She was also single and didn’t own a car so, on this occasion, as with many others, she had hitched a ride on the shuttle that went back and forth from the base to the summit twice daily.
When she worked at the store, she sometimes camped outside during the overnights. This time, however, she had stayed in the little room in the back of the store. The room was equipped with a small TV, sink, cot, and even a mini-fridge containing cold drinks. There was a microwave for heating up soups or other cold dishes that Rose would get from the cafeteria, which was, to Grace’s pleasant surprise, also located in the same complex. Grace and Charlie had simply picked the wrong entrance.
Rose sat on a cot, next to the microwave. She was heating up some food for the three of them. Grace and Charlie sat on two overturned milk crates. They had asked if Rose had a cell phone. She didn’t.
“Seriously?” Grace asked. “What don’t you have a phone?”
“Didn’t say I don’t have a phone,” Rose said. “I said I don’t have a cell phone. I have a landline at home.”
“I didn’t know people still used those,” Charlie mocked her.
“I guess I’m just old school then,” Rose said.
“There must be a radio then,” Grace said.
Rose nodded over toward the TV. “Already called down to the base on it.”
“And?”
“Nobody down there, apparently.”
“How is that possible?” Grace asked.
Rose locked eyes with her. “The dead don’t answer phones or radios.”
The idea that those who would have otherwise come to their rescue might themselves have succumbed to the undead was a harsh bit of reality Grace hadn’t yet considered. Even if she and Charlie were to make it to the base, there was still a chance that they’d never walk away alive.
“Well, obviously someone drove up here,” she said. “Who owns the cars out in the parking lot?”
“Kitchen folk,” Rose said.
“And where are they?”
Rose stared at her with a cold expression that made Grace wish she hadn’t asked the question.
“Believe me,” Rose said, “you don’t want to find them—and you don’t want them to find us.”
“So they...turned?” Charlie asked.
“You got it,” Rose said. The microwave beeped and she removed a Hot Pocket. She placed it on a napkin and handed it to Grace. “They tried something stupid and got themselves killed. Now they’re probably out there running around looking for something to eat. Hell, they may even be in the kitchen still.”
Grace couldn’t believe Rose’s candor—the way she talked about the undead, about the whole situation as if it wasn’t a big deal. Simply an everyday occurrence. Grace looked at Charlie. They both shook their heads, shocked by Rose’s attitude.
“So,” Grace started, “do you plan on leaving any time, or are you just going to sit on your ass forever?”
Rose stopped passing food around and stared at Grace. Grace saw a look of death in her eyes and swallowed her fear down hard.
“You listen to me now,” Rose said. “I’ve got everything I need here—food, water, shelter. I was perfectly safe before you two showed up. The only way I can get off this mountain is on foot.” She looked back and forth at both of them. “And from the looks of it, it seems I’m not the only one who isn’t likely to hike off this mountain.”
Grace realized her own arrogance. How pompous to think that she and Charlie would just walk down this mountain with no problems. Rose made a good point. Had she and Charlie been stocked with food and water back at the hut, it was possible they would never have left.
Regardless of their current situation, however, Grace knew they had to get off the mountain. They had filled up on Hot Pockets and trail mix and washed it all down with cold spring water. They were fueled, renewed, and energized, and it was time to move on. But as concerned as Grace and Charlie were about one another, Grace felt she needed to convince Rose it was time for her to move on, too.
“Look,” Grace said, “you have a gun. We have a gun and a machete. We have a much better chance of getting out of here alive if we all stay together.”
Rose stared at her, unconvinced.
“Honey,” Rose said, “this gun isn’t even loaded.
She handed Grace the rifle. Grace held the rifle, stared blankly back and forth between it and Rose. She felt deflated.
“Are you kidding me?” she asked.
Rose closed her eyes and nodded. “Wish I was, believe me.”
Grace set the rifle down and leaned it against the wall. She stood up and pressed her hands against her head, as if to stifle the onset of a headache. She paced back and forth a few seconds. Then she stopped and rested a hand on Charlie’s shoulder.
“We’re getting out of here,” she said. Charlie stood up slowly, supporting his bad knee with one hand on the floor. He followed Grace, who was walking quickly to the door.
“Suit yourselves,” Rose said. “But I wouldn’t recommend it.”
Grace stopped, turned, and faced Rose.
“I don’t know how you can be so content with doing nothing, but eventually you’re going to wish you weren’t sitting alone in this hole.” She waved her hand around the room.
“You’re welcome for the food and water,” Rose said.
“Whatever,” Grace said. She turned and walked out of the room. When Charlie exited, she slammed the door shut.
It wasn’t even a full second later until she wished she hadn’t done that. Grace immediately recognized the familiar stench of rotting flesh and blood. Her back toward the store, she turned slightly toward Charlie. His eyes were wide and his breathing had picked up considerably.
“How many?” Grace whispered. Charlie tapped the leg of his shorts five times. Shit, she thought.
“They see us?” she asked. Charlie nodded his head slowly. Grace tried to think quickly. Charlie still had the gun, but it only had four bullets left. Grace wore the machete at her side. They would have to fight their way out. It was the only way.
“How close?” Grace asked.
“Register,” Charlie said. The cash register was only a few feet away. He’ll have to kill that one first, Grace thought. Still facing the door, she quietly let go of the door handle and slid her fingers over the handle of the machete. She looked at Charlie from the corner of her eye.
“Don’t miss,” she told him.
“I won’t.”
With the speed of an assassin, Grace spun on her heels, pulling the heavy blade out of its sheath. The undead were already running at them. Charlie pulled the gun from his waist and fired a shot into the forehead of the one by the register. It had already climbed over the counter by the time Charlie got the shot off. But it was a direct hit, and the zombie went down lifeless behind the counter.
Three bullets left.
Grace moved around the side of the counter and swung the machete at an oncoming zombie, slicing his outstretched hands off. She tripped over a box of carabiners and fell to the floor. The handless man fell on top of her and flung his arms at her. Blood and bits of flesh spattered across her face. The zombie gnashed his rotted teeth as he tried to bite her. Grace held onto the machete at both ends and tried to push him away from her.
“Push him up so I can get a shot!” Charlie yelled.
The zombie was relentless in his attack. He snapped his jaws repeatedly, and more bloody drool dribbled onto Grace’s face. lood spilled from the stumps at the end of his arms. Summoning all her strength, Grace pushed the blade as hard as she could until her arms were completely outstretched. Charlie took the shot. The bullet ripped through the side of the zombie’s skull, knocking it backward momentarily. It then fell toward Grace. She shoved the limp body to the floor.
Two bullets left.
She pulled her shirt up to wipe her eyes. As she blinked, she saw another zombie running at her. He was only a few feet from where she stood. From seemingly out of nowhere, the zombie caught a crampon in
the face, which knocked it off balance and into a display of canteens. Grace looked back to her right; Rose had emerged from the back room. She jumped on top of the zombie, delivering blow after blow to its head using the crampon. The metal footwear device had spikes two inches long. Blood and brain matter sprayed in every direction as Rose drove the spikes into the zombie’s head again and again.
Another zombie ran at Charlie at full speed. He fired the gun and missed. Grace ran and intercepted the monster, knocking it to the ground. She landed on the zombie’s back. With no hesitation, she hacked at its head again and again. She’d carved out a hole the size of a fist in the back of its head before she realized its arms and legs were no longer moving.
One bullet left.
Grace heard a terrible scream from behind her. She turned and saw Rose being attacked by the fifth zombie. It had bitten into her shoulder.
“Shoot it! Shoot it!” Rose screamed.
Charlie ran to her. He stood over the zombie and fired his last shot into the back of its head. The zombie immediately went limp. Charlie pulled its lifeless body off of Rose. As she lay there, blood sprayed from the wounds on her shoulder and neck.
“I didn’t see him,” Rose said. Her voice trembled. “I got the other one, but I didn’t see him.”
“Shh, it’s okay now,” Charlie said, throwing an ominous glance at Grace. Grace knew it would never be okay for Rose, whose head bobbed up and down as she went into shock.
“Rose,” Charlie said, his voice soft but firm. “You’re going to turn soon. So we’re going to have to ki—”
A loud crash from inside the store turned their heads.
“That’s more of them,” Rose said, her voice just above a whisper. “They’re coming in from the stock room.”
Charlie looked around, as if weighing their options.
“Just go!” Rose said. “I’ll take care of them.” Charlie looked at Grace. He seemed as unsure as she was.
“Go!” Rose insisted. “I promise! I’ll take care of them.” With no bullets left and no idea how many more were coming, Grace knew they had to go.
“I’ll take care of myself after!” Rose said.
“Let’s go,” Grace said. “She’ll at least slow them down and then she’ll kill herself before she turns.”
Rose nodded emphatically. Grace could tell Charlie had no confidence that it would work, and that Rose would easily succumb to the zombies, but Grace was right about one thing: Rose would likely slow them down.
“Okay,” Charlie said. He turned to Grace. “Grab the machete.” He got up and ran to the display of ice axes and grabbed two.
“Help me up,” Rose said.
Grace held her left arm. Charlie tucked the ice axes into his belt and held her right arm. They stood her up by the counter.
“They’ll have to come through me before they get to the door,” Rose said.
“All right, let’s go,” Charlie said. He ran to the door, and Grace started to follow. She stopped and looked back at Rose. She stared deep into her eyes. She couldn’t bring the words to her lips, but Rose acknowledged.
“It’s okay,” Rose said. “Besides, it looks like you were right all along.” That same half-smile creased her bloodied, painful lips.
Another loud crash in the stock room.
“Grace, come on!” Charlie said. He was standing by the front door. Grace looked back at Rose one last time. She nodded, mouthed the words, “thank you,” and ran to the door.
Chapter 12
Once outside, Grace and Charlie ran along the perimeter of the building. They could hear Rose’s screams shortly after they exited the store. Grace tried to block out the sound as they searched for an entrance to the cafeteria. If the kitchen employees owned any of the cars that were parked outside, surely they’d find a set of keys.
Grace wondered what had compelled Rose to help them after their less-than-pleasant first meeting. She hadn’t expected that kind of selflessness out of Rose, and now she felt guilty for allowing her to become food for the undead.
For the zombies.
Grace had enough trouble forming the word in her mind. Images of teeth ripping into Rose’s skin flashed in her head. She tried to push them away. She could no longer hear Rose’s screams; either they were far enough away, or Rose was dead. The wound on her shoulder—the fountain of blood that bubbled out onto the floor—was probably more than a wound at this point. Rose was probably missing an arm by now. Or a leg. Or...
“I think this is it,” Charlie said. The words pulled Grace out of her own mind and reset her focus on what they were there to do.
They had reached another door. Charlie cupped his hand to the glass to look inside.
“I can see tables, chairs,” he said. “This is definitely it.” He reached for the door handle.
“Wait a minute,” Grace said. She put a hand on his arm. Fear and hesitation were starting to cloud her judgment. Charlie must have seen it in her face.
“Grace, we gotta get out of here,” he urged.
“But what if...” She couldn’t finish. All she could think about were the five zombies that had just found them in the store. They hadn’t waited around to see how many more had come. They’d simply left.
And Rose had been the sacrifice. Her eyes drifted off. She stared past Charlie, off into the distance at nothing in particular.
“Grace!” Charlie grabbed her by the shoulders. He was shaking her, trying to bring her back from wherever her thoughts had taken her. “We’re getting down from the mountain, right?” he coaxed her.
Grace’s eyes met his again. She nodded.
“Okay,” he said. “Then we’re just going to take a look around for some keys. If we don’t find any, then we’ll just have to go on foot. Right?”
She nodded again.
Charlie pulled the door open. The cafeteria was much brighter inside than the store had been. The lights were off in here as well, but the majority of the walls were glass—huge windows that overlooked the summit and the surrounding landscape.
The cafeteria was enormous, comparable in size to that of a ski lodge, with many rows of tables and chairs. There was a staircase on the left side that led upstairs to a second floor.
There was no stench of the undead here. Instead, the air was scentless, yet thick and heavy. There was no spirit in the air, no feeling of hope or belief that they were going to come out of this with their lives. There was only the feeling that something, or someone, was about to leap out at them at any moment.
Grace held Charlie’s hand as they tiptoed through the tables, toward the back of the cafeteria where the food ordering area was. Beyond this was the kitchen, completely visible to the rest of the patrons—if there had been any.
Charlie stepped to the counter and raised himself up on his elbows. He looked through the order window.
“We should go check the kitchen,” he said. “If anybody left their keys, they’d be in there.”
Grace was hesitant at first, as she recalled the last time she’d been in a kitchen. But she agreed. They were both armed, and as ready as they could be for anything that came out at them. They walked toward the end of the ordering area and through a revolving door, into the kitchen.
The place was a mess. Appliances, large and small, were left plugged in, sitting on top of dirty counters. Used pots and pans lay on the stove and washing area. A chef’s knife lay next to a bowl containing a mixture of egg whites, peppers and mushrooms; no doubt an omelet-to-be left behind in the panic. Grace was certain it had been urgently abandoned in favor of safety. Any self-respecting head chef would never leave his or her kitchen in such disarray.
Charlie found a chef’s coat hanging on the corner of one of the counters. He inspected the pockets but found no keys. Grace searched around the old-school punch-clock. There were cups with loose change, cigarettes, paper clips, and matches. But there weren’t any keys.
At the far end of the kitchen, opposite the revolving door, there was a small coatro
om.
“In there,” Charlie said urgently.
They both rushed into the small room. A half-dozen coats hung from hooks nailed into the wall. Grace and Charlie searched through every pocket, frantically trying to find a set of car keys. To their dismay, they found none.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Charlie said.
At that moment, Grace heard a familiar sound. It was something she hadn’t heard since they’d arrived at the campground two days ago. She heard music. They both stared at each other.
“Where is that coming from?” she whispered. Charlie looked around. Eventually his eyes went to the ceiling. The music was coming from upstairs.
“Should we check it out?” Grace asked, keeping her voice low.
Charlie thought about it, unsure whether it was the right move or not. In the end, he decided it could be a survivor.
“Someone might know we’re here,” he said. “Maybe they heard us come in. Maybe they need our help and this is a signal.”
Grace wasn’t sure why Charlie felt the need to rationalize his decision. Ultimately, if she didn’t want to go upstairs, she wasn’t going upstairs. But, on the off chance there was a set of keys upstairs, she was willing to take the risk.
“Let’s go,” she said.
They tiptoed back through the kitchen, careful not to disturb any of the appliances or utensils around them. The music that blared above them grew louder. Grace thought she recognized the melody: a haunting rhythm strummed on an acoustic guitar.
They passed through the revolving door, back out into the empty cafeteria. The music was even louder out here. Grace recognized the song now. Someone was playing Johnny Cash’s cover of Nine Inch Nails’s “Hurt” over the cafeteria sound system. She stopped and turned to face Charlie. She shook her head, silently imploring Charlie not to go upstairs. This is a bad idea, she thought. She suddenly had no interest in finding out who or what was upstairs.
Charlie simply nodded, determinedly. He walked past her and she grabbed his hand, following close behind. Every uncertain step she took now felt one closer to her last. It was all too surreal to Grace as Cash’s voice filled the lower part of the cafeteria.
Dead Summit (Book 1): Dead Summit Page 13