Among the Dead Book 2 (Among the Living)

by Long, Timothy W.

  He made out a group that had crowded around the door. Pete had a small fire extinguisher in hand and looked like he was going to dive out the door at any second and play superhero. Deaders on the landing? Just send in Jerk-Face!

  But old Jerk-Face didn’t look too convincing. In fact, he looked like he was going to shit his pants at any second.

  Shayne stumbled over to the group, intent on hearing their lame plan. If he had his way, he would just take the extinguisher away from Pete and bash his jerk face in. Just a single swing, and he was sure Pete would go down like a sack of potatoes.

  Ed and Joey stood at the door, offering advice. Martha hung back and sat on a chair, rolling back and forth like she was rocking herself. Shayne stumbled into her.

  “Whoa, partner. You all right?” She looked him up and down with the same practiced maternal attention Kara had tried to use on him earlier. “You look like shit.”

  “Thanks.” He grinned.

  “I heard about Pete. He’s an asshole, but we don’t know how long we’re going to be cooped up. You should try to get along until we get out.” She lowered her voice. “You know, kill him later.”

  Pete shot them an unreadable look as his name came up.

  Shayne nodded. The easiest thing in the world, just moving your head up and down. He could do that.

  “Sure, great idea Martha. Bygones be bygones, ashes to ashes and all that shit, right?”

  “Sure. Just as long as we don’t have any more fights.”

  “I don’t think that’s going to be a problem,” he replied with the same smile plastered on his lips.

  Shayne did his best to straighten up and march to Pete’s side, even though each step was like dragging his feet through a pool of glass shards while wearing lead weights around his ankles.

  “What do we have here, Pete old buddy?” He draped an arm around his boss’s shoulder, which wasn’t that easy, since Pete was about five inches taller than Shayne.

  “Get your hands off me. Freak!” Pete spun away but lowered the extinguisher.

  “Oh, leave him alone,” Kara spoke up.

  “I’m being nice,” Pete admonished.

  “Not you, him!” Kara said and pointed at Shayne like he had a target on his chest.

  “Hah!” Pete snorted and pushed Shayne away.

  Shayne could tell he was going to fall, so he turned it into a stumble and managed to catch himself on the cubicle wall before he went to his knees. He was almost giddy, but he couldn’t explain why. He felt like his body was vibrating, like he was going to spin out of his skin at any second. He pushed himself off the wall and moved toward the door. He had his hand on the knob before someone stopped him.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Ed yelled.

  “Seeing what’s out there,” Shayne replied.

  “It’s one of them,” Joey said. “Ed went downstairs to peek, even though everyone, and I mean everyone, told him not to. Well, did Ed listen? Nope. So, big shock, one of them got in.”

  Kara looked at Ed like he was a bug on a pile of shit.

  “I didn’t mean to. I heard knocking and thought the rescue crew’d finally arrived. You kept saying they were coming, but we haven’t seen jack.”

  “What kind is it?” Shayne stared at the door and even put his hand on it. Something thumped on the other side.

  “Huh?”

  “What kind, Ed? Was it a woman? Man? Kid?”

  “It was an older lady. She looked Asian. Got a bad limp, and her foot’s sort of twisted to the side. That’s why I got away; she couldn’t run.” Ed looked miserable.

  Shayne ran his hand over the door and regarded the small collection of people in the room.

  They looked back with various degrees of loathing.

  These people didn’t understand him and never would. He looked at Kara with her severe eyes and stick-up-her-ass grimace. He looked at Ed and Joey with their frat-boy smirks. He looked at Martha with her pointedly nonjudgmental frown.

  She was different, but she was also so fucking high on ecstasy most of the time that she didn’t even remember where she’d parked her car. Maybe if she got it tattooed somewhere among the various works of art covering every exposed inch of her flesh. He wondered how she looked with no clothes on. Probably like someone had done a paint-by-numbers on her skin.

  Pete was the worst. If Shayne were on fire, he would probably make one of the other guys piss on him to put out the flames. Right now, he stood with the little red extinguisher in hand and looked anything but confident. He looked lost and scared, and when Shayne looked from face to face, didn’t they all?

  Shayne had had enough. He was going to take care of the situation.

  Maybe it was Pete’s bullying. Maybe it was knowing that he would never get into Kara’s skin-tight panties. Maybe it was the abuse his body had suffered since he’d arrived at work a few days ago.

  “Give me the extinguisher,” he said to Pete and held out one unwavering hand. A fresh banging at the door sent them all skittering backwards.

  Pete shook his head.

  “You can’t even take care of yourself. Maybe we should just put you out there.”

  “Pete!” Kara hissed.

  “Asshole,” Martha muttered.

  “What? We’re all thinking about it, right? All his whining and bitching. We’re all sick of it, but I’m the only one making sense.”

  “Dude!” Ed said.

  “Fine. Fine. Shayne, you want to go out there and kill that thing? Be my guest. Just don’t expect us to open the door when you turn into one of them.” He offered the fire extinguisher. “Save me the effort.”

  “You weren’t going to do anything, anyway, Pete, because you’re a chicken-shit sandwich,” Shayne said and snatched the fire extinguisher.

  It was just as heavy as it looked. About two feet long, with a white tag hanging off the top. If he held it by the nozzle, it would make a pretty good swinging weapon—like a long mace.

  Another bang shook the door in its frame.

  Shayne gathered himself. He took a breath and tried not to think about the pain that wracked his body. He was going to show them. He was going to show all of them.

  “Shayne, don’t do it.” That from Kara. Since when did she grow a heart? But there she was beside him, her perfume barely covering the scent of sour sweat. Shayne was sure she had never smelled like that in her life, and she was probably disgusted with herself as well as with him. But she said the words, like he would care.

  “No one else’ll do it. How about you, Ed?” He held out the fire extinguisher.

  Ed took one look and turned his head to the side.

  “Joey?”

  “No, man. I’ve seen enough of those fucking things.” Joey gave a half-smile but shook his head slightly.

  “We have established that ol’ Petey won’t poke his head out there. How about you, princess? Maybe if you go out there and spread your legs for the deader, it’ll let us go. Sound good, Kara? You want to take one for the team?”

  “That’s awful!” Martha gasped.

  Shayne didn’t even bother to respond.

  There had been problems when the power went out that caused the electronic lock to stick, but they’d found a way around that. Joey beat on the handle until something inside broke loose; then they were able to use it like a regular doorknob. They went through a few barricade ideas before settling on a classic: a chair wedged under the doorknob.

  Shayne grabbed the top and, with a twist of his wrist, sent it to the ground. See, I can be a macho toad too, Pete.

  Setting his hand back on the doorknob, he took one last deep breath and then opened the door.

  Lester

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Les said, face straight. Or was it? He tried to keep his lips flat, but they curled up.

  “Right. So look, what say we make a break for it? I don’t like the odds here. We have that big fancy fence and a bunch of National Guardsmen, but have you seen those guys? Half
of them look just as scared as we are. They look like they would shit their collective pants if an assault happened. Do you really want to be stuck here when a few thousand deaders arrive?”

  Lester stared at the man as he completed his long-winded speech. Leave? Was he insane?

  Lester was a lot of things, but he wasn’t dumb. He knew that as soon as he set foot outside the fence, he would be hunted by those creatures. Thousands of the things were in the street, and that number grew by the minute.

  Still.

  If he could get out there and take a few down, wouldn’t that be worth it? “Wouldn’t it?” he asked Angela, but she didn’t answer.

  “Who’re you talking to?” the man asked.

  Lester stared at him for a few seconds. His mind echoing … echoing … He seemed to be in a dream world filled with visions of Angela. He glanced toward the fence and saw a deader strolling along, one arm missing, the other leaking blood from a massive wound that had split her forearm open. She didn’t have any pants on, and her huge ass was as white as a lily. She might be dead, but that thing was wobbling like a fifteen-year-old donkey trying to make a run for it.

  “Ange?” he asked the deader, who was a good fifty-five feet away.

  It didn’t answer.

  “Fuck it. I thought you were cool, but you’re out of your damn mind,” the older guy said. He stood up and started to leave, but Lester spoke.

  “Let’s do it. Let’s go find a nice quiet place where beer flows from a fountain. Where we can do a pound of coke and then come down with whatever pills I have left in my bag of goodies. Sound good, chief?” He smiled at the guy.

  “Uh, I don’t know,” the guy replied. What was his name? Lester wondered if the man had told him and he simply forgot.

  “Stewart? Was that your name? I’m having trouble.” He grinned and rapped the side of his head with his knuckles. “Like trouble, man. I don’t know what happened. Maybe it was the explosion. Haven’t been right since then. Maybe it was the day before. Guys dressed in white from head to toe, just shooting people in the street. Why would they do that, man? They said it was a gas leak, but it wasn’t. A gas leak? Who the fuck believed that? I didn’t. It was them! Fucking them!” Lester jumped up and pointed at the departing one-armed deader.

  The guy’s eyes slid over Lester. Lester could feel them roving, rolling, moving over him as if Lester were a big old pile of cat shit. Lester turned to the guy and looped his arm over the man’s big shoulder like they were old pals.

  “So, Larry, how far away is your pad again? Not to mention the rum. We’re gonna need a lot of rum, Stewart.”

  “Name’s not Larry or Stewart, and I don’t want to go out there with a wacko. Get your fuckin’ hand off me.”

  Lester caught a whiff of his own underarm. Good God! It was like someone left some blue-cheese dressing in the sun and let it rot. No wonder no one wanted him around.

  “Shit, man. I need some deodorant, and I need it now. I bet I can trade a pill for some. Wanna bet, Stu?”

  The man pushed Lester off and moved away at a fast walk, losing himself in the crowd as soon as he could.

  Well, shit-biscuits. Where was Mr. Speedwalker going? Lester lurched after him and almost fell. He was so dizzy that he barely caught himself on the edge of a hard-backed seat that was baked as hot as a pan fresh from the oven. Damn this heat!

  He was on one knee, and his hand swam before him on the white cement. It felt like his hand was melting into the ground, and he was sure his eyes weren’t deceiving him. He was knuckle deep in the stuff before he pulled his hand back and realized it was just a nightmare. Or a daymare. Whatever it was, he blamed it on the pills.

  But he had other concerns right now. A bunch of guys dressed like robots were about to stroll out the front gate, and he wanted to follow them. Off to the old man’s house, although he might actually have been around Lester’s age. Off to sip beer and hang out, watch movies and bad television reruns. He would spend days up there. No worries at all. Then he could go out with his gun and get some revenge. Maybe he’d steal a car and go back to the old neighborhood. Bet there were a lot of deaders up there. A lot of bodies to wax with high-speed American steel. He’d get his gun and some ammo. Lots of ammo. And a cleaning kit. Lester was downright anal about keeping his guns clean, and this was going to be the granddaddy of all shooting sprees.

  He stood, feet splayed, but his legs wanted to wobble. He felt like he was going to go down again, but he took a step instead and then another. Then he was stumbling toward the robots. He ran into a press of people, a body of bodies that was hard to breach. But Lester moved like a snake. He didn’t apologize; he just brushed around anyone in his way and slid between groups like he knew everyone in the crowd.

  Lester grinned like a madman, lips pulled back as far as they would go. The army of marching robots had reached the gate. At least a dozen soldiers formed a cordon. Civilians were pushed out of the way, none too gently.

  Trucks and military vehicles rumbled to life and slid aside to complete the pathway to the gate. It had been a veritable fortress before; now it was the yellow-brick road out of this hell. Lester smiled as he wove toward the entryway.

  A few deaders took interest in the activity and wandered toward the opening. Most were shamblers, but a few of the speed demons loped along on all fours. They pulled ahead of the pack and howled for blood. They were covered in wounds and, in some cases, missing entire body parts, but onward they ran.

  Straight into a wall of gunfire.

  Kate

  Kate rejoined her companions on the balcony below, then slipped into the open window. Anne had a wound kit and was tending Mark’s hand. He grimaced when she applied a thick salve, but kept his cool.

  “Nice work up there, Kate.” He nodded at her.

  “Yeah. Let’s get that thing in place so we can make this rescue happen.”

  Kate and Anders went outside this time, while Anne worked on the big guy. They had to lower the ladder through the opening next to them, then lift it up and angle it away from the building.

  Kate went back up and grabbed what wire she could scavenge from above. Then they used it to secure the bottom rung to the side of the railing.

  After lifting it up into the air, it was just a matter of letting go and hoping it was long enough to reach across the space.

  The building on the other side was a mere five or six feet across, and it had a balcony with a tiny grill.

  “Think they know we’re here?” Anders asked.

  “They will in a minute. Every deader around will know in a minute.”

  The ladder went straight up, and then they gave it a slight push and let gravity do the rest.

  The ladder slammed into the balcony and made another barking gong noise that echoed up and down the alley. Kate half-hoped it would fall so they could call it quits.

  But the ladder stuck.

  “I’ll go across and tie it to the balcony,” Anders said.

  “I’ll go. I’m lighter, and I move faster.” She put her hand out as if to brush him aside.

  “You’re a civilian; you aren’t in charge of jack fucking shit,” Anders replied. “Don’t try to undermine me.”

  Kate studied him for a second. Then she shook her head and hopped up on the railing. She held on to the balcony above and set one tentative foot on the ladder.

  “Shut the hell up and admit that a girl is better at this that you.” She winked and scurried across the open space.

  She didn’t glance back to see the look on his face.

  Her first step was sure, and the one after that was just as confident. Then she looked down.

  She’d never suffered from vertigo before, but it was a new experience to see the ground so far below. She took a breath and another step, but she couldn’t shake the conviction that she was going to fall at any second, that her reflexes wouldn’t be enough to keep her on the ladder.

  If this were in a room and she were all alone, she could sprint across su
ch a narrow space. But there were eyes on her. True, her martial-arts classes had a number of large-scale tests that required the entire school to be present. But those were attended by mostly women, with the occasional man tossed in as fodder. Sometimes they didn’t want to test with her, because she forgot to pull her punches.

  Kate snapped her head up and kept her eyes on the roof across the way. One step, then one more, and she was almost there.

  Kate could probably jump now and hit the balcony hard enough to rattle loose the ladder. If that happened, they were screwed unless she could get inside and figure out another way to get the men and women out of the building.

  A male deader moved below her, and then a female joined him. To complete the happy undead family, a kid of about eleven years staggered into the alley. The man looked up and snarled.

  Kate took another step, and the ladder slipped.

  Seventy feet was a long way down. She was under no illusions that, if she fell, she would break out her sword and slice one of them as she plummeted in some cinematic feat. Falling would be a very bad idea.

  The ladder shifted again, and when she took another step, she got a good look at the edge where the ladder met the balcony fence. There was less than half an inch of metal on metal.

  Screw it!

  Kate took one more careful step, leg poised, calf stretched, cautious as a stalking cat. As soon as her weight shifted forward, she threw herself onto the balcony and hit the wall with her shoulder.

  “Damn!” she said and rubbed at it.

  “Look at your audience.” Mark had his head stuck out the window across the way and was pointing at the deaders below.

  “Yeah. Real cute.” She turned away from them and took a breath to steady her nerves.

  The platform was barely large enough to hold three or four people, and the barbecue grill took up part of that space. Kate thought back to the crappy breakfast she had eaten. Half-frozen Eggo waffles and some eggs that started life as powder. Then there was some reconstituted wannabe juice that must have come from the same mixing bowls as the eggs. It was a dismal meal made worse by the press of humanity that surrounded her. She choked down the food and was glad for it. The first night was completely disorganized, and a lot of people went hungry.