Lockdown: A collection of ten terror-filled zombie stories

by mike Evans

  Zombies stretched down the hall and pushed toward the door. None of the ones in front were willing to leave the door alone. They could sense food, and they weren’t about to leave. Neither were the ones behind them, and they simply bunched up, all trying to get at what they wanted, even if there wasn’t enough for all of them. Any thought Maggie had of getting through the hall to the elevator were gone with that glimpse. And since the stairs were at the end of the same hall, she really couldn’t think of another way out of the building.

  I wonder what the other people on this floor are doing? she thought, imagining tenants in offices trying to keep the zombies out. Or, if they hadn’t acted in time, they might all be dead, food for the creatures that had snuffed out their lives. Would they rise again? How much of a person could be left after the hungry undead got through with them? Would it be enough to make another deadly zombie?

  Doc smacked the zombie on the back again, slicing the blade into another deep cut that barely bled. He cut through the spine at one of the lumbar vertebrae, which should have paralyzed the legs of the creature. The arms still worked very well, though, and it pushed at the door until its entire body slid through and onto the floor.

  “The brain, Doc. You’ve got to hit the brain, just like you did with Sam.”

  Doc nodded and raised the ax as the zombie tried to struggle to his feet. It failed as his legs, no longer connected to his brain, refused to obey. Another zombie stuck its head through the window and looked around, then started to pull itself in with its arms. Doc brought the ax down on the head of the first zombie, the blow glancing off the skull and taking off the left side of the face, including the ear. The zombie reached for the ax, getting one hand on the blade and pulling. Dox wrenched it free and brought it back up into the air, this time bringing it down in a clean hit that cut through the top of the skull and dropped the zombie to the ground.

  Maggie tossed the portable screen on the desk and ran to the window, the shovel gripped in both hands. She brought it up until it hit the ceiling, then down with all of her strength, rising up on her toes and putting her weight into it. The flat struck the zombie on the head and drove it down, but it was up in a second, struggling to get through the window.

  That’s not going to do it, she thought, reversing her grip on the shovel she brought it back up, this time with the flat edge on the front pointed down. Again she put all her weight into it, this time punching through the flesh at the back of the monster’s neck. It glanced off one of the cervical vertebrae.

  “Here,” said Doc, moving up beside her. “Let me.”

  The ax came down on the zombie’s neck, cutting half way through, while the creature’s body below the strike went slack. Another strike, then a third, and the head popped off to hit the floor and roll around. Its mouth was still opening and closing, unseeing eyes opened wide. The body of this one was still in the window, blocking the way for the moment.

  “I’m not feeling all that great,” said Doc, wiping the sheen of sweat off his face as his hand shook. “I’m afraid I’m about to turn. You need to get back into the storeroom and barricade you and the girl in.”

  “What about you?”

  “I’ll keep these things from coming through as long as I can.” His eyes said the part his mouth refused to. Until he became one of them.

  Maggie nodded, a hint of tears in her eyes. She moved to embrace the old man, but he waved her back.

  “I’m infected, and there’s really no telling how many ways this shit can be transmitted. So get in there and let me do what I can, while I can.”

  Maggie grabbed the video device and ran into the storeroom, slamming the door behind her. It was a hollow core door, and she wasn’t sure how long it would hold up to an assault.

  “Stacy. I need you. Now.”

  The girl looked up for a moment, then back down at the body of her boyfriend. Sam seemed to be down for the count. It seemed that destroying the brain destroyed the zombie. At least she hoped so. The last thing they needed was a dead body rising to attack them again.

  Maggie tossed the shovel to the floor, turned the lock on the door, and walked over to the young woman. “Stacy.” She grabbed the girl by the wrist and pulled her around to look in her face.

  “Stacy. I need you here with me.”

  “He’s dead,” Stacy blurted out. “You people killed him.”

  “We didn’t kill him, but the things that did will do the same to us if we don’t prepare. Now get your head out of your ass and help me, or we’ll be dealing with more of these things in no time.”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “Start piling stuff up at the door. Anything you can move. I know you can’t handle a lot, and you don’t need to, at one time. Just keep piling it up until you have a big stack against the door.”

  “And what will you be doing?”

  “Collecting some means to fight back.”

  Maggie made sure the girl was actually going to do something, then went to look through the storeroom, wondering what she could put together that would stop something that was already dead. What she wanted was an M4, the weapon she had carried in the Sandbox. She would have settled for an AR15, or even a Glock. She knew there weren’t any firearms in this storeroom, and none were going to magically appear. So she had to use her imagination to come up with things that might serve the purpose.

  Sharp objects, things that burned, things that shocked. She took the first load back to the entrance, balancing everything in her arms. Stacy had made a good start at piling stuff up at the door. A dozen boxes, some filled with bottles of cleanser, were in place. Only problem was the boxes were all flat on the floor, not piled on top of each other. They might form a good doorstop, but they did nothing to prevent pressure being put on the lock, or pounding from the other side breaking through the weak door.

  “Pile up the boxes,” Maggie yelled, grabbing the portable video screen to see what was going on in the outer office. At first glance it looked like Doc was still holding the fort, his back turned to the camera. Then he turned slowly, and Maggie gasped as she saw the look on his face, the dead eyes. He still held the ax, looking down at it like he wasn’t sure what it was. Then he shuffled toward the storeroom door. The door behind him shook, then swung open as the locking mechanism cracked through the wood. Moments later the office was flooded with zombies. Sightless eyes searched for prey, nostrils distended as they sought the scent of the living.

  Maggie quickly started to stack the boxes, two to a side, two deep, three high. “Get more boxes,” she yelled at Stacy, then headed back into the rear of the storeroom, intent on gathering a few more items. In a moment she was staggering back to the front of the room, pulling a couple of heavy tanks with her. Stacy had piled up six more boxes in that time, and the door was shaking under the assault from the other side.

  “Shit,” she exclaimed as she glanced at the view screen. Doc was at the door, swinging the ax. He still wasn’t sure what to do with it, and banged the flat section against the wood. The large zombie Maggie had noted before was beside him, banging both fists against the barrier. The hands looked shredded, probably from working on the outer door, but that didn’t seem to matter to the creature.

  “Keep getting boxes,” Maggie ordered as she grabbed a metal pole that was used to hang intravenous bags. She placed a bone saw on the end and started to duct tape it in place, looking up periodically at the door. She noted the window over the door, something Doc had insisted upon to provide ventilation if the air-conditioning system went down. She always thought it kind of strange, since all the rooms had air conditioning, but Doc had insisted that it be put in as a backup, since the outside windows didn’t open.

  This is not going to do it, she thought, tossing the pole and bone saw aside. I know stabbing the bastards isn’t going to do anything. Bleeding them out isn’t going to do squat, since they don’t bleed worth a shit. And I doubt they’re going to just stand there and let me saw their heads off. I should have
gotten the ax from Doc.

  The racket at the door increased, and Stacy dropped her last box and shied away. “What are we going to do?” she asked, her wide eyes locked on the door.

  What are we going to do? Maggie thought as her eyes darted around the storeroom, looking for anything that might help. She kept coming back to the oxygen tanks. I wonder how these things burn? She looked up at the window over the door, something the zombies hadn’t seemed to notice yet. Or was it that they just weren’t jumpers, so there wasn’t anything for their minds to associate. And there was a ladder next to the door.

  “I need you to get as many bottles of ninety-one percent isopropyl alcohol you can find,” she told Stacy. “Not the seventy percent. It needs to be ninety-one percent.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “See if I can find a piece of equipment I think is back here.” It better be back here.

  It took a couple of glances down the aisles and into the corners to find what she was looking for. And ordinary garden sprayer that Doc, the cheap bastard, used to spray insecticide through the storeroom to try to keep down the roach population. It had some liquid in it, but it was easy enough to dispose of that in the work sink. That done, she hauled the sprayer and another tank of oxygen to the front. Next was a ladder, then a trip over to the electrical panel, where snapping down a switch made sure the air-conditioning system wouldn’t come back on if the power did.

  “We need to move on this,” she told Stacy as she placed the ladder to the side of the door. The zombies still pounded on the door. If they had been a group of living thugs trying to get into the storeroom they would already have entered, and the two women would be dead. As it was, she needed to implement her plan before they cracked through the door. “Fill the sprayer with alcohol, but save one bottle.”

  Stacy nodded and started to fill the sprayer, while Maggie pushed the window open, the bottom hinging and the top swinging out. A couple of the zombies looked up, moaning, waving their arms like they wanted to get at whatever was making the noise above them, then going wild as they saw her face looking down. But none of them jumped or tried to climb the wall.

  “Hand me the sprayer,” she ordered, and the girl handed it up to her. She pumped the device as fast as she could, then started to spray the alcohol into the room, swinging the nozzle back and forth, trying to get good coverage of the zombies. As far as she could tell, they were all gathered in the office. No others came through the outer door while she sprayed, pumped, and sprayed some more. They became agitated when the alcohol hit them, then calmed when it became apparent that it wasn’t doing anything to them.

  “Do you have any more bottles?”

  “Five in this box,” answered Stacy, opening the second container.

  “Put four of them in here. Then get some fabric to twist up and put in the neck of the last bottle.” She tossed the sprayer down, then climbed down the ladder and ran to the place where she knew Doc hid the cigarettes he hadn’t wanted her to know he still smoked. That thought brought a catch to her throat. What was left of Doc was on the other side of that door. Cigarettes would never hurt him again. But his having smoked might save their lives. She grabbed the lighter and started back to the door, grabbing a fire proof blanket on the way.

  “Here you go,” Stacy said, holding out the sprayer to her.

  “Hold on a minute,” Maggie replied as she climbed the ladder with an oxygen tank in hand, laying its flat bottom on the built in top shelf. Taking the sprayer, she pumped it up and continued to spray alcohol into the office. It took a few moments, but she finally got all the flammable liquid into the room. More of the zombies had stepped back and were looking up at her, while two, Doc and the big one, continued to attack the door. The outer layer of the door was coming apart, as she watched Doc put the puncturing end of the ax through the layer. Good thing they’re not too bright, she thought. If Doc had been using the ax as intended, either striking with the cutting head, or punching holes and pulling like that end was designed for, they would already be through.

  Maggie picked up the first oxygen tank and balanced it on the window, pointing the nozzle out. She turned the valve until it was all the way open, making sure the nozzle continued to point out of the room through the window so they would get the least build up in the storeroom, then pushed the tank out through the opening.

  “Give me another,” she ordered Stacy, reaching down and grabbing the offered tank by the valve assembly. She lifted in into place, opened it wide and pushed it out. Doing this with the remaining two tanks, she hurried down the ladder and picked up the last bottle of alcohol.

  “There’s a bathroom in the back, that way,” she said, turning the bottle over to make sure the rag was soaked. “If I were you, I would head back there and close yourself in.”

  “What about you?” asked a wide-eyed Stacy, as she backed away.

  “I’ll be okay,” Stacy reassured her, pulling out the lighter. I hope. The girl turned and ran the dozen steps to the washroom. Maggie didn’t have time to give her any more of a start. There had to be oxygen leaking through the open window, and every bit of it was a danger. Huddling close to the floor, she lit the rag, made sure it was burning fiercely, worried that the air around her would flash into flames. The rag going, she looked at the window to gauge her throw. If it didn’t go through she was fucked. With that thought in mind she sprung up to a standing position and lofted the bottle through the window. It barely made it, hitting the top of the frame and bouncing through.

  Maggie ducked down and hastily wrapped herself up in the fire blanket, then moved in a shuffling crouch away from the door. She could hear the bottle breaking on the other side of the door, then the whooshing sound of flammables going up. The air around the window flashed with it, the high concentration of oxygen burning away in an instant. Maggie rolled away, the blanket held tight, while a brief flash engulfed her and the floor. In an instant it was gone, and she was up and running for the viewer, making sure to stay away from the door.

  The room on the other side of the door was a mass of flame, and the zombies were frantic, or as frantic as slow moving dead creatures could be. She doubted they felt anything, but not knowing sparked a bit of guilt. They were fully involved, as was all the furniture in the room, while the walls and ceiling were smoking. The sprinklers popped on, surprising her, and for a moment she was afraid they might have come in too soon. She hadn’t been sure they would even work with the power off, but someone had thought of a fire happening while the building’s electricity was down. She waited a moment, then the first of the oxygen tanks exploded like a small artillery shell in the room, its shrapnel setting off two of the other tanks.

  The room and everything in it was shredded. The storeroom door was first punctured by pieces of tank, the metal fragments hissing through the room, then blowing it off its hinges. Maggie was more than happy she was out of the way, as it would have at least injured her badly. The fourth tank went up moments later, adding another layer of shrapnel. The body of the cylinder, about half the mass, flew through the air and took the head off the largest zombie.

  Maggie’s ears rang and she felt dizzy. But if she didn’t get to her feet and check out the damage, she might have the less than pleasant surprise of a still intact zombie walking in on her. She could see flames through the doorway, dying down as the sprinklers poured water onto them. There were some objects still burning fiercely, like the water wasn’t enough to put them out. She Got to her feet and grabbed a fire extinguisher, headed for the door, and hoped there was nothing in the room still waiting to explode.

  The zombies were shredded, three of them missing heads and four more with large puncture wounds through their skulls. Four others still lay on the ground, burning fiercely. She wasn’t sure if they had sustained head damage, but the fire seemed to be doing the job. She let them burn, using the fire extinguisher to put out anything that wasn’t a zombie before it could spread. Then she waited, extinguisher ready in case she nee
ded it to keep the entire floor from bursting into flames.

  “Ma’am,” came a voice from behind her. “Is everything alright?”

  “I think so,” she said, turning to look at Stacy, who was staring at the burning room and bodies.

  “Are they dead?”

  “They were already dead,” Maggie pointed out as she watched as the muscle and fat bubbled away on one of the zombies. The fire should have destroyed enough of their tissue. Whether still animated or not, they wouldn’t be getting back to their feet.

  “So what do we do now?” Stacy asked, looking at the broken outer door. “What if more of them come up here?”

  “We get ready,” Maggie stated. She had survived the Sandbox, and she was damned if some stupid zombies were going to do her in here in her home town.

  She went to her purse and pulled out the cell phone, hoping that the towers were back up so she could see about her daughter. She cursed as she there were no bars, indicating there was still no connection.

  “What’s wrong?” Stacy probed, holding her arms around herself and shivering, then sneezing.

  “My little girl is at home with my mom, and I’m worried about them.”

  Stacy sneezed again, and Maggie found herself staring at the young woman. “Are you okay?”

  “I don’t feel good,” Stacy moaned, shaking her head, her face pale. “I think I’m coming down with the flu.”

  The End

  By Doug Dandridge

  The Apocalypse With A View

  Floor Thirteen

  Greg P Ferrel

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  © 2016 Greg P Ferrell, All Rights Reserved