About that time, Morris and a couple of other guys came down, and they had guns. Where the hell did they get those? I never even suspected the tenants had weapons. This is Seattle, for Christ’s sake. They went out and never came back.
Gerald, that dick, never showed up to relieve me.
Later, I was happy to see the Army guys walking up the street. I thought it was safe. Even better, that the tenants were mobilizing. Then I realized what the banging was. It wasn’t someone at the door at all. Nope. It was the guys in uniform, and they were shooting people.
I hauled ass into the break room, shut the door and brewed up another shitty cup of coffee.
Kate
The other building was a wreck by most standards. By hers, it was a fuck-load of eyesore that should have been demolished years ago. But it was probably a historical landmark. Maybe some shit-swilling gold miner stopped by and shot a famous Seattleite. It was hard to say why some buildings got saved and others got the big orange ball.
They took up positions on either side of the front door. Someone had smashed in the glass on the bottom, so at least they had a way in—or “ingress,” as the Army guys liked to say. The military seemed to have fancy words for everything. They even had a word for what they were doing here. SNAFU. Situation Normal—All Fucked Up. Kate wasn’t a big believer in any of the bullshit they fed the guys in uniform before sending them to the slaughter. But she had to admit that SNAFU was a pretty good description of the current situation.
Anders went in first. He crawled under the broken glass and stood in the foyer of the old building. He reached up and turned on the flashlight attached to his sub-machinegun and swept it around the place. Anne didn’t wait around and went in next. She was a real go-getter, and Kate approved.
Haller stood back with his Midwest good looks and just looked tall. He had to be at least six-two and wore his gear like he was born in it. Kate had appraised him a few times, but she had peculiar tastes. Still, a nice young man like that? Maybe he could help her change. Take her from Kate the killer to Kate the doting housewife with half a dozen kids, a mortgage, and a pair of beat-up cars in the front yard. Sure, she could do it. And one day, the Other would make a visit, and tall and handsome would meet the pointy parts of her swords.
Kate dropped to her knees and followed Anne into the building. She was careful not to touch any of the chunks of glass, even though they didn’t appear to be sharp. Safety glass? She didn’t want to find out. The rifle was a problem. It was slung over her shoulder, but when she got down on all fours, the stupid thing kept wanting to fall to her side. She struggled through the little opening and stood up on the other side. She felt half-military herself now, with the obstacle course that was making up her morning.
Anders took to the stairs with a slow and steady step. He had his gun up, and focused on every speck of dust that floated in the room.
“What is this place?” Anne whispered.
“Looks like some kind of museum. There’s a bunch of pictures stacked up behind one of the counters. Shots of old Seattle. Just a bunch of miners and really old cars beside even older buildings,” Anders said. He didn’t bother whispering.
Kate didn’t have a fancy flashlight on the end of her rifle. She had a lighter somewhere, but that wouldn’t help much. The light streaming in from the front door was enough to illuminate their immediate surroundings, but the windows were all boarded up.
“Let’s find the stairs,” Anne said and moved off. She shone her light into open doorways and finally motioned for them to follow. She stepped into what looked like a passageway, but it turned out to be stairs.
The others followed. Country boy brought up the rear with Kate right next to him.
“What’s your name?” she whispered as they ascended the first flight.
“Mark. You can call me Jones if you like. The rest do.”
“Why do they call you Jones when your name’s Haller?” she asked.
“Jones is just a nickname.”
“How’d you get that?”
“It was after boot. We went out for a drink, and I got shaky the next day. Blood sugar or something. The guys saw me shaking and assumed I was an alcoholic. I was “jonesing” for a drink. But the truth was,” he lowered his voice, “and please don’t say anything. I’d never had a drink before. Never been drunk. I didn’t care for the feeling much and haven’t had a drink since.”
Big, handsome and no vices. Maybe he dressed in girls’ clothing on the weekends and someone slapped his ass and called him Sally. She almost giggled at the thought.
“You don’t have to look so amused. Haven’t you ever done anything like that?” he asked.
“I wasn’t laughing at your story, Mark, er, Jones. I’m just glad to have you at my back,” she said lamely. His eyes were probably glued to her ass. Why didn’t she ask for some clothes like the Army guys had? All she could find at the field was an old pair of yoga pants no one wanted. They were too small by a size, but they weren’t drenched in blood. And the camo jacket they gave her was about as comfortable as wearing wool in the damned heat. With the sleeves rolled up, it was still too big.
“Yep. I got your back.” He grinned at her. She turned to threaten him, but decided at the last second to play it cool. Let him look. They might all be dead in an hour.
“Shh,” Anders hissed from up ahead.
None of them had asked why she’d tagged along. They didn’t let other civilians run around with guns, so why had they let her? It was probably that Nelson guy. He might have said something to one of the crew. There was no recruiting speech and no swearing to a flag. They just gave her a gun and said, “Let’s rock.”
They hit the third floor before they heard something. There was banging from the door that led to the stairway. It was dark as night, but a few flashlight beams stabbed out. They didn’t illuminate the room all that well, but they were better than nothing. Kate wanted to take the lead. She wanted to grab her sword and take to the floor with a vengeance. Come on, deaders, come out and dance.
She grinned broadly at the thought of blood flowing down her blade.
“You all right?” Mark asked her.
“Just dandy, dude. Can’t wait to get to chopping is all.”
“Shopping?” he asked, confused.
“Chopping, like heads and arms. You know.” She pointed to the pommel over her head.
“You are a weird one, Kate,” he said.
“The perfect cliché here would be for me to say, ‘You have no idea.’ And Mark,” she said, turning to face him. Her eyes squinted, and a smile touched her lips. “You have no idea.”
They burst onto the floor with weapons bristling. Anders was first; Anne covered the door. He had his assault rifle pressed to his shoulder and moved like he thought he was an action hero. Mark covered the rear while Kate cooled her heels. She was bored. All this soldier shit was becoming lame. If there were deaders around, they would have attacked by now. They didn’t wait for an invitation. They were mindless wretches that only wanted the taste of human flesh. They didn’t reason, and they didn’t politely ask if you were ready to run. They chased you down like they were herding cattle.
“Guys, can we get to the rescue already?”
“It’s a good idea to clear the building first. That way we have a clean egress.”
“Mark, I think you’ve seen too many action movies,” Kate replied.
“It’s just our training. We go into these buildings fast and take out any hostiles. Deaders are no different. If we see one, shoot to kill. That means one to the brainpan.”
“Yeah, I know. I’ve seen all the stupid zombie movies. You guys should consider one little thing, though.”
“What’s that?” he whispered.
“The deaders. They aren’t subtle. If they see or smell you, they attack, and they make a lot of noise. Know what I mean, soldier?”
“It’s still good practice,” he said.
Kate shook her head ever so slightly. If the
se guys waned to play GI Joe, let them. She would just hang back and let them “clear” the building while she counted floor tiles.
With the third floor clear, they proceed to the fourth and then the fifth with no sign of the dead.
“See?” She rolled her eyes.
“Still good practice,” he repeated.
“Still good practice.” She deepened her voice to mimic his. He didn’t get mad. In fact, he grinned at her and looked around, appearing relaxed for the first time.
She supposed it wasn’t so bad having big, dumb and fully automatic along for the ride.
When she saw the open window leading to the fire escape, she realized the utter stupidity of what they were about to do. Kate poked her head out to scan the walkway. Then she ducked so that the barrel of her borrowed automatic and sword handle could fit. The air outside was humid and just about the same temperature as it was inside. Seattle wasn’t the hottest city, but it could get downright muggy this close to the water.
“Shit,” she said and stepped onto the old metal escape. It rattled under her feet, felt like it was going to give way and plunge her seventy feet straight to the ground. Didn’t anyone ever tighten these things up? She looked around and caught sight of rusted bolts holding the balcony onto the wall and wondered how it was still there.
The ladders going down were all gone, but there was one that went straight up. It was propped against the next level up, and if someone grabbed it and pulled hard enough, it would probably tumble to the ground below. What a great way to take out deaders, she reflected.
She looked closer and noticed the thick wires holding it in place.
“I think it’s long enough,” she called into the window.
Mark stepped out to join her. He moved with sure feet even though the landing shifted and groaned under the added weight. Jesus. If one more of the Guardsmen came out, Kate was sure it would be the end of them all. She looked around for something to hold on to. Mark was the only viable option.
Kate blushed to her roots at the image.
“So what’s the plan?” Kate looked up at Mark. He stared up at the ladder and even gave it a few exploratory tugs. Flakes of rust fell. Mark managed to move out of the way and shield his eyes from the brunt of the shower. He wiggled the ladder around and then stared down at the ground.
“Not sure,” he said and brushed orange flecks off of his clothing. “Maybe I just wanted to get out here and show you the view.”
“I’ve seen views before,” she said. It was about the stupidest thing to ever cross her lips. What the fuck was wrong with her? Mark wasn’t even her type. No man was her type. No woman, for that matter, although she had wondered on more than one occasion if she could see herself with a girl. Probably not. Too many issues. More like too many questions. Why do you go out at night and come back with bloody clothes and bruises all over your back and ass?
Still, she had tried it with a couple of guys over the years. There was even one terrible attempt by a girl from an old job. They worked at an artsy-fartsy coffee shop that charged five bucks for a cup of espresso, soy and enough cinnamon to coat six-dozen snickerdoodles.
Her name was Melissa, and she wore glasses because she thought it made girls look sexy. It actually worked in her case. She had a bleached-blond bob that was longer on one side. One day, she had leaned over and kissed Kate while they loaded high-end sandwiches into a cooler. Kate wasn’t sure what elicited it, but she backed away just the same. Melissa was surprised, but she never mentioned it again.
Then there was dear old Daddy, who tried to keep her warm at night. Dad with his foul whiskey breaths and jumbled words. His disgusting pale body pressed against hers.
But that was a long time ago, and she was at peace. Just like Dad. At peace. She knew that for a fact, because she had put him there. And if Mark fucked up, he might learn all about being at peace.
Lester
Lester took in the pitiful sight of his fellow survivors. They huddled en masse and didn’t smile much, which was weird. So much to smile about here, like the view. Just look at the sky. Crystal clear, not a cloud in sight. And just look at all those buildings. Sure, some were on fire, but who didn’t like a nice blaze from time to time?
“How stoned am I?” he wondered out loud. What the fuck was wrong with this bunch of losers? Don’t get mad, don’t stay sad, do what ol’ Les planned.
Revenge.
That was foremost in his head—which was currently thrumming like it was attached to a vibrator. The only thing that would make him feel better was if he had a nice bottle of rum. Hell, he would even settle for the shit they sold on the bottom shelf. He didn’t even care about a chaser. He just wanted a couple stiff shots.
But the guys in uniforms frowned on that. They’d rounded up all the booze and stashed it away. Fuckers probably kept it to themselves. He looked and looked, but he didn’t see any of his old clients among the military. Probably wouldn’t do any good anyway. If he was out of supply, they were more than likely out of smiles.
At least he had his private stash.
In all the excitement, a bunch of his pills got mixed up. But, like any respectable drug dealer, he knew the big ones by sight. He could pick out an Oxy by feel like a blind teenage boy reading a nipple. There was some speed and something to help take the edge off. That was what he was after, but not what he wanted.
He reached into his bag, looking around as he dug out the right pill. A dour-looking woman wandered by, picking her way between bright seats. She spotted Lester with his long hair, sniffed loudly and then turned her head as if she hadn’t seen him.
Lester responded by grabbing an extra pill or three from the bag and popping them in his mouth. He grinned at her and swallowed them down.
She hurried away, but she had to feel his eyes on her all the way.
Fucking bitch. What did she know about Lester and what he’d gone through? A big fat pocketful of nothing, that was what.
He leaned back in his uncomfortable chair and thought about his gun.
He had a ticket in his pocket that identified the AR-15 as his. Supposedly, if he went to the checkpoint near the front gate, they would give it to him. All he had to do was ask, and asking sounded mighty fine right about now. Things were a lot calmer in the city. He could go out and rack up a few kills. He put his deader count at around sixteen. That’s right, mindless drooling zombies. Les 16, deaders zip.
He stared at the sea of humanity that stretched over the seats and the field. How many were out there? He started to count, again, something he had tried a few times just to relieve the boredom. This time, he did it while he waited for the drugs to kick in.
When he reached eighty-two, he forgot where he was and started over.
Half a dozen rows down, a girl in a pink dress stood up. Her hem came about halfway down her thighs, which were a sun-kissed golden brown. Blond hair flowed over her shoulder, and for a second, he thought it was Angela. He even stood up and whispered her name, but when he caught her in profile, he realized she was about double his girl’s age. He frowned and wondered what in the hell he’d taken.
Lester had half a joint in his left front pocket. He knew the precise location, because he was a dealer, and a dealer always knew where his shit was. Plus he was already high, and that just added to the paranoia. Having something on which to focus his paranoid mind, like a joint in his pocket, deep in the middle because he didn’t want it breaking, was just the thing. He also didn’t want it in his jeans pocket, because that was too near his dick. He was worried that if he didn’t shake it enough, a little pee might just infect his perfectly formed, although half-smoked, joint. Then he’d have to go find another quiet place to break out the papers and roll another. Good Christ, the first time it’d taken at least an hour. Now that he had left his refuge, there was no telling how long it would be before he would be able to get back in, let alone hide out in it. But he was willing to sit there and wait it out.
Les looked around, his eyes narrow
ed to slits. His tongue was dry, felt like a sponge. He should really head to one of the watering stations and get a gallon to suck down.
In a minute. Right now, he needed a hit, so he slipped the joint out.
He cupped his hands and lit the end of the joint.
“How’s it going, buddy?” a guy with a vaguely Southern accent asked. He actually had a on a cowboy hat and a flannel shirt. In this heat? Lester thought.
Lester coughed and put the lighter back.
“‘Salright,” he said, trying to be nonchalant. What if it was a cop or one of the Army dudes who had nothing better to do than see if there were some dope smokers in the bleachers? They’d probably shoot him like he was a deserter.
But it wasn’t someone in uniform, just a big guy who had apparently been sitting behind him for the last five minutes. Either that or he was a two-hundred-and-fifty-pound ninja.
“Just saw a ghost is all,” Lester said.
“I been seeing ghosts all day. In the city and out on the field. To tell you the truth, I wish to hell I’d never joined this lil’ get together. Wish I would’ve stayed hid up in the old Mason building. Had a stock of beer and pretzels. The satellite was coming back, and I was ready to wait it out or get drunk and then jump off the roof.”
Lester nodded, not at all giving a shit what the man rambled about. His head got fuzzier by the moment, and his heart insisted on picking up the pace. But it felt good. It felt good to forget.
“You have any rum stashed away?” he asked.
“Nah. I don’t go for the spirits much. Just domestic beer.” He turned his head to the side and spat a wad of brown saliva. “Say, you think it’s all over? Makes you wonder if we’re just delaying the inevitable in here. How are we gonna kill them all? Heard someone talkin’ about containment. What kinda shit is that?”
“Fuck those things,” Lester hissed.
“Didn’t see none I’d like to take to the sack. No, sir. I think I’d rather shoot them all. Do you suppose they still have souls? You reckon we’re committing some kind of sin by killing our own?”
Among the Dead Book 2 (Among the Living) Page 5