by White, Ben
Zack trailed off. They'd made their way further around the carpark as he'd talked, and the exit the friendly yellow arrows were pointing them towards had come into view.
Getting to the exit took more than a minute. The floor of the parking garage ramped up to it, and continued to ramp up past it before a sharp turn led right and towards the surface.
"But ... but ..."
Zack looked helplessly at Imogen, then reached out to touch the shutter that blocked off the exit. It was formed of criss-crossing bands of thin black plastic that made it easy to see through ... but impossible to pass. Zack tried to pull up the shutter but it didn't budge; it was locked firmly in place.
Imogen was looking around, at the walls to the left and the right, but there was no obvious way to retract the shutter, no convenient button or lever to push or pull—
"That way," Imogen said, seeing the hopelessness in Zack's eyes. "Look, it's clear. Come on. Together. We'll ... we'll go back up. We'll find another way out."
Zack was still staring at the shutter, dragging his fingers down over it again and again.
"It's so unfair," he said, before looking up at Imogen. "It's ... it's so unfair!"
So what isn't, Imogen thought, but what she said was:
"I need your help. I can't walk without you. And they're getting closer."
Zack's hand was still against the shutter, fingers curling into one of the gaps—
"Zack, I need you to help me walk."
He looked at her, then back at the shutters.
"LET go of that STUPID shutter and let's GO!"
That did it. Zack released the shutter and braced himself under Imogen, and together they began limping away. The zombies were close behind them now, less than a dozen metres away, but Imogen was trying to ignore that—
No, she told herself. NO. That's exactly what you CANNOT do, the MOMENT you ignore those things is the moment you are DEAD. They are ALWAYS dangerous. They will NEVER stop. Complacency will kill you. Never forget that.
"Imogen, where—"
"Just away." Imogen's voice was flat. So was Zack's. And behind them the zombies shambled forward, a mass of grasping claws and sightless eyes, and ahead there were more, scattered and few but just as deadly—
Despite her efforts to remain alert, Imogen's mind dulled as they limped through the garage. She and Zack found a rhythm of movement that let them walk just slightly slower than the zombies behind them, the horde gaining a fraction of an inch with every step, and the parking garage seemed to stretch on forever, no way out, no way in, just an eternal circle of torment with nothing even resembling an end, and as they walked a simple phrase repeated in Imogen's head again and again, can't find the exit can't find the exit can't find the exit—
But then there one was, a brightly lit room, the stairs within clearly visible through the clean glass walls. The zombies behind were close now, their massed purring low and hungry, and the nearest were reaching out, their claws mere inches away—
The glass door closed firmly.
It didn't lock, but it didn't need to.
Imogen slumped to the floor, Zack beside her, both exhausted.
The sound of bone claws scraping against glass was particularly horrible.
Without words spoken brother and sister began working, adjusting the brace on Imogen's right boot, trying to get it back into place.
Outside the zombies surged against the glass walls of the little room, pressing against it, smearing the clean surface with red-brown filth.
"Is ... is that okay?" Zack's voice was shaking so much he could barely get the words out. Imogen gestured for him to stand, then let him help her up. Gingerly, she tested the brace, and winced. "Should we—"
"It's good enough," she muttered. Her gaze fell on the handle of her bat, and she pushed Zack to the side to get at the bag he wore.
Gripping HopeKiller, she felt marginally better.
"Come on," Imogen said, and once more Zack let his sister lean on him, although he was near to collapsing himself, and together they made for the stairs, and together they began the long climb.
They weren't even halfway up when there was a loud slamming from above, and the sound of rapid footsteps. Seconds later someone appeared above, a young man, who gasped when he saw them.
"Leapin' lizards!" he cried. "You two going up? Tell me there aren't fifty zombies down there behind you."
Imogen and Zack just stared up at him.
"Oh, great. Would you say fifty? Less? More? I've got like thirteen up here."
"More," Zack managed. The young man grinned at him.
"Okay, cool, wanna trade? Just kidding. Guess I'm going back up, then. I'm Aaron, by the way, Aaron Gosling." He raised the hockey stick he was holding in a salute—Imogen noticed that there was an ice skate jammed over the end. He was wearing some kind of military uniform, grey over darker grey, with a thick band around his forehead. It looked padded and sturdy, even if it was just a costume. His chin was remarkably sharp, and his grey eyes were bright. "I'm a freelance journalist—I know, SUCH a coincidence, right? I'm not even here working! And I certainly didn't arrive by helicopter. Guess what? No camera, either! This must be the Wii version. You guys coming?"
Without waiting for an answer Aaron turned and ran back up the stairs.
It took Imogen and Zack half a minute to get up to the door. They found Aaron sitting beside it morosely—although he brightened when he saw them.
"Sorry," he said, "I should've offered to help you get up—you're not bitten, right? You just hurt your leg, right? So anyway, turns out they all ran away! Or maybe they weren't hunting me at all, it's hard to tell with these things. Of course, it could be that they found someone else to chase, very short attention spans, these zombies have, sometimes I—ooh, I just noticed the end of your bat, what have you done there? Is that a bit of scrap metal bolted on? Combo weapons are the best, aren't they? Never mind the extra PP, they're just so much fun. Looking at the quality of your creative work I feel almost ashamed of SlIceR here."
The capitalisation on the word dropped coldly into Imogen's head, unwanted but nonetheless there.
"Now, what should I call you two? Am I allowed to name my own party members?"
"I'm Zack," said Zack. "This is my sister Imogen."
"Zack and Imogen," Aaron repeated. "Such unlikely names. Oh, whoops, maybe I spoke too soon—you two wait here while I take care of business. Don't think I'm being altruistic, I just don't want you pinching my XP."
With a bright grin Aaron leapt out through the door, SlIceR held tight in his hands, to engage with a trio of encroaching zombies, all wearing huge afro wigs and basketball uniforms. Imogen noted the way he dispatched them—the sharp blades on the ice skate sliced easily through dead flesh, and Aaron either shoved them in the chest to push them over or hooked their legs to send them crashing to the ground.
"Oh, good!" Aaron cried, spotting a couple more coming his way—these two had on blue uniforms with white edging, one dark-haired, one blonde. "Together in death, if not in life. Cut the arms, and they can't claw! That's a basic, right?" This seemingly addressed back at Imogen and Zack. "Something to do with muscles or tendons or whatever, fingers aren't controlled by the hand! No no no!" And this as he slashed the left zombie's arm. "They're controlled by the arm—the arm I just cut! How about your friend? I'm going for a combo kill here, play along now—bam! Two points! Ba-bam! Plus four for the wrist slice—that's a skill shot, dude! Shove 'em both down and say g'night. G'night!" Aaron had darted around the side of the zombies as he'd spoken, and with a heavy shove sent one into the other, both of them collapsing in a heap. "Double kill! I say 'kill' even though it's more like 'cripple', 'double cripple' isn't as fun. Same difference. Oh, harrooo~! I didn't see you back there!"
Another zombie had emerged from a side corridor, dressed in a yellow PVC pants-and-top set, sunglasses dangling from one ear. Aaron engaged it gleefully, prodding it back with the end of his hockey stick.
"Hello!" he said, as he shoved the zombie back again—not enough to make it fall, just enough to make it stumble. "Hi! Have you met my friend SlIceR? Oh, I see the two of you are already acquainted. How do you do? And how do YOU do? The two of you seem to be getting along tremendously well, I think you were made for each other! But, alas, this dalliance is but—whoops!"
Aaron laughed as the zombie lunged forward, darting away before slashing at its left arm.
"Swish! Slice! And with a shove it's down you go. It's simple, it's repetitive, but it has served me well over these last long hours. Plus with the amount I'm using it I'm sure it'll evolve into a more powerful technique soon, I can picture the little bar now, it's almost full. Speaking of such matters, bingle-bingle-bingle, XP a-hoy-hoy! What do you think, Zack, was that worth a level up?"
Zack was staring at Aaron, caught somewhere between fascination and repulsion. Imogen was not quite so conflicted.
"Ah, maybe you're right," Aaron said, before swinging SlIceR around his head in an extraordinarily dangerous way and singing a little tune: "Doo-doo-doo-doooo-doooo-doooo-doooo-doo-doodoooo—well, you get the idea. You two look exhausted, I'm sorry to say that I haven't any potions spare—shall we go? There aren't many zombs around here, mostly thanks to me—I don't mean to toot my own trumpet but it's the truth—so maybe we could try, mmm, THAT way! Come along! I'll go slow so you can keep up, gosh I'm nice."
Imogen followed without hesitation—he's clearly insane, she thought, but he's not hesitant about crippling zombies. He'll get himself killed sooner or later, until then we can use him to get around more safely.
"Imogen—"
"It's okay," Imogen murmured.
"I know, his costume is AWESOME."
Well, whatever, Imogen thought. At least he's not close to crying any more.
Aaron's version of 'going slow' apparently meant dancing from one side of the corridor to the other, kicking comics around like autumn leaves, darting ahead then running back, and generally progressing in the absolute least efficient way possible.
"It must be absolutely terrible to have your leg like that," Aaron commented, as he walked along beside Zack and Imogen for a few seconds. "I'd just die if I was like that. Haha, maybe literally! But seriously though, not being able to take advantage of everything the situation has to offer, I'd hate that. Oops, hear that? Someone's ... oh, hello ..."
Up ahead, down a side corridor, there was a zombie, tall and thin, wearing furs like a caveman. Most of the dark hair on its head was missing, the scalp beneath raw and red, and the carpet around it was dark. As Imogen and the others watched it staggered towards them, and with a guttural belch thin yellow vomit exploded from its mouth, bubbling down over its chin and onto its chest.
"Oho," said Aaron, as the zombie staggered again, continuing to vomit down over itself. "Evolving, eh? We've got 'pukers' now. Hm hm hm. Heaven only knows what that stuff'd do to you—probably best not to find out, what do you think? Probably the XP for one of those is amazing ... but better not to risk it. Let's just move on, shall we?"
They left the puker behind, the sounds of its regurgitation following them down the corridor.
"Ah, stairs," Aaron said, pointing them out with his hockey stick. "Not what we're looking for, though. Did I mention? I've got a car! It's parked downstairs, except I'm having a devil of a time getting there. If the way down isn't blocked up it's surrounded by dozens of zombs or—well, you were there last time, you know what happened." He sighed happily. "Still, I don't mind so much being delayed from leaving. This floor's perfect, enough zombies to keep me and SlIceR happy, but not enough to 'mob'. That's the real danger, you know. Well, that and the 'sudden lunge', that'll get you every time. Beware Open Doorways, I never go near 'em myself. Or piles of cloth like that, from the booths," he added, gesturing towards some, "just don't risk it. There could be a crawler underneath, have you noticed that they'll howl after they grab you? Some kind of cooperation there, I think. Which brings me back to mobs, of course. They clump up, have you seen? Could that be referred to as 'exponential danger', do you think? One zombie is no danger at all, absolutely none. A child could deal with it—well, you'd know," he said, this to Zack. He grinned suddenly. "This is amazing, though, isn't it? I've been waiting for something like this my whole life—well, zombies, aliens, sewer mutants, anything really, but The Big Z is really the ultimate, isn't it? The ultimate test, the ultimate PLAYground! Do you have any idea how long I've spent thinking about this? Beforehand, I mean, in preparation. Hours! Literally hours. Now that it's finally happened I'm more relieved than anything, to know that all those hours spent in mental preparation for a zombie apocalypse were not in vain, even if these particular zombs don't exactly play by the rules. Remove the—whoops, here we go, this one—oh my goodness, oh my good gracious, this one's mine, this guy is DEFINITELY mine—total bagsies!"
Ahead of them, stumbling out from a side corridor, there was a zombie wearing armour—fake, of course, but quite realistic, at least as far as a kind of futuristic scale mail coloured copper-brown could be considered 'realistic'. The helmet had three visors, all of them glowing blue. How the person inside actually saw out wasn't clear—a possible clue, Imogen thought, as to how they ended up zombified.
Aaron appeared to be in zombie-killing heaven—he danced around the armoured zombie, then gasped as if in realisation and crouched low, twitching left and right, scuttling to the side then leaping forward, screeching loudly as he swung his hockey stick, the sound eerie and alien. The sharp blade of the ice skate sliced through 'armour' and dead flesh, and again, and again, and there was a thump as the zombie's arm thudded against the carpet. Aaron was ecstatic, leaping around and screeching before attacking again, slashing at the zombie's other arm—this proved more difficult to sever, and he shoved the zombie onto its back before attacking with disturbing enthusiasm, managing to cut it off with the fifth solid hack.
Panting and laughing, Aaron stepped back a few paces, glanced around to make sure Zack and Imogen were paying attention, took a breath then bellowed:
"WALK IT OFF, ISAAC!"
And then he laughed and laughed and laughed.
"Oh, that was good," he said, after finally settling down. "That was really good, I enjoyed that so much, 'walk it off, Isaac', that's a classic. I wish someone was filming this, that'd get a billion hits. Well, if there are a billion people left, which seems unlikely. Oh, I just depressed myself, now I feel sad, the world is a desolate wasteland with nobody to watch the amazing videos I shall surely OH MY GOD IT'S A ZOMBLE!"
From out of a side corridor there had lurched a true monstrosity, a shambling collection of grey fur and a long, pointy brown face surrounded by thick white hair, staring glass eyes with round spectacles, and a walking stick attached to one huge paw. It was wearing a kind of brown tartan jacket and round hat, like a tartan fez, and having trouble even moving. Aaron trotted over and pulled its legs out from under it with great glee, but then stopped and pouted, apparently unable to think of anything else to do—once on its back there was no way the zombie was getting up again, and both head and claws were hidden beneath the costume.
"I don't even know if I deserve XP for that one," he commented to Zack and Imogen, who were now sitting on a bench against the inner wall. "I barely did anything and all of its attacks were 'not very effective'."
"Are you finished?" Imogen asked, although she'd been grateful for the rest.
"Yes, let's keep going, I can't wait to see who we find—oh, here we go, more survivors. HELLO! OVER HERE! WE WILL NOT BITE YOU AND THROW YOU IN THE BASEMENT!"
Imogen leant out to see the other survivors Aaron had spotted—Zack was already up and running forward, and he waved and grinned—
"JEN! Imogen, it's Jen! And the others too, Jen!"
"Oh? Do we know each other already?" Aaron asked, as Jen and the others from the security room approached. "How pleasant. I'm Aaron, Aaron Gosling—JOURNALIST." He adopted an absurd American accent. "I've covered wars, y'know
."
"Imogen," Jen said, ignoring Aaron. "Thank goodness, I thought ... it's good to see you again."
"Yeah," Keenan added. "We were worried about you—and Zack, of course."
"Whoa! What'd you do to your bat?" HK asked, from behind Jen and Keenan. "Can I have one?"
Imogen nodded at Jen coolly. She didn't so much as glance at any of the others.
"This is great," Aaron said. "Look at all of us! Okay, here's the sitch, there's a pressing need to clear out the parking garage but I can't do it alone. Now, I'm quite happy to evenly split any loot we find but if there's a boss down there I must insist upon getting the last 'hit' on him. Or her, let's not discriminate just because we're dealing with the undead."
V-Cut looked past Aaron at Imogen, who looked away. "Who is this guy?" He looked back at Aaron. "What the hell are you talking about?"
Aaron sighed theatrically. "Look. I have a car. It's splendid. But it's down in the carpark and so are like fifty zombies. I was escorting the lovely Imogen and the also-lovely Zack here to find a stairway down—there's one back there but it's a little dangerous right now. But! Now that you're all here we'd have a very decent chance at taking those pesky zombies out before they could eat us all. I mean I probably COULD kill them all myself but I'll be generous and offer this once-in-a-deathtime opportunity—"
"Imogen," Trevor said. "I'm sorry things went like they did last time. There were misunderstandings on both sides—"
"Excuse me, but I WAS talking," said Aaron. "Look at how many of us there are now, one two three four—eleven! Eleven remarkable individuals. Apart? We are nothing. Together? We are legion."
"Excuse me for raising a point that, to me, seems obvious," Chris put in, "but even if we followed your little 'plan' and got to your alleged car, how many does it actually seat?"
"By a stunning coincidence, exactly eleven," said Aaron. "At a squeeze. In any case it's more than likely at least a couple of you would get eaten on the way so really—wait, where are you all going? Come back!"