Necropolis Rising

by Dave Jeffery

  “You in a rush to get barbequed?” Suzie asked. “You heard what the plans are for this place. I felt sure that not ending up like a crispy chicken would motivate your pathetic ass.”

  “She loves me really,” Clarke muttered sarcastically.

  They had made their way to the seventh floor without incident, the red carpet steering them onwards, upwards; taking each turn with extreme caution, the tension leaving their muscles taut and aching.

  “Where are all the tenants?” Amir questioned as the trio hit the eighth floor landing.

  “Maybe it’s a block party?” Clarke mused.

  “Maybe they went up to the roof?” Amir came back.

  “Why would they do that?” Suzie asked.

  “That could be where the survivors went,” he replied. “You know: to wait for rescue?”

  “It’s a possibility,” Suzie said uncomfortably. “That may mean that O’Connell could be walking in on a banquet.”

  She began to pick up pace and Amir matched her stride.

  Clarke watched them disappear round the balustrade and after a few seconds he followed; motivated not so much by the urgency of the moment as avoiding the fear of being alone.

  ***

  In sedate horror, Thom Everett observed as his new found family lurched and lolled through the doorway and out onto the roof. Each newcomer appeared to check him over with their blue-glazed eyes before lining up with the others.

  It was an incredulous and improbable image; an image straight from the movies; but with one subtle difference: Thom Everett was the star of the show. Yes, Thom Everett was playing the leading role in I was a Teenage Zombie-Master.

  No sooner had this ludicrous thought slipped into his head, the urge to laugh came with it. At first it was a chuckle, but it was soon building in size and power, the way a Tsunami swells from the most innocuous of waves, until it is no longer diminished, but a colossus, monstrous, roaring surge of water smashing everything in its path to oblivion.

  He bent double, eyes streaming with tears, nose bubbling with thick, sooty snot; and his sides pumping like an old mutt who has eaten too much grass.

  Thom paused briefly and looked up at the silent, grisly crowd that continued to contemplate him; passive yet far from passé.

  “You guys kill me,” he squealed before he was taken away on another mirthless wave of laughter; laughter that was raucous and ambiguous and as close to madness as anyone could get without climbing into the pit and embracing it.

  ***

  Although the elevator had stopped, the doors remained steadfast. With his rifle extended, and ready to deliver if they decided to suddenly open, O’Connell inched near up to the control panel.

  He used the heel of his hand to hit the ebony button embossed with the words “Roof Terrace” in white, his action illuminating the letters, a beacon of hope on the darkness.

  The car began moving again and O’Connell relaxed a little, moving back to Shipman.

  The Major remained propped and ashen against the wall. His right leg was wet with blood and it had started to share it with the floor and, despite the mauve carpet’s best efforts to absorb it, the gory tide continued to pool, becoming a scarlet lake lapping on the surface of the expensive pile.

  “I’m not going to make it,” Shipman said weakly.

  “No, you’re not,” O'Connell said not wanting to insult the man’s intelligence. “Not in this car. We have to get on that chopper for you to stand any chance.”

  “The boy is more important,” Shipman muttered. “He’s the only hope we have of controlling this thing.”

  There was something in the way the Major said “controlling” that caught O’Connell’s attention.

  “The RAF firestorm heading this way will be more effective wouldn’t it?”

  “Maybe, but even if it does, we both know this isn’t over,” Shipman coughed weakly. “You know how these things work.”

  “Is he marked?” O’Connell asked.

  Shipman nodded. “Of course he is.”

  “By who?”

  “By the people who made him. By the military once they’re done sitting back and evaluating this whole mess. He’s the only constant in all of this. No-one can be sure of anything anymore.”

  “The rules are re-written, I guess?” O’Connell said gently. He wasn’t surprised; this was an epiphany that he’d embraced some time ago. It had since kept him successful, it had kept him alive.

  “Listen,” Shipman said, his voice wavering with the effort of it. “We’ve accepted that the rules have changed. I need you to promise me something; swear it: an oath from one marine to another.”

  “Okay,” O’Connell agreed. “I swear it.”

  “Look after the boy,” Shipman whispered as though they weren’t alone. “Where ever you guys go, take him with you?”

  “You’re asking me to commit treason, you know that, right?”

  “I know,” Shipman said. “But knowing that you’re going to die has a way of focusing the mind. Right and wrong is a little clearer. The boy is an innocent casualty in all this. He deserves the right to a life, away from the scientists and the politicians. Besides, I figured a man who masquerades as a soldier in a contaminated zone wouldn’t be beyond operating outside the box.”

  “You figured right,” O’Connell said openly. “We’ll take care of the kid. You have my word.”

  Shipman smiled, it was a slack thing that appeared to take every ounce of his resolve. “Good. Good.”

  O’Connell was about to consider the deeper implications to the promise he’d just made to a dying soldier when the elevator jarred to a stop for a second time.

  But on this occasion the doors dragged open allowing horror to enter their world.

  ***

  “Jesus Christ,” Clarke gasped. “I thought it was gonna be zombies that killed me, not these fuckin’ stairs.”

  They had climbed up to the eighteenth floor without coming into contact with another soul, living or undead. The whole building seemed as though it was unexpectedly redundant; its occupants embarking on a total and unmitigated exodus.

  “You feeling that?” Amir said to Suzie, who nodded.

  “And smelling it,” she replied. “The air’s getting hot, we got a fire nearby.”

  “Probably on the floor above,” Amir said after a moment’s reflection.

  “Get the masks back on and stay low,” Suzie told them. But Clarke stared at her gormlessly.

  “What?” she said pulling her mask from its pack on her webbing.

  “I sorta left my mask in the van,” Clarke said as his cheeks flushed.

  “Then you’re “sorta” in deep shit then, aren’t you?” she said clearly irritated by his lack of thought.

  “I guess I am.” Clarke looked at the floor and his demeanour changed to that of someone who was vulnerable and scared and annoyed with their own stupidity.

  “Here,” Suzie said offering him her mask. “Take this.”

  After a moment of surprise, Clarke snatched the mask from her and pulled it on. “Thanks.”

  “Chivalry is truly dead in this world,” Amir said shaking his head in disbelief. “You want mine, Suzie?”

  “No thanks,” she said. “It’s a trade off, if you’ve got a mask then you get to go first and clear the way.”

  “Want it back?” Clarke said.

  “Get moving,” Suzie said and Clarke ambled forwards, his rifle limp in his hands. Amir stood with him and the two men climbed the carpeted steps to the next floor and here the heat became a tangible entity. There were no flames, these were held at bay by a substantial fire door, but even this was buckling under the heat and thick tendrils of smoke seeped out into the stair well.

  As the smog wavered, Amir saw a shape moving haphazardly, arms outstretched and totally unaffected by the suffocating atmosphere.

  “Zombie!” he cried as the figure came at him; the shotgun instantly pumping a shell with the sound of a small explosion, chewing a huge semi c
ircle into its side so that the remnants of its torso toppled sideways, dragging the legs with it

  Suzie started up a coughing fit, the swatch of fabric she’d clamped over her nose and mouth now clogged with soot; her eyes streaming.

  “Grab her!” Amir said to Clarke. The younger man did just that, taking hold of a fistful of fabric just under Suzie’s collar and yanking her with him.

  The three of them continued on through the smoke, Suzie gasping in ragged breaths; all of them blind but motivated by the desire to live, to survive this awful night and spend the rest of their days thanking God or whoever was there to listen that they had made it.

  There were moments when Suzie thought she was going to collapse, never to get up again, but Clarke held her firm; rising to the moment until she felt something on her scorched face, a cooling breeze wafting down from above.

  “I see a door!” Amir called out; Clarke increasing his speed and pulling Suzie closer to him, supporting her with an arm around her slim waist.

  She saw the door, she saw the stars. And as the smoke gave way to the outside world, Suzie Hanks saw a nightmare come to Earth.

  ***

  As soon as the elevator doors dragged themselves open, the foyer outside was a writhing mass of bodies all wanting in.

  O’Connell opened fire instantly; the SA80 spitting half its magazine into the faces struggling to get into the car, pulping them, shattering cheekbones and teeth and skulls; churning flesh until the entrance to the elevator was veiled in a fine curtain of crimson mist.

  The barrage cleared the entrance for a few seconds allowing the glittering, blood flecked doors to begin an attempt to shut out the carnage beyond.

  But from nowhere a big, green tinted arm snaked through the opening. A large, mean-looking zombie with a shaved head fought his way into the car, followed by a smaller man dressed in a black Buffy the Vampire Slayer tee shirt.

  The doors bounced back to allow the zombies clearer access, O’Connell lifting his weapon only to find it tangled in the flailing arms of the bald man. The gun went off tearing a ragged hole in the zombie’s chest but it didn’t stop its momentum.

  O’Connell landed heavily on his back, on Shipman’s injured leg and the Major’s scream was intense and loud. Then O’Connell found himself fighting off his assailant as the elevator doors finally dragged shut and the putrid stink of decay filled the car.

  The bald zombie loomed into view, its face filling O’Connell’s vision until he could see nothing else, smell nothing else, and he drove his elbow into the side of its head, jarring it sideways. When the zombie opened its mouth in an attempt to rip out his throat, teeth fell onto O’Connell’s chest.

  Using rigid, strained muscle, O’Connell forced the zombie backwards with his forearm across its throat, but couldn’t sustain the weight for long. He brought his knees up to assist, struggling to get both of them in-between their bodies, then extending his thighs until there was enough room for him to reach his sidearm. He fumbled blindly with the holster as bald zombie got snappy, eager to sink its remaining teeth into his exposed throat. It opened and closed its mouth as if it had forgotten the process of chewing and needed a run through. O’Connell jammed the barrel of his pistol into its maw and pulled the trigger.

  The bald head above him blossomed as the bullet punched through it, and suddenly the zombie was literally nothing more than a dead weight; pinning O’Connell to the floor. He looked over to Shipman and groaned in dismay.

  Buffy zombie was content with feeding on the major’s throat; the irony of this not lost on O’Connell, even in that dreadful moment. Shipman’s death mask was one of painful surprise, his eyes staring ahead, his jaw yanked down to his chest.

  O’Connell placed the Browning’s muzzle against Buffy’s head. The zombie didn’t acknowledge the contact and O’Connell introduced its brains to the walls of the elevator car.

  He’d disentangled himself from the carnage about him and grabbed his rifle just as the elevator came to a shuddering halt.

  “Roof Terrace,” the automated voice said brightly, before pulling the doors open; inviting him to step out before something dreadful decided to step in.

  ***

  Suzie was slowly suffocating. The smoke was filling her lungs and scorching her eyes and her body was telling her that if things didn’t change soon, she would be as dead as most of the mob outside on the roof.

  “Come on, Suzie.” Clarke’s voice was urgent beside her. “Don’t you be giving up now we’re on first name terms.”

  He dragged her to the exit, where smoke was being pulled apart by the breeze. Amir was already there, peering out at the crowd beyond.

  “I got a skylight to the left,” he hissed at Clarke. “It’s high enough to give us cover. Let’s get her out of here.”

  The trio broke out onto the roof, keeping low; Suzie sucking in the huge lungful of oxygen her body so desperately needed, her consciousness returning like some animal after a long slumbering winter. As they threw themselves behind the raised skylight, Amir scanned the crowd forty metres away.

  “They look pre-occupied,” he said. “Something’s got their attention.”

  “Could be the kid,” Suzie said after spitting out a black wad of goo onto the asphalt. “If he’s still alive.”

  “You’re such a lady,” Clarke said.

  “Don't I know it?” she said, surprising him by giving him the hint of a smile

  “That’s a new look for you, isn’t it?” he said turning away, embarrassed.

  “Thanks for getting me out of there,” she said earnestly.

  “You’re welcome,” he said. But he didn’t look at her. She nodded an understanding at his burning cheeks, still visible through his mask. The boy had walked away tonight and a man had stayed to watch him go.

  “Where’s O’Connell?” Suzie whispered as soon as the thought sparked in her head.

  “He should be up here,” Amir said looking about him just as the faint sound of doors rumbling open came to them.

  In the wall opposite to them a rectangle of light appeared, an ethereal gateway in the gloom, and through this a figure stumbled into view, rubbing at their eyes with a sleeved forearm.

  “Great timing,” Suzie said quietly before scrambling over to him and guiding him back to their hiding place.

  “What happened to the other guy?” Clarke asked.

  O’Connell replied by shaking his head.

  “Then how to we get on the chopper?” Suzie said.

  “They want the boy,” O’Connell muttered. “When it comes, stay close to him.”

  “And how do we get near him with those things in the way?” Clarke said.

  “I hear something,” Amir interjected. They all listened intently and picked up the thick staccato sound of a helicopter wavering of the breeze. O’Connell craned to follow the noise until he saw the flicker of navigation lights to the southwest.

  “Chopper’s in bound,” he noted.

  “You still haven’t answered the question - how do we get to it?” But once again O’Connell’s response was thwarted, this time by a gasp of shock from Suzie.

  “Oh my God, O’Connell,” she cried out. “You’ve been bitten!”

  O’Connell saw that her eyes were staring at the side of his head and his hand went searching there. No sooner had his fingers begun probing, a searing bolt of pain shot through his left ear though it was immediately clear to him that most of the lobe was missing. What was left of the pinna felt bloated and tender as infection ravaged the tissue. It was only the affects of adrenaline that had staved off the agony thus far.

  “They got your ear, man,” Clarke gaped.

  “Let me see,” Suzie said raising her hand to check. O’Connell took hold of her arm at the wrist.

  “No need to check it out, Suzie,” he said gently. “It’s bad but it is going to get worse.”

  “Worse?” Suzie said her voice wavering with realization. “You mean -?”

  “I’m infected, Su
zie,” O’Connell said. “I’m going to die. Then I’ll be one of them.”

  “This can’t be happening.” Suzie buried her face in her hands, wailing against her palms.

  “It’s happened,” O’Connell said bluntly. “And it makes it easier to answer Clarke’s question.”

  “What?” Suzie said coming out from behind her hands.

  “The chopper’s coming,” O’Connell explained. “And I’m going to make sure you’re all getting a ride home.”

  “No,” Suzie said. “You’re coming with us.”

  “You’re all here because I brought you on board,” O’Connell said. “I’m not going to make it, Suzie. And I sure as hell ain’t going to end up like that.”

  He stood and watched the chopper approach. “Give me your ammo,” he said. “I’ll draw them off and you get the kid.”

  “No way,” Suzie snapped. “No fucking way!”

  “Easy, Suzie,” Amir whispered nervously eyeing the crowd. “You’re going to draw attention to us.”

  “It has to be this way, baby,” O’Connell said drawing her to him. She resisted for a moment but it was fleeting; token. “I promised Shipman that we’d look after the kid, keep him safe - protect him - from people who’d want to use him. I need you to keep my promise now that I can’t. Will you do that for me?”

  “Please don’t do this,” she begged. “I can’t live without you.”

  “You’re Suzie Hanks and you can do whatever you want after tonight,” O’Connell said firmly.

  “I want to stay with you,” she said.

  “I'm already dead,” he said with brutal honesty. “You have to live; you have to uphold my promise, baby. Without it I will die without honour. I couldn’t bare that. I need you to make that happen.” He cupped her chin in his hands, the pain in her face tore his heart open, but he held firm. “Please, baby. Let me go.”

  She collapsed into him sobs rattling through her body. But in her action he saw not only despair, he also saw acceptance of the inevitable.