“Well, here goes nothing,” he said to himself hoping like hell that this little idea was going to do the trick.
He reached down to remove the grate, but it was screwed down. It was obviously not going to give as easily as the other one had in the classroom. It didn’t move. He pulled and pushed to no avail.
Reaching back, he retrieved the 9mm from its holster, struggling to bring it forward in the tight little space. After a moment of fighting with it, he finally got his arm and the weapon out in front of him.
“So much for stealth.” He took a breath, already breaking out into a sweat from the cramped duct.
He forcefully brought the butt of his pistol down on the grate. With the first hit, the grate bent in, almost entirely giving way. He came down on it again, with one more violent knock of the butt of his weapon, sending the mangled metal falling to the floor in the hallway.
The sudden clang of metal crashing to the floor echoed in Clay’s ears. The instant sound of dead footsteps followed. They were on him in a flash.
Drawn by the unexpected clatter, the horde of zombies shambled down the hallway and across the already-fallen remnants of their forever-dead comrades. Their moans grew louder as they drew closer to Clay’s location. The echo of their cries was magnified in the confines of Clay’s fortified position.
After only a few seconds, the first of several dozen shamblers appeared in Clay’s sight, stopping right underneath him. It didn’t look up but rather looked around for what had drawn its attention.
It was totally clueless, Clay thought as he reached his pistol out past the opening in the ventilation system. Aiming the 9mm at the unsuspecting creature, Clay opened fire. The first shot echoed out into the vent scaring the hell out of him. It was a direct hit, landing straight down on the center zombie’s scalp, not exiting. The shot sent the zombie to its knees for a moment, then to the ground for good.
Before the creature had time to drain its final bit of life, Clay had his sights on another of the undead. He tightened down on the trigger sending another bullet down upon the unsuspecting mob. With his gun at more of an angle, the zombie hadn’t been given enough time to make it directly under Clay. The shot penetrated the corpse’s face right above the nose, off center in the right eye socket. The eye exploded, sending gore out into the air. The bullet instantly exited the back of the creature’s upper neck, sending blood and brain out with it, the bullet ripping into the carpet at the zombie’s feet. Only a moment later, the zombie collapsed, lifeless.
With the mass of zombies finally coming into view, Clay decided to change it up. Shooting them one at a time was going to take way too long, and he had already taken enough time. Clay set the pistol down in front of him and reached over his back for the M-4. As he did, he glanced at the wristwatch. Three minutes. He needed to dispatch as many of those things down there as he possibly could in the next three minutes.
Gus would be busting out of that office space with a surprise attack, flanking them from the rear. The goal was to distract the mob away from the door, allowing them more time to have selective fire. With the number that had gathered in the hall after the explosion, Gus felt that facing them in that large of a number with no real exit was not the best of ideas. Even with the good supply of ammunition, the last thing he wanted was to get run down simply by their numbers. He had already experienced that in a confined space once before and knew that it was suicide.
*
Having removed the makeshift blockage from the doorway, Gus stood weapon at the ready. He listened intently as he heard the fire of Clay’s rifle. He glanced down at his watch. Only a few more minutes, he thought.
With the small horde of zombies fixed on Clay’s location, the attention at the door was minimal, but still present. Gus leaned against it, guessing two, maybe three at the most. He leaned there, feeling the door bounce and shake as they tried to get in.
Gus suddenly no longer heard the sound of gunfire. Clay must have been reloading. Gus glanced at the watch again. Two minutes.
*
Clay reached back, trying to get at a fresh magazine, having already unloaded one on the mob below. The entire horde now centered themselves around Clay’s location, reaching up toward the vent. They reached with arms stretched out, their heads and necks cocked back. Their milky-white eyes locked on his sight as they watched him fumbling about in the vent. Most of his head and shoulders poked out into view as he looked back, trying to reach a magazine for the M-4. The moans and screams grew with excitement having their prey in sight. One false move, causing him to slip down and into the hallway, and he would be theirs.
Fumbling forward, still trying to get his hands around in the tight space, his shoulder knocked his 9mm that had been sitting in front of him. It bumped forward, falling. He instantly reacted, trying to catch it as it fell. Reaching out an arm, he leapt forward and out, half coming into the mob’s full view. Their arms frantically stretched out, coming within inches away from reaching Clay as he started to lose his balance. Recoiling, he doubled his effort to retreat back into the safety of the ventilation system. The pistol was gone. It landed on the floor, lost beneath the steps of the looming crowd.
*
Gus sat waiting for the gunfire to kick back into gear before pushing the door open. It never came. He looked at his watch again. The time was up and it had been for a few seconds. Each of those seconds seemed like minutes.
Abruptly, a barrage of fire echoed out in the hall. It was Clay and that was his cue. Gus stepped back, kicking out the door with one big push. The door burst open, sending back two lingering zombies. Gus brought his rifle up against his chest, sighting the first ghoul down the barrel.
The volley of bullets fired smashed through the thing’s face. The creature jerked violently as its face splattered into a mesh of unrecognizable goo. Blood and grey matter splashed and sprayed everywhere. His hand throbbed with each pull of the trigger.
Gus stepped back into the room a few paces, ignoring the pain, allowing his eyes to catch a wider view of the battlefield. Only one more zombie stood in the way between him and the horde that lingered beneath Clay, who was already doing a hell of a job.
To Gus’ right, a hail of fire fell from the ventilation system right above the mass of undead. Clay’s rifle peeked out from the ceiling as endless bullets tore through reanimated flesh and bone. Bodies shook and jolted, sending one to the ground for good every second.
The lone zombie staggered forward, wobbling left and right with each step. Gus took another step back as the zombie made its way into the room with him. With arms outstretched and its teeth gritting at the sight of fresh flesh, Gus lifted the rifle.
Dried blood and small chunks of meat caked the zombie’s mouth and lips. Its outstretched hands were covered in the same dried blood and grime clear to the elbows. What Gus found odd about this particular zombie wasn’t that its shirt was removed, but that it had no identifying marks that he recognized. Most of the undead that he had come across had something that identified the cause of death. A bite to the shoulder or throat, ripped out intestines, or a missing limb generally told the ghoul’s story. This one, however, had none of these markings. Even with its shirt off, Gus only saw what looked like little rash marks that resembled small bug bites. Whatever they were, the creature’s stomach was covered with them.
Gus took a deep breath then fixed his sights and pulled the trigger. The single shot cleanly entered and exited the zombie’s forehead right between the eyes, instantly sending the ghoul to the floor. Before exiting the room, Gus looked up, glancing at the large map on the wall. It was do or die for them to make it to the elevator.
He turned the corner to find that the onslaught of fire had ceased. Clay was standing over the mass of bodies in the hall with one hand on his head, a look of confusion over his masked face.
“What is it, Clay?” Gus asked, catching up to him.
“My handgun. I freaking dropped it,” he said while looking down at the mound of bodies
burying him almost up to his knees.
“Ha! If it’s in there somewhere, you can forget about it. Let’s go. We still have a few rooms to clear.”
4
Ashley Fox led the four Sears survivors in single file, through the darkness of what was once a booming place of business this time of the afternoon on a Friday. As they slid down the aisles, past a handful of home appliances, Phillip followed behind Ashley, who was in the lead. Behind him, Kieta and Jenny scurried along, leaving Victor in the rear, sporting the same gun that took down Chadwick, Ashley Fox’s partner. The group had left the security of their hiding spot in the store less than ten minutes earlier and had yet to come across any unfriendlies.
Before leaving the room where Ashley had met the restless and weary group, they came up with the game plan. The goal was to stay alive. The way they planned to achieve that was by staying close, staying quiet, and being alert.
Making their way from the office and around to the back of the store, then up two flights of steps to the roof, should have taken less than a few minutes in a full-out sprint, but that just couldn’t happen. The young girl and the pregnant teenager held them back.
So far, they had only made it halfway across the building. The office they had been held up in was toward the front of the store and they needed to make their way to the back. They had to make it to receiving and shipping, according to Victor.
Moving forward at a very steady crawl with bodies low, the line of five inched along.
Ashley kept playing the previous series of instances back and forth in her head. Where did she go wrong as a leader? She had been doing this job for a long time now and had not once lost a teammate. All she could think about was the milky gaze that Chadwick grimaced at her when he reanimated. Lunging at her, those snarling teeth and the blood all over his hands, really shook her up.
With her M-4 rifle at the ready, she sighted down the barrel, quietly waving it back and forth while using the attached lighting as a guide in the dark. She intently listened for any sudden noise that might break in any direction. The only sound she heard was that of their own muffled footsteps. She would periodically look over her shoulder and count heads, all accounted for.
Behind her, Phillip kept a close proximity. He frantically kept glancing over his shoulder in all directions, sweat beading down his brow. His eyes so wide they looked like they might pop out of the sockets. He did his best to look calm when Ashley would look back at him, suddenly throwing up a smile and nod in her direction. Being pregnant, Kieta was the only one not hunched over as they slid forward in the looming darkness. She tried to at first, but the awkward posture quickly started giving her cramps. With her oversized belly protruding from her maternity clothes, there was no doubt that Victor Jr. would be coming any day now. With one hand against her cramped back, pushing against it for support, her other hand attempted to support her unborn son. With her hand rested under her massive bulge, hidden beneath her shirt, she rubbed her stomach occasionally. Even in the devastating circumstances, a small smile would occasionally climb across those cheeks of hers. Following a little too close behind her, Jenny held one hand out, clinching her index and pointer finger tightly around one of the loops in Kieta’s pants. The other hand slung freely and wildly about in the air beside her. Her bare feet slapped against the cold white tile. Her little, pink dress was covered in dried blood on one side, and her eyes were glazed over with uncertainty. She was clueless, in a child-like way. Holding tight to Kieta, all she knew was that her mommy and daddy would be wherever it was that this scary lady up front was taking them and that those bad people who hurt her friends would go away too. There was no reason this little child couldn’t comprehend the situation, but on the first day of the outbreak, when she watched her neighbor and two other people attack and kill the mailman and then chase after her, something snapped. She reverted inside somehow, shocked. The bad people chased her from the front yard back into her house and into her bedroom. After closing the door, she sat there screaming hysterically. Her young mind just couldn’t, or wouldn’t wrap around the tranquil, suburban landscape imploding into the ravenous siege of rotting pestilence. In her mind’s eye, all she could see was her parents waiting for her in a safe place, and Ashley Fox was going to take her there.
Behind the little girl and at the rear of the line, Victor focused on the task at hand, getting to the chopper. With his eyes wide and his mind sharp, Victor took each step forward with determination. He was going to make it out alive, and by God, so was his unborn son. Sure, he was quite a bit older than Kieta and they weren’t married, but none of that mattered anymore. Her spiteful parents weren’t alive anymore to tell him off, or to say other terrible things to him. They hated Victor and definitely didn’t approve of the situation, but who were they to get in his business? He was a grown-ass man and could very well take care of a kid and his girl. She could finish high school after the baby arrived. Her parents didn’t know anything and why should they? They were dead now, anyhow. With his pistol raised high, Victor did his best to push his thoughts aside and focus on the noises around him, or the lack there of.
Suddenly, Victor collided with Jenny. The instant thud shook him slightly. He almost lost the grip on his gun and nearly dropped it to the floor. He looked up, noticing that the line had stopped. Ashley was standing upright with one hand fist up. She was signaling them to halt. He had been so lost in thought that he hadn’t noticed.
Ashley stood at the edge of a small row of aisles filled with tools and hardware accessories. They had finally hit a solid wall of the building plastered with huge flat screen televisions.
“We take a right,” Victor whispered, pointing his finger.
Not making a single sound, Ashley instantly turned to face him with a finger over her lips. What had made her stop wasn’t the sudden need to make a directional choice, but something else.
Around the corner, only one aisle over, a single zombie stood just shifting back and forth in the same spot. After peeking around the corner, the light quickly catching a glimpse of the creature’s leg, she instinctively shut off the light and stepped back signaling the group to halt.
With the four civilians finally heeding the warning to quiet down and stay still, she poked her head back around the edge of the aisle to take a better look. Unless there was another zombie on the aisle right beside theirs, then this thing was definitely alone. She reached down, removing the large blade from its sheath which was attached to her ankle.
The four survivors watched as she crept forward toward the creature. Her intentions were clear, as she set her rifle aside. The idea was to keep quiet and stay close. If they did that, they just might stay alive.
The zombie was wearing a pair of light brown steel-toe boots and navy blue pants. The red vest he wore, with the large Sears emblem on the back of it, indicated the individual once worked at this store. Its hair was a mess, and its rather large beard was caked in dry blood. Chunks of muck and gore festered in its facial hair. The stench of urine and feces filled the air around the zombie as it swayed.
As Ashley moved in, she could tell that the creature had either soiled itself before death or had released its bowels after. The back of the ghoul’s pants were stained with its putrid waste. The tribal tattoo on the dead man’s upper arm peeked out beneath a blood-soaked shirt. The black ink popped against the pale, lifeless skin.
As quietly as she could, Ashley leapt from behind the creature with her blade in hand, the zombie unsuspectingly swayed away in place. Something caught under her foot and kicked away as she stepped, gliding across the cold floor; bouncing off of the corner of the shelf in front of her, it tinked, metal meeting metal.
The zombie flinched, then wildly slung itself around, meeting eye-to-eye with a startled Ashley Fox. Momentarily paralyzed, Ashley hesitated. The creature’s mouth and eyes went wide as its hands darted forward. Before she was able to make the blade collide with the zombie’s throat, it was too late; the zombie belched out a feverish m
oan. In mid-cry, before the ghoul had time to finish its howl, Ashley reached up, slicing deep and hard into its jugular. The moan instantly turned into a gurgling bubble as blood poured out from the open wound sliced across its neck.
Other than that silenced cry, the creature was unfazed. It lunged forward, pouncing down on her. Feeling her position already compromised, Ashley reached down pulling out her 9mm. With the zombie’s dead cold fingers gripping her arm and its mouth closing in, she pulled the trigger. A single loud crack echoed through the store alerting anything and everything within of their location. If the zombie’s outburst hadn’t given them away, the gunshot surely had.
The ghoul’s grip quickly loosened on Ashley. Blood poured from the side of its head. A large hole with brain and rancid matter violently exited the bullet wound as the gun went off at point blank range.
Wailing moans instantly filled the store from all directions. Howls and groans echoed throughout. Something fell from a shelf and skidded across the floor, something heavy. It was time to move.
“Let’s go,” Ashley shouted as she appeared back in sight of the four panic-filled civilians. She reached down, snatched up her rifle, and holstered her handgun all in one solid motion.
The four startled onlookers stood frozen and silent just looking at Ashley.
“Did you not hear me? I said let’s Move! Move… move… move…”
She grabbed Phillip by the shoulder, pushing him out of the aisle and over the zombie she had just executed. One by one, she shoved each of them on the shoulder shouting, “Move!”
Grabbing a hold of Victor last, she reached up with both hands, one of which still held her rifle. Shaking him on the shoulders, she looked deep into his eyes and calmly said in a slow and assertive tone, “You know the way. I need you up front. Move fast and just get us to the roof. I will do the covering… To the roof! Got it?”
The End Page 20