurched forward to fall against her, its fingers grasping frantically at her jacket, and suddenly it was like Imogen was hearing for the first time, the horrible purring all around exploding in her head, and she was grabbing Zack's shirt to pull herself up, almost bringing him down, and then they were both limping forward, and then she was pushing Zack, pushing him away, not hard enough to send him tumbling over but enough to get him away from her—he looked back but once more she screamed at him, "RUN!", and then she was on one knee, her hand grabbing the fat blunt end of her baseball bat, the only end she could reach, and the fat zombie grabbed at her boot, and the lurching zombie clawed at her leg, and the rest were just there, a mass of too-wide mouths and gore-covered bone claws and oozing brown death—
Still on one knee, Imogen drove the handle of the bat down against the fat zombie's wrist, and this time she did not miss, this time she felt bone crunch and tendons rip, and the lurching zombie had a hold of her, had her skirt, and with a yell Imogen brought the bat up to hit weakly against its arm—then flipped the bat in her hands to get a better grip and swung again, a short, brutal blow that drove the zombie's hand away, and now she was moving, now she was crawling, there was a sudden pressure against her arm and she struggled against it before realising that Zack hadn't run, he was there, he was still there, he was helping her up—
Her precious bat gripped tight, her free arm heavy around her brother's slim shoulders, Imogen limped away from the hordes behind her. Their numbers worked against them in this narrow corridor, and many stumbled and fell, and more found themselves blocked by the fat zombie, still struggling to crawl forwards.
But the zombies weren't just coming from behind.
This new corridor must have been one of the convention's busiest; DVD cases and comics and books and games and figures and t-shirts and everything littered the floor, heaped in useless piles, and to the side there was nothing, just a sheer drop to the ground below, and above there dangled heavy black cords from which sculptures had once hung; their remains lay scattered amongst the convention debris, blue and white and metal and plastic. Glass glittered everywhere, made precious by the late sun's light.
And everywhere you looked, there zombies were.
Dozens of them, both up and down the corridor, and dozens more beyond, there were five within a few metres, and all of them were lurching towards Imogen and Zack—and there's no way out, Imogen realised, looking around with wide eyes, no clear path, no clear path. She leaned on Zack as she struck out at a closing zombie, catching its leg and knocking it down, and as she limped forward she pushed her bat against another zombie, and that one went down too—but there were more to take their places, there would always be more ...
Find the rhythm. Move and strike. Focus on the next, just keep moving, ignore the ache in your arm, ignore the pain in your legs, ignore the whimpering at your side, ignore everything but the next in line; the next to be defeated. And keep moving, remember to keep moving, strike decisively—yes, that's it, Imogen thought, as her bat slammed against a zombie's shoulder and sent it stumbling away. Be decisive. Don't move unless you have to—no, but that's not it, it's not 'unless you have to', it's 'when you know to', move when you know to move, strike when you know to strike, 'don't' has nothing to do with it, just find ... just know that ... that moving is—
Imogen grunted as her swing missed, unbalanced and falling—Zack's arms beneath her propped her up but too late, already the zombie she'd missed had her, had its claws around her right arm, she tried to shake it loose but its grip was strong—she felt Zack tugging at the bat and let it go, but his feeble strikes did nothing to help, nothing at all, and to Imogen's horror the zombie brought its face to her arm and bit down hard, she screamed as its sharp teeth pinched her flesh—the leather of her jacket was strong but already she could feel it tearing, the sheer power of the zombie's bite unexpected and horrifying, and still Zack was trying to push it away, to beat it, to do anything, and Imogen was pushing at its head, frantically trying to dislodge it before it got through—
—and from the distance came a howling, long and strangled and weird—
Every zombie in the corridor stopped. Every zombie in the corridor turned.
Except for the one clinging to Imogen's arm, its teeth grinding into her jacket to get to the living flesh beneath.
And yet ...
With a shrill cry that was part terror and part wilful defiance, Imogen shoved the zombie's head back and wrenched her arm away, bringing her free hand forward in an open punch that sent the zombie back a few vital inches.
Imogen's right hand was open.
Zack shoved her bat up into it.
Without sound, Imogen drove the blunt end of the bat into the zombie's throat, forcing it back. Supported by her brother she spun, swinging the bat in a wide arc that caught an approaching zombie in the forehead, the hollow clonking sound deeply satisfying.
The moment of hesitance caused by the distant howl was over; the zombies were once again focused on Imogen and Zack.
But so too was Imogen's hesitance gone.
Limping away from the howl, her eyes blankly focused, Imogen held her bat in a tight one-handed grip and she drove back those zombies that came near with short, measured swings; I'm not killing them, she thought. I can't kill them. I'm not even crippling them. I'm just removing them from our path, that's all, that's all I need to do, just make a path. They can't be hurt. They can't be punished. I can't do anything to them, except remove them from my path.
EXIT.
Zack saw the sign before his sister did, he pointed and yelled and Imogen changed direction and began limping towards the large red door, it seemed as if a path had been made for them, a path clear of everything, even the debris that cluttered the corridor seemed to be gone, in its place nothing but attractively twisted shards of modern art.
Blue and white and metal and plastic.
Reaching the door presented no problems. Predictably, it didn't open. Imogen didn't waste time desperately trying to make the handle work. Instead she wrenched Zack away and began walking along the wall, there were zombies close, just out of clawing reach, but with Zack's support she outpaced them, there were more ahead but both of them had seen the second sign:
CARPARK.
There was no time to use her bat now, no time for any kind of decisive action other than that of escape, Zack's breathing was heavy and so, she knew, was hers, his rapid, hers wheezing, but there again was the sign, the sign that said CARPARK, and there was the corridor, so short and so sweet, and there was a one-armed corpse at the end but it lay still—given the choice Imogen would not have gone near it but choice was a luxury she simply did not have, and the relief that flooded through her weary body as the handle turned and the door opened was powerful and welcome. With a shove she sent Zack through the door, to the stairwell beyond, and she couldn't move forward and there was pressure against her side and this one was strong, this one was so strong—
The zombie was staring up, its eyes dark brown, almost black, bulging obscenely and dripping that horrible yellow ichor. Its sharp claws dug into Imogen's side, through her jacket, its grip burning hot, and it didn't have another arm to claw with and that alone gave Imogen hope—
In pain and in terror Imogen tried to beat at its arm with her bat but the angle was wrong, it was too close, she couldn't swing p
roperly and it was too strong, impossibly strong, the muscles in its arm were like iron, hard and tense and uncrushable, and slowly it began to pull itself up, mouth open wide, displaying jagged and broken teeth that were too long and too sharp, brown filth dangling from them in long sticky strands, and it wasn't purring, it wasn't making any kind of sound, but its dead eyes seemed fixed on her, on the thin layer of grey cotton that just barely covered her stomach—
In a state of utter panic Imogen beat as hard as she could against the zombie's arm, aware of Zack shouting her name and yet utterly unaware, she could feel herself being tugged but the thing's grip was unbreakable, and its mouth was inches from her belly, and still it made no sound, and more of them were crowding into the short corridor now, so close, too close, this one will kill me, Imogen thought as she watched her bat slam down again and again, and then the others will eat me.
Please let that be what happens. Please don't let me—
And suddenly the zombie made a noise, a violent purr, and its grip on her side slackened—more than slackened, it was coming loose, and with a short, sharp swing of her bat and a deeply rewarding CRACK Imogen sent it slumping to the side—she felt a small hand tugging at her and she let Zack pull her forward, half-falling through before shoving her bat down to steady herself and turning, helping Zack to push at the heavy door—even before it clicked shut the scrabbling against it began, the zombies on the other side desperate to get through, they'd been closer than Imogen had realised and yet now, she thought, utterly harmless.
From the other side of the door came a howl, soon joined by others, and though just as chilling and horrible as every other howl Imogen had heard this time she welcomed the sound, almost revelled in it. This time it was the sound of a victory—small, perhaps even insignificant, but nonetheless there.
Zack was tugging at Imogen's arm, and she allowed him to lead her to the stairs, and then to help her traverse them. What felt like an hour later they were standing on bare concrete, in a tiny room, two brightly lit drinks machines playing soft jingles against the wall. There was something else here too, something it took Imogen a moment to identify; a mobile 'gate', similar to those set up outside the main entrance.
We're free, Imogen thought. We're out! Because these gates, these gates mark the entrance, and an entrance is just an exit except the other way around, because—
Imogen realised her eyes were closed. She realised that she was listening. More than that, she realised that she was hearing.
Purrrrr.
It wasn't in the tiny little room. It wasn't even an 'it'. It was a 'they'.
Words that seemed to have been spoken an unmeasurably long time ago drifted back to Imogen; for some reason there are dozens in the parking garage ...
There were double doors leading into the garage. They were closed, but unlocked.
They opened easily.
There was a moment.
They shut quietly.
Zack stared up at Imogen as she pressed her hand to her face, over her eyes, quietly despairing.
"Are there—"
And once more the doors opened. Imogen limped forward, bat in one hand, brother in the other, around the nearest parked car, which she hit as hard as she could with her bat. This had no effect but to attract the attention of several zombies, joining the eight dozen whose attention had already very much been attracted by the opening of the double doors.
"Faster," Imogen grunted, as she and Zack made their way further through the garage, there were big friendly yellow arrows pointing towards the exit, finding their way wasn't a problem, and Imogen hit another car as they passed and it exploded into an electronic whine of alarm, which the zombies universally ignored.
Worth a try, Imogen thought, and she limped onwards.
"Imogen—"
"No."
Just that, 'no', but Imogen realised that Zack was pointing, that around the edge of the garage there were no zombies at all, that if they went that way—
—then two minutes later they'd be trapped.
Imogen leaned out from the wall to see better, her face shiny with sweat, the fear she was trying to hide clear in her pale blue eyes. They were still coming for them. They were all still coming for them.
"None of them howled," she muttered, as she once more grabbed Zack by the shoulder and began limping along the wall. The nearest zombies were blocked by a car, a red convertible, but this made no difference—just a few metres further there were a dozen more, and to the left a tight group of five, and behind them two others, and to the right dozens more, all of them shuffling slowly but inevitably towards the only two living humans in the parking garage.
"Imogen—"
"Don't talk," Imogen snapped, as she stopped and glanced around—then immediately started walking again. Don't stop, she told herself. Never stop. The closest group of zombies was just a few steps away, beside a large blue SUV, already reaching out, claws grasping—
The blunt end of Imogen's bat connected heavily with the leftmost zombie's ear, knocking it into the zombie to the right. Neither went down, but the ensuing tangle of dead limbs and grasping claws gave Imogen the gap she needed. Squeezing against the SUV, pushing her brother ahead, the closest zombie near to breaking its own arm stretching around behind itself in a desperate attempt to grab them, Imogen released Zack to slap its hand away, the wet heat of its wrist sickening.
"Imogen—"
"DON'T TALK."
They were heading towards the middle part of the garage now, the clear area—clear of cars, anyway. Zombies shambled towards them from the left and right, the friendly yellow arrow beneath Imogen's feet indicating the exit—an impossible exit, thronged with dead-eyed creatures. Ahead there were cars and then the walls, scattered zombies in the gaps between, and with no other choice Imogen headed for a white sedan—
"Imogen, there's a door—"
Zack was pointing. In the far wall an unmarked brown door was open—but not wrecked. No wind, Imogen thought. It didn't reach down here. So why are there so many zombies?
No time to think. They'd reached the white sedan.
"Climb," she grunted, pushing Zack forward. He started scrambling up, then paused on the bonnet.
"Where—"
"Go over the cars, get to that door, DON'T GO IN."
Imogen was limping around the car, her eyes cold and hard—she could see the line, she could see the path—
"But—"
"If one comes close, go the other way. If you're surrounded, stay on top of the car." Imogen was halfway around the sedan now, heading for a high yellow ute. "GO!"
She heard her brother scrambling forward as she turned left. Two, she was thinking. Around the edge of this—
Claws scrabbled out from beneath the blue car to Imogen's right, and she gritted her teeth—a crawler. Of course.
"Zack, don't touch the ground! Jump to the next car!"
"Okay!"
Imogen had turned, was heading back towards the white sedan—but the zombies in the clear main 'road' had almost reached the edge of the parked cars now, that way was blocked, and she turned again, saw that the crawler was almost out—it moved fast, and Imogen soon saw why; its legs were neither missing nor broken. There was another zombie behind it, a walker, lurching out from around the yellow ute, clearly intent on getting to her, it was fast, small and fast, dressed in some kind of bee costume, yellow and black—
"Imogen—"
"Keep going!"
Imogen's hands were tight around her bat, her eyes were fixed forward, and she planted her good foot and she raised her bat and she waited for just that fraction of a second that would make all the difference in the world—
CLONK.
The bee zombie went down, face first against the hard concrete. Imogen raised her bat then brought it down in a swift, brutal motion, crushing its face against the ground. There was a sudden, blaring sound from ahead, a car alarm, but Imogen's focus was unaffected; the crawler was already grasping its way forwa
rd, and Imogen smashed her bat against first its right hand and then its left, crushing them easily—hard surfaces are good, she thought, as it tried to raise its head to bite at her and she broke its chin with a violent upwards blow. This unbalanced her, and she had to recover before moving forward—a quick glance behind revealed that the hordes coming in from the 'road' were having trouble with the cars, only a couple had managed to find gaps, and Imogen almost smiled as she stepped firmly over the downed zombies, steadying herself against the ute as she hopped over their horribly yielding backs. They go soft, she thought, as her left foot thudded down against firm ground again. Their muscles go hard and their skin goes soft.
Past the ute was a clear gap, then another road—clear of zombies—and Zack was there, he was already clambering through a convertible, its piercing alarm joining the others already echoing through the garage—at least it's better than hearing them purr, Imogen thought, as she shuffled to the next group of cars, there were zombies scattered to the left, to the right as well, but between those two blue hatchbacks—
"Imogen!"
Zack was almost to the wall, atop a small green SUV, but there were zombies to his left, shuffling towards him—
"Just go to the right and RUN! They can't catch you!"
Imogen had her own problems, she'd spotted another crawler beneath one of the hatchbacks, and a large black SUV with tinted windows had hidden a walker—the path she'd picked was far from clear. Going further along then doubling back might work, but with Zack where he was—
With a quietly irritated grunt Imogen headed straight forward, the most direct path to the far wall—there were two walkers between the gaps in the cars but they were facing away—they're heading for Zack, Imogen realised. If he doesn't—
"ZACK! Why aren't you moving!"
He didn't respond—he was frozen, still atop the SUV, his face hidden by the too-large helmet he had on but seemingly just staring at the zombies as they shambled closer.