More zombies charged up after him, hitting and tripping on each other and on the fallen ghoul, giving him time to lurch away. He reeled about and hurried along to some doors.
He found the doors to the next stairwell and went to it. These were not the grand stairs from the lobby up to the balcony and rooms, but the back stairs that led to all the floors. It was going to be hard, but better than the drowning roar of the zombies filling the lobby and first landing.
He closed the door behind him. It opened outward, where zombies were. They came up and slammed on it.
"Hah hah! Stupid zombies!!!" he growled. He had time now, as he slowly and painfully took each step up the stairs. He had to get a new momentum. He took one, two, three, ouch. He found a limp that worked. He went up again and again, limping a certain way, working out the pain and exhaustion.
After what seemed a lifetime, he made it up one level. He rolled his eyes. He could still see the double doors below. They were weakening. The zombies were forming up and ready to burst it. He had to get up, get clear of them, beyond their vision and sound and smell.
He changed his mind and pulled out his main sword. It gave him a focus, renewing his energy. He hobbled up the next flight of stairs faster. He felt speed pick up, his pangs went away, and his breath steadied and fortified.
He made it to the door that lead into the second floor as the sound of the zombies suddenly elevated. He knew they were breaking the doors now and their growls were piercing the stairwell, echoing upward.
He quickly went through the door, closing it and hobbling quietly away. He'd find the other stairway on the other side, further away, and let The Horde slowly but surely settle down.
He realized the whole building shook. The Horde was still pouring in, slamming through the first floor storefronts and filling every nook and cranny, ripping at anything to find flesh to rend. It knew there was flesh here, somewhere. It heard and sensed it from its lead feelers, the ones chasing him. Or perhaps they knew from the demonic beast he defeated.
The carpet in the hotel corridor felt good on his aching limbs as he paced through. He hurried along. It was dark but several windows gave dim auras that defined the shape of the interior.
The door from the stairwell was suddenly banged upon. The zombies were still on the chase. Why did they? What was causing them to sense him still? Dad’s mind was annoyed with anxiety trying to figure it out. At first, he did not hear it, for it was so common to him that his hearing had canceled it out. Dad’s armor made a loud clanging sound as he walked.
He grimaced at his own stupidity. He should have walked slower. But their roars and growls should've drowned it out as well. They must have attuned their own screams out for anything different, anything unusual.
They broke through the old style wooden doors finally. Dad could easily hear the pitter-patter running of their feet on the carpet.
He went to the light, turning to an exit window. There he saw the fire escape stairs outside a large exit and window. He wasn't sure this was the best idea but he had little time to think. They were coming in and spilling around the corner.
He got to the door and hammer-fisted the latch. He pulled the door in as zombies came to the turn of the corridor, growling and ready to pounce.
He got outside as zombies leapt at him. They slammed him, making him totter. He grabbed the steel stair ladder going up and twirled as the zombies stumbled out. He was on the first level of the fire escape, atop some roofing. It was narrow and ran across the building. The fire escape went all the way up. Just below him was the spectacle of the drive way, the entrance where cars could drive in and drop off guests. It had a pavilion and loading dock, a very tight parking lot filled with fancy cars and delivery trucks. Palm trees dotted the place, giving it that classic Hollywood feel.
This drop off on the backside of the building was opposite the main tourist area, so it wasn't filled with the Horde. It was like an alcove hidden from the massive churning on the front of the high rise.
He watched as zombies burst out of the fire escape door and quickly fell off the narrow ledge and onto the ziggurat like covering. They cracked limbs and necks as they landed quite violently on it. Some then bounced further atop the pavilion covering and rolled off to hit palm tree gardens or the stone walkways.
Dad stood still, suddenly camouflaged under the ladder and stairs that came from above. He stood under it as the zombies ran out and fell over. One after the other, they kept coming, breaking their own broken and contorted bodies below. He merely watched and breathed calmly.
A person could carefully drop off the fire escape, hang then drop down on the small roofway below, then hang to drop off the ziggurat-like canopy, one ledge at a time down and closer to the ground. But these zombies ran out grabbing the air and leaping out, thinking their prey was right there. They leapt out and did not cover their heads to protect them as they fell. They merely slammed head first below, cracking and paralyzing themselves.
Dad noticed many squirming at the bottom, like limbless worms. He waited to see how long this would go for. They kept pouring out for a while. Was it fifty or a hundred down there now? There was a mound there, and a few zombies from the street rushed in to see what was amiss, having heard the alarm. The full force of the Horde was just on the other side. The alarm was sure to sound there and have them come soon.
Dad gritted knowing this was ridiculous. He stepped slowly backwards. He got to the next window on that floor, realizing he needed to go further. The zombies were now slowing at the door. He saw them come out stumbling now, not charging. Quite a few more fell over, but it wasn't a leap, as much as them rambling about, trying to discern where their prey was.
Below, all the squirming broken zombies were muffled. They were all slowing and the alarm was dying down.
Dad did not want to start it again. The metal stairs somewhat blocked their view. To pass around it to him, there was the narrower rooftop walkway. It was best to hold onto the stairs and step across to the walkway. The zombies did not think to do that and any that wandered his way would topple off the side. Though they were aware of the ledge now, it seemed there wasn't any precision to them. They slowed at it but did not discern the exact edge.
And thusly, even as their excitement died down, they still kept toppling over.
Dad slowly stepped back again and again. He carefully sheathed his sword. He kept an eye on any that were looking directly at him. They couldn't see what they wanted, perhaps a fearful panicked face or quivering limbs of a human. They only saw a shiny steel thing, blending in with the wall, the glass, the fire escape.
He got quite a ways now to the end windows. He was far enough away that he could do more. He smashed open a window quickly. He couldn't tell if it was too loud through his helm. He looked at the few zombies still on the ledge beyond the fire escape.
They reacted but could not focus. He pushed through more of the glass with his gauntlets and sidestepped in. He was in a room. It was unused. He walk through. He wondered if he should just lay down. He was tired and feeling stiff.
He saw the mini fridge. He opened it and it was full. He drank from a fancy bottle of water. He pondered drinking one whiskey, but decided no. He needed his energy and faculties. The water was wonderful and gave him vigor. He was glad. He had water and snacks on his bike but those had been lost along the way. But now he had snacks and water. The plastic wrappings were always so damn loud! He lifted his visor, took off his gauntlets and drank and ate.
"Remember Ronan! Don't stuff yourself," Dad said in his mind. He ate and drank just enough. He had to piss and shit. He did it. It was pathetic in armor but he did it. He held onto the sink and shower bar. The bars held! They made them sturdy for old folks. He held on and had his derriere open. He shat. It felt great. He couldn't wipe. He shrugged. Whatever.
He saw the shower towels. He did a towel swipe with both hands held as best he could, swiping the towel back and forth like a saw. Whatever. He was hot and sweaty in the ar
mor but used to it.
He used a trash bag and filled it with snacks and the rest of the water. He tied that to his front armor. It swung at his crotch, the safest and most protected place.
He lowered his visor and put his gauntlets back on. He was ready.
He went to the door and opened it. The corridor was still connected to the fire escape exit he had gone through, down a ways. Zombies could have spread to this side but hadn’t as it was far enough away. He hoped they were still infatuated with the fire escape exit further down.
He looked through slowly to not alert them. They were there, crowded around the turn off to the fire escape. He walked out slowly and went the other way, casually and slowly. He did not hear their alarm as he turned the corridor and headed the other way.
He was looking for another stairwell, perhaps take it down. He wasn't sure if there was one. There was the front stairwell and the fire escape. Would there be a back interior stairwell, one he could go down and out? There must be.
And there it was, right in the middle of the corridor the door to another stairwell. It was at the very back end and away from The Horde spilling into the main lobby area. He knew the first floor had huge rooms. They weren't 'convention' rooms like modern hotels, but were more like showrooms with auditorium seating and super fancy. He recalled there being some that were once used by old Hollywood for magicians and vaudeville type performances or something like that.
He heard the moans of zombies beyond that door. The Horde had gotten all the way to this end.
Argggh! He felt pinned in. He looked around and around to figure out what to do. Then he saw through an open door and window across the way a roof top. It was a first floor roof. He went over through the open door of a hotel room. Someone was once there. It had not been cleaned yet. Clothes, towels, stuff lay strewn about, blocking the door from closing, but he knew whatever happened, happened on that first fateful day.
He went to the window and opened it. He easily crawled out and was on the roof. To his right, was the towering floors of the Hollywood Roosevelt. The roof top was over the grand ball room where the old Oscar parties were once held, back when it wasn't televised or big yet. He walked atop that knowing that era of mankind was over.
He saw, gratefully, that the rooftop led to another rooftop, and then to a parking garage rooftop. He clambered over the dividing wall of the rooftops. He then had to walk toward the front of whatever building he was on now, seeing Hollywood Boulevard below, and slowly make his way to the high wall that dropped to a parking structure.
He saw The Horde crowding Hollywood Boulevard once again. They were not looking up, but around, below, waiting for the alarm. The area was filled with zombies, however the road was now clear of vehicles. He smiled at that.
He thought, it would just be his luck to walk along this front end and slip or knock off the faux tiles that covered it, alerting them to his location. Nothing happened. He carefully walked over to the wall and got on all fours to roll and slide, then drop down to the parking garage rooftop.
There were plenty of cars basking in the sun. No zombies were there. Whatever ones were there surely leapt off at whatever alarm was started long ago. He didn't want to go down yet, knowing zombies would be everywhere on the first floor.
He walked across to the next rooftop. A grand Hollywood billboard with an advertisement for a movie was on it. It had plastered across it Duanne Henderson's scowling heroic face, the one he was in town to promote. Dad thought it would be fun to let Duanne know he came across it. But then he shrugged and realized, no it wouldn't.
He passed it, going to the rear and stepping up along old reconfigured structures that gave him steps to get up on the next roof. It was another smaller rooftop parking structure. They needed a lot of these in the condensed city of Hollywood. He wondered if he could grab one of these cars and drive down. It surely led to the rear where The Horde was not.
But it had been months since these cars had been driven. He could at least go down the structure and get out the rear, away from Hollywood and the crowded areas.
He then saw the valet parking kiosk and the board with all the keys.
41. Electric
He stared at it. He wasn't sure. It was sitting there next to the valet kiosk and board of keys. It was attached to an electric charger. But there was no electricity in this dark parking structure. Still he wondered. He searched the keys and saw number codes that corresponded to spots. He found the key dongle to this electric mini-van. He clicked it and it lit up.
The parking lights blinked. He gasped. He opened it and the lights turned on. It felt like a clean sanctuary. He wanted to take off his helm and gauntlets, and just sit in it for awhile to enjoy the peace and modernity.
He shook out of it and scooted in as best as he could in his armor. He knew driving out there would be another race through a mass of zombies. He had to lead The Horde further away somehow. He could lead them down Sunset again, to that vast construction hole and drop in. He figured with the massive pile up there, he could crash into it and then escape through the tunnel.
It was a bad plan, a great risk. But this Horde was too close to his home. And he didn’t know if the entire Horde had followed him or if Howie had to contend with a part of it when he went to get Sean and the other survivors. Dad felt compelled to do something. He knew his part of the plan changed since he had to race back up toward them. But, they, for sure, stuck to the plan.
He found the big start up button and put his foot on the brake. He wasn't sure it started. He couldn't hear anything in his helm. He kept hitting the button. He saw everything turn on with the fuel display with the battery at twenty two percent. It was low. But he didn't have far to go.
He then remembered that since its electric, he wouldn’t hear it even if he didn’t have his helm on. He tried reversing and it moved. Oh, it was on! He drove slowly, trying to see through his helm and the darkness of the structure. He could see the glow of the exit and drove past the dark silhouettes of parked cars. The parking bar was already broken. He smiled.
He drove slowly out onto the side street. Above was Hollywood Boulevard where The Horde chased him, where that damn mutated beast of a zombie had crushed his warhorse, his mount, his Harley. He looked that way. There was a wall of cars smashed up and giving him cover. Hah!
He turned the other way. A few zombies were there causing his heart to race. They kind of turned toward him in the mini-van, looking odd like with curious blind wonder.
In this quiet vehicle, slowly coming out, it wasn't alarming them. They didn’t move toward it nor did they sound an alarm. “Now that was unexpected,” he whisphered to no one. He slowly drove back down, easily to more side streets to get down closer to Sunset. He passed zombies as they turned and limped in his general direction, but none freaked.
He was in his helm, slowly turning the wheel, going five miles per hour or so, just kind of gliding along. The zombies were scattered slow ones. They weren't fresh or fast. They were the left overs, the rotted incapable ones. Some were missing faces, many missing a limb or two.
He drove through quietly, calmly. He came to Sunset and La Brea. He wasn't sure which way to go. Did Howie rescue them already? He wasn't sure. So he went back to the school. This mini-van was a prize. If they could drive around quietly in this thing, recharge it, man it would be a lifesaver. Amongst many lifesavers he thought.
He then saw through smashed up cars zombies congregating up a side street. He saw they were frantic. It wasn't a large group and they weren't fully alarmed, but they seemed excited about something, buzzing around. Was someone there? He pulled over, quietly parking behind the wall of cars.
He then saw a fast movement. He wasn't sure what it was. His angle of view wasn't good. He got out, quietly stepping around the cars.
It was Duanne hiding in plain sight behind a fencing and trapped by an agitated group of zombies. Though they didn't wave, both gazed at each other through their helms. Dad quietly moved up and bega
n slicing one after the other, clearing them out. He moved methodically and carefully. The zombies were aware something was amiss. They caught the fast movements out of the corner of their rotting blind eyes. They sensed it, yet were dropping before they could bark.
Dad remained still as the group of zombies fixed their senses on him. Dad motioned slowly to Duanne. He saw his motion and got up from behind the fence. He began his trained swings, dropping one after the other, clearing nearly half of them. Dad was impressed by his swings. He had improved markedly.
They had cleared them all and stood next to each other. They stood still and talked quietly from helm to helm.
"Why are you here?" Dad asked.
"Got messed up, we, you? You came back with The Horde. It messed us up," Duanne said sympathetically and anxiously. He was trying to remember and think, blame or not.
Dad thought a moment. A flash of anger passed through him, or was it guilt? Did he mess it up, and lead to their fall? Whose fall? How? "Howie?"
"He drove off. He led them off. Howie's lost," Duanne replied with despair. An anger rose in him and tightened his jaw. He started to think this was Dad's fault for the whole messed up plan.
Dad wasn't sure about anything. "I had to. They came at me that way. I had… the plan was for you to wait till I cleared it. I hadn't cleared it yet."
"You were supposed to clear it that way, away from us," Duanne said, his voice getting louder.
Dad wavered a bit, feeling a weight. He then put his gauntlet on Duanne's shoulder. It was odd. "Wait," Dad said, trying to remember something.
Duanne tightened his shoulders and his grip.
"Please, let's not blame. I don't know what happened. I don't know how it happened. I just had to do what I did. And you guys, I'm sorry," Dad said, wavering in thought.
Duanne thought about it. His anger was there, calling him to blame Ronan. Howie died because of Ronan.
"Oh Jesus Christ, if I led them this way and Howie died, I'm so sorry. Please God forgive me," Dad said, muttering and weakening.
Knight of the Dead (Book 4): Realm Page 24