Lockdown: A collection of ten terror-filled zombie stories

by mike Evans

  The shock and anger coming off of the man made Garrett chuckle darkly. Leave it up to the man in charge to miss the whole point of what was happening. Did he really believe what he was spewing, or did his overwhelmed brain just fall back on the corporate line?

  “Sure thing. Let me just give these disgruntled employees a chance to take a bit out of your ass, you idiot. Now get back with the others. You know, your uninfected employees who are not trying to kill you?”

  Still muttering threats, Stovall seemed to get the point and scurried off further down the hallway, and making sure to step wide around the still struggling, and screaming, form of Brad Downing. Garrett didn’t really care what the little prick did, and he was suddenly facing half a dozen of the lumbering monsters, all of whom by accident or design looked to be arriving at about the same time. Too many, he thought, even if I had a chainsaw.

  Another quick glance over his shoulder showed Conference Room C to be empty, so Garrett took this as a sign to get out of Dodge. Traci remained propped against the wall maybe five steps away, so Garrett kept backing up until he was even with the petite woman.

  “Are you coming or not? Heck, you and Harvey were the only reason I came back in the first place,” Garrett truthfully. “Do you need some help?”

  Traci nodded, grimacing as she did so. Slightly hunched over, she was favoring one side with arms wrapped around her middle.

  “Broken ribs, I think,” Traci gritted out. “Bruised at least. I can make it in a second.” She paused, panting. “That asshole, Brad. Couldn’t lift a finger to help us secure the door, but he was off like a jackrabbit when you cleared a way.” Pushing away from the wall, Traci looked up, her green eyes brilliant.

  “You really came back for me? Even after I just sat there doing nothing, watching while you got fired and humiliated by that little punk bitch?”

  “Yes,” Garrett replied and cast a quick look over his shoulder. “And your second is up. Let’s go.”

  Traci stepped away from the wall and proceeded down the wide hallway on careful steps. Garrett was right on her hip but she refused any offer of help, insisting he keep his weapon ready for more of the infected. As they crept past the still crying Brad and the bulk of a feeding Zach sprawled over him, Tracy looked back, as if gauging their lead over the dozen remaining infected.

  “Garrett, you have to help him,” she said softly, looking pointedly at the pair on the floor.

  “Yeah, you’re right,” Garrett agreed with a sigh, and lined up his metal support strut like it was a Callaway driver. Nice form, good follow-through, and Zach’s head exploded in a spray of dark red blood and glistening white bone fragments. Brad lay under the now motionless body, and Garrett saw most of the young man’s handsome and tanned face was already gone, gobbled up by his sick and hungry coworker. Nose, lips and much of the soft tissue on one side of his face now appeared stripped away, and white bone with yellowed cartilage visible underneath. And still the man screamed.

  After a moment to examine the nature and severity of the attack, Garrett knew he only had one option. Planting his feet, he imagined another tee shot as he proceeded to cave in Brad’s skull as well. He got another hole-in-one.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Rounding the corner, Garrett and Traci paused, shocked at the transformation before them. Where the large open space was home to multiple pods of waist and chest high cubicles, now over half of the units were disassembled and stacked up in a makeshift barrier across the mouth of the twenty-foot wide hallway. Arranged at an angle, the pieces reminded Garrett of pictures he’d seen in school. Like tank traps used in World War II, he thought. With the flat sides facing the approaching group of infected, and Traci and Garrett, the four-foot tall barriers might not completely halt the advance, but was guaranteed to slow them down.

  Garrett saw Robbie, stripped of his suit jacket and dress shirt and wearing a white tee instead. The other man hurried over to the wall he’d helped erect to offer the latecomers a hand over the short wall. Robbie, like Garrett, was coated in sweat, but he was not breathing as hard as Garrett.

  Bent at the waist, Garrett gulped in deep breaths like he’d just run a marathon. After flying on adrenalin and fear for just a few minutes of savage combat, his body was unaccustomed to the stresses involved and threatened to shut down. In short, Garrett needed a nap. Still got stuff to do, he told himself as he stood tall once again and glanced around the now-transformed Bullpen.

  He was missing a few familiar faces, and he spun in place and looked hard.

  “What’s wrong?” Robbie asked, his face already creased by a frown.

  “What’s wrong with you first?” Garrett countered, but inside he already knew. Robbie’s words merely served as confirmation.

  “What’s going on in here, it’s the same thing going on out there, isn’t it?” Robbie asked softly.

  “Yes, it is.” Garrett immediately sensed where Robbie was headed with his question.

  “And if we can get this outbreak under control here first, then we can find a way to get you to Ariel. But we have to survive and take out the other infected. I counted twelve, but may be more.”

  “So they really are infecting others with their bite? Like rabies?”

  Garrett shrugged before answering.

  “Looks likely. Didn’t stop to run any tests. Kenny and Zach were still fighting when I ran up, but I think both were already bitten. Then they went down, got chewed up, and then switched sides.”

  Traci, standing nearby, heard this simple statement and her face turned white.

  “Marla,” she said simply. Garrett followed her eyes as she looked across the wide room to the entrance to Stovall’s office. As if on cue, a high, quivering scream rent the air.

  “Harvey, get a weapon,” Garrett cried out, then charged across the open space with Robbie and Traci hard on his heels. They were likely too late, but they still needed to try. The infection, or whatever it was, still needed to be contained.

  Garrett hit the door and blew through into the outer office, finding what he feared. Stovall, on the carpet, being mauled by his secretary. The infected woman’s long nails dripped blood as she clawed at the struggling form under her. She thrust her red-stained face into the torn abdomen for another bite. Bits of flesh and other things stuck to her chin and forehead as she turned in reaction to the noise. She regarded Garrett with blank eyes as she chewed.

  Raising the length of chromed steel, Garrett stepped forward carefully, trying to avoid triggering the feeding beast’s charge. What sounded like growls emerged from the thing that used to be Marla, and Garrett shivered despite everything he’d already seen. She was like a big cat, he thought, defending her kill.

  Just as he was reaching what he thought was the proper range, Marla gathered herself for what looked to be a killing spring. She seemed different than the other infected people Garrett had confronted. More aware, and more feral. Just as Garrett was bringing his weapon back for a swing, he caught Robbie’s movement from the corner of his eye.

  Robbie’s metal bar, a twin to the one Garrett carried, seemed to tear through Marla’s head from temple to chin as the country boy used the same motion he might have used when chopping wood.

  “You gotta hit them in the head to get them to go down, right?”

  He said the words in a way that chilled Garrett while also giving him hope. So here was another man ready to do the necessary to keep them alive. Good to know. So Garrett nodded and took a second to examine the rest of the office. An open door led back to Stovall’s inner sanctum, but everything else looked clear for the moment.

  Stovall, somehow still clinging to life despite the horrific injury done to him, managed another hissing screech before passing out. Or maybe dying. Garrett didn’t care enough to check, and he used his own weapon to roll Marla’s corpse far enough out of the way to do what needed being done. Despite Stovall’s hectoring, bullying ways, Garrett felt no satisfaction as he caved in the front of the man’s head. Yeah, keep telli
ng yourself that, he silently chided himself.

  “Alright folks,” he said out loud, “let’s get back out there and man the battlements.”

  “What?” Traci asked, still stunned by everything she’d witnessed.

  “He means, now we have to go fight for our lives against the rest of the infected,” Robbie said, not unkindly.

  As they emerged from the office, Garrett looked around for a quick headcount. He noted a little over twenty of his former coworkers still remained on their side of the barricade. Slightly more women than men, and several looked like they might be strong enough physically to join them on the line.

  A glance at the short, wide hallway showed they needed to act quickly, as the gory forms of their infected coworkers shambled in their direction.

  “Where’s Harvey?” he asked one of the bedraggled looking office drones, a skinny little thing in her early twenties that always looked half starved. Rather than speak, she pointed a shaky finger in the direction of the men’s room.

  “Robbie, can you see about taking apart more of those chairs? I figure we got five minutes before the infected all get here, and we need these metal rods to use as weapons.”

  “Got it.”

  Approaching the door to the restroom, Garrett overheard what sounded like banging inside. Pushing his way inside, he saw the room was empty and one of the stall doors stood closed. Her heard more banging and what sounded like heavy breathing coming from inside the stall. Then he heard a strained grunt.

  “Jesus, Harvey, if you are in there rubbing one out right now, I swear I’m going to…”

  Before Garrett could finish the threat, the stall door flew open and Harvey emerged, red faced and sweating but also dressed. And brandishing a long cylindrical metal bar with a lump of concrete still visibly stuck to one hooked end.

  “Handicapped stall handle,” he explained. “Figured it would make a nice mace. So…let’s go kill some people, alright?”

  “Alright. And Harvey?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Don’t get bit.”

  “Love you, too, Gar. You do the same. And let me know how things go with Traci. I’ll bet she’s a screamer.”

  Garrett sighed as he followed his juvenile friend out of the bathroom. Why was he not surprised?

  “Alright. Now let’s go break some shit and save the girls. Just another day at Top Shelf, right?” Garrett said with sigh.

  “Maybe for me, bitch,” Harvey replied in a similar false jovial tone. “I still got a job. But, you, Gar, are just unemployed scum. Congratulations on your last day, though.”

  “Harvey?”

  “Yeah, Gar?”

  “Just shut it.”

  THE END

  By William Allen

  Minutes

  Floor nine

  Kya Aliana

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment upon purchase. This eBook may not be traded or sold to other people. If you want to share this book with others, please purchase an additional copy. If you are reading this but did not purchase it, please return it to where you got it from. Thanks for respecting this author’s work.

  © 2016 Kya Aliana, All Rights Reserved

  Kya Aliana on Amazon

  Floor nine

  Some minutes tick by faster than others. I was having a particularly slow morning, mostly due to dreading what the afternoon held. Having to deal with her. The wicked witch of Westfield High, otherwise known as Ella.

  “Kris, you okay?”

  “Three guesses.”

  I bumped into his side and gave him a smile.

  “Look, she has to have gotten better since high school. College changes people.”

  “Not people like her.”

  I stuck out my tongue and made gagging noises.

  “You’re being immature,” he said, but I knew he liked it. He took my hand and squeezed.

  “I’m only doing this for the money. And only because I have Heather now. If not for her, I’d be fine living on ramen and frozen pizzas.”

  “Still can’t get over the fact that you’re a mom now.”

  “I know. Tell me about it.”

  He didn’t. It was no use. Every time he talked about it, he just told me how stupid I was to get knocked up in the first place and how if he were the father, he would’ve stayed. He didn’t get it. He never had. Even though we’d been friends since middle school, he’d never understand me like he thought he did.

  The fall day was getting warmer by the second and I was looking forward to the air conditioned photography studio. We rounded the corner, the huge office building looming there. I knew she was in there. Ella.

  Last chance to spit in her triple-pump, low-cal, 2 percent, caramel frap with whip. I decided I was above that. After all, I was 22, a college graduate and newbie at the best photography studio in the whole damn city. High school politics wouldn’t get in my way.

  “What the Hell?” Eddy jerked me in the building and hurried me to the nearest elevator. Happy I didn’t wear my heels today.

  The lobby was a chaotic mess. People shouted and shoved each other. Security was coming in from the back and the last thing I saw was a can of tear spray tossed on the floor before the elevator doors glided shut.

  “What was that all about?” I said.

  “Who knows.”

  “We should go home.”

  “Come on, Kris, you need the cash. We’ll be safe on the ninth floor.”

  The ninth floor was the opposite. Peaceful. Quiet.

  That changed the instant we walked in the studio.

  “It’s about time. I’m about to die of exhaustion here,” Ella said.

  She snatched the latte out of my hands. I should have spat in it.

  “Good morning to you too, sunshine,” Eddy said.

  She spat the coffee, spewing it across the beige carpet.

  “I said 2 percent. This tastes like whole milk. God. Could this day get any worse?”

  “Don’t worry,” one of the producers said, “we’ll be able to Photoshop your arm, no problem.” It’s covered in bandages, and blood is seeping through.

  “What happened?”

  “Nice of you to finally notice.” She rolled her eyes and sat back down at her vanity. “Some freak decided to attack me. Bit my freakin’ arm.”

  “He was escorted to the lobby. You missed out on all the action by mere seconds,” the photographer said, grabbing his coffee from me.

  Some minutes tick by faster than others. The next, were the fastest in my entire life:

  We started the photo shoot. Eddy, aiming the lights, kept making funny faces at me. He was such a good friend. Had been since middle school.

  The photographer’s eye never left the optical viewfinder.

  I took notes and looked for an opportunity to get some nice angle shots…maybe one that made her look fat. You know, for my personal collection.

  Hiding behind the camera, I saw it happen as if it were a movie.

  First Act: something about Ella looked off. She was pale. Clammy. Sweat dripped from her brow.

  Second Act: her eyes started to gloss over and she stumbled in her extravagant 6-inch heels. She lunged for the photographer. I stepped back and his camera smashed to the ground.

  Third Act: She attacked the living shit out of him. Biting…clawing…anything that helped get flesh into her mouth.

  The lights went out. Power gone.

  That was when it all slowed down.

  In a flash, a blaring light stung my eyes. When I opened them again, I realized Eddy pulled out his cellphone. We exchanged a glance, but he was still too shocked to take action. Hell, we all were.

  “What is she doing?” someone behind me asked.

  She lunged past me, brushing my shoulder.

  The sounds came next. Screams. Gargles. Chomping. Then silence.

  The shaky flashlight bounced around the room. I didn’t see her. I moved toward Eddy but something grabbed my foot.

  A shrill scream ec
hoed and I was surprised to find it was my own. Stomping around, trying to shake the hand from my ankle, I saw him. He wasn’t dead. The photographer. He moaned - his skin as pale as Ella’s had been. This was no good.

  “Eddy!”

  “Look out, Kris.”

  He shoved me aside and I hit the floor with a hard whack. Eddy held one of the emergency axes in his hand.

  The sound was deafening. The sick squish of the ax chopping off the photographer’s head.

  Without hesitation, Eddy was by the exit door, holding it open for me. I ran out and was sure to slam the door shut behind me.

  The hallway was dark.

  “Do you remember where the elevators are?” I asked.

  “Left.”

  He tugged my arm and we headed down the hall. Light from the window at the end slowly started to spill onto the floor and I remembered where we were going.

  I must have pushed that button a hundred times before I realized there was no way the elevator was coming. Should have known. Elevators don’t work without power.

  “The stairs,” I said.

  Eddy didn’t move.

  “Eddy?”

  He dropped his cellphone on the floor.

  “Ed?”

  I reached for his hand. Cold. Clammy. When I shined the light - I saw the wound. His eyes were dead and cloudy.

  “No. No, no, no. You have to be okay. You have to help me get home to Heather.”

  I shook him by his shoulders, but he just stood there. Staring past me. Through me.

  Pull yourself together, I told myself. YOU have to be okay. For Heather.

  So I grabbed the emergency ax and lugged it along the hallway.

  Christ. My sweet, baby girl. How far has this traveled? Was anywhere safe? I couldn’t think about that now. I had to focus on getting home. Three blocks. Just three measly blocks.

  When I reached the stairwell, I pulled out my phone. I’d call the babysitter on the way down. Get her to pack and emergency bag.

  Shit. It was locked.

  “No. No. No.”

  No matter how hard I shook that door, it wouldn’t budge. Solid steel, too, so I couldn’t even break the glass.