“I’m not sure,” he said, glancing up at the monitors above the door. His heart skipped a beat as he saw Jennifer laying by the damaged bus.
Seeing her employers face, Samantha stepped forward, blocking Mr. Briggs path as he started for the door determined to help the saleswoman. “She’s dead.”
Mr. Briggs looked down at the receptionist ready to push her out of the way of he had too.
“It isn’t safe to go out that way.” Samantha continued, lifting a hand.
Looking up, Mr. Briggs focused on the monitor showing the front doors. Long streaks of bloody hand prints marred its pristine white paint.
From the lower left-hand corner of the monitor, movement caught his eye. Slowly Raymond Taylor appeared. His always clean lab coat was now covered in splotches of god only knows what.
The mortician shambled a few steps towards the front doors. As if confused, Raymond took a hesitant step to the right, then left. Then looked up at the camera set in the corner of the porte-cochere.
“My God!” Mr. Briggs said, seeing Raymond’s decimated face. From the cheeks down every bit of flesh was missing. Only ragged chunks of muscle and tendon remained. Opening his mouth, Raymond chewed at the air.
“We’ve got to get out of here?” Mr. Briggs looked to the monitor showing the black lot.
“How? Where?” Samantha asked.
“I don’t…” Mr. Briggs started, feeling the pockets of his jacket for his car keys. The fabric was turning rough and hard from drying bloodstains. “Keys, we need keys.”
He walked around Samantha’s desk, and began to pull open the drawers. Not seeing keys anywhere. He slammed the drawer shut and said to Samantha. “Where are they?”
Flustered, Samantha replied, “Brice has them, or they’re still in the lock box on the dock.”
That statement made Mr. Briggs freeze. If Brice had the keys. They were downstairs in the embalming room.
“Why do you need keys?” Samantha asked.
Coming around the desk, Mr. Briggs said, “We can take the vans, and drive to the police station.”
“Is that safe?” Samantha replied, as they moved into the hallway. “I think we should stay right here.”
A few of the students agreed as Mr. Briggs stopped abruptly. Turning to face the receptionist, he gave a loud, “No! I need you and the kids to stay right here. Keep an eye on the monitors. I’ll be right back.”
“Where are you going?” Samantha asked, as Mr. Briggs started down the hall.
“Downstairs to get the keys,” he replied, not stopping.
“Downstairs?” Samantha questioned, as Mr. Briggs hesitated a second trying to decide on whether to take the elevator, or stairs. Making the decision to take the stairs so he could see if anything was coming. He headed into the preparation room. Leaving the worried students to fend for themselves.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Pushing through the door, Mr. Briggs stopped abruptly as the door swung shut behind him. Except for a thin shaft of light coming from the rectangular window set high on the far wall, the room was shrouded in darkness. Mrs. Wilkens body lay still on the gurney. But that did not stop a cold bead of sweat from running down Mr. Briggs spine as he expected her to get up.
Moving across the room, Mr. Briggs pushed the door open. Sticking his head out, he carefully gazed in both directions, seeing nothing.
Safe for now, he stepped into the hall. Here it was brighter, as the sun beamed through the clear plastic windows of the loading bay doors. Moving to the lock box, Mr. Briggs flipped the latch. Flinging the small door open, he saw that both vans keys were missing. He wasn’t surprised, if Brice had been doing the morning check before heading to the hospital, he would have both sets on him.
What keys were left in the box would do them no good. Neither the curtesy car, or hearse could hold all the students.
Closing the lid, he flipped the latch and started for the stairs. The blood smeared along the walls looked dry. But what coated the floor seemed fresh.
Stopping at the dock doors, Mr. Briggs made sure not to step in the trail as he peered out the window. From his position, he could see that the smear of blood trailed from the door to the edge of the dock. He didn’t see a body lying on the pavement. But someone had lost a lot of blood on their way out. Who it was from, he had no idea. He was sure that everyone downstairs was dead. Ashley had been ripped open, and he had bashed in his grandson’s skull with the nameplate. The old lady and Hunter had to be dead as well. No one could have survived so much damage.
Looking around the parameter of the lot, he didn’t see any movement. But someone could still be there. Hiding behind a car, or the dumpster.
Leaving the door, Mr. Briggs moved the rest of the way down the hall to the stairwell. The path of blood grew wider with every step.
Looking down the stairwell, Mr. Briggs caught a heavy whiff of blood and something else that coated the inside of his nose. A rot, not on the end that someone had defecated on the steps. But more like spoilage and gastric fluid from someone’s intestines.
Girding himself, he started down the sticky steps. To keep from slipping, he reached for the handrail. But stopped short as he saw a strip of what could only be bile dripping off the metal rail. An eerie silence rose from the basement. As he neared the bottom steps, he could tell that the generator was almost out of juice for the emergency lights had dropped to less than half power.
Coming onto the landing, it looked as if the floor had been mopped with a bucket of soapy blood. Bubbles sat in the corners, and burst ringlets trailed down the next few steps.
The hallway looked like a battleground where the wounded had tried to flee the onslaught shredding their bodies. Blood marred every surface, except for the ceiling tiles. Mr. Briggs expected to see the body of the old lady lying by the elevator. But she was nowhere to be seen. Somehow, she had gotten up, and now could be anywhere.
As he moved towards the embalming room, each step seemed like ripping Velcro as his shoes came off the blood covered floor. Pushing open the door, he saw Brice still laying sprawled halfway into Raymond’s office. While Ashley’s ravaged body still lay on the embalming table.
Light from the hall dissipated as he let go of the door and it swung shut behind him. Left in the dark room Mr. Briggs crossed over to Raymond’s office using the wall as a guide.
Finding Brice with the toe of his shoe, he knelt and felt Brice’s pockets. Both sets of keys were there along with a dollars’ worth of change that spilled out across the floor as he pulled out the keys.
Holding the keys tight, Mr. Briggs turned for the door. He could see a slight glow of light as it seeped around the doorframe. Then the light was cut as someone came down the hall.
Fear welled up as Mr. Briggs realized that he was trapped. Knowing that he didn’t have time to get back into Raymond’s office and move Brice’s body so he could close the door. He ducked on the other side of the embalming table.
Slowly the door opened. Mr. Briggs dared to glance over Ashley’s body. He expected to see the old lady. But it was clear that the slow moving being was a student. Not as blocky as Arlo, or curvy as Violet. Instead, it had to be the boy who had died in the holding room.
Hands hanging limply at his side, Hunter pushed through the door. His jaw now only connected to his head by the few strands of muscle that the old lady had not torn away. His clouded eyes scanned right over Mr. Briggs as he bypassed Ashley’s cold body as not being food.
Drool, laced with blood, leaked from Hunter’s mouth as he shuffled over to Brice’s body. Long seconds ticked by as Hunter stood over Brice as if he were trying to decide what to do. It was now clear to Mr. Briggs that Hunter had reanimated like the old lady. And like her, he wanted to feed on the living.
Hunter’s head swiveled towards Ashley. Ducking down, Mr. Briggs was not sure if the boy had seen him. With the room being so dark, there was a good chance that he had not. Hunter’s nostrils flared, smelling something close by.
; Turning stiffly, Hunter walked towards the table. Mr. Briggs tried to move to the other end of the table. But his feet slipped from under him as he stepped into a puddle of Ashley’s blood. Falling, he smacked the back of his head against the cupboard under the sink.
Coming around the end of the table, Hunter’s eyes locked on Mr. Briggs. It was too dark to see anything more than a shadow. But Mr. Briggs could feel the predator that sat behind Hunter’s eyes.
Flinging the cupboard open, Mr. Briggs began to search for anything he could use to protect himself. His hands found cold pipes, bottles of what he assumed were bleach, and the familiar form of a fire extinguisher. Grabbing the cold cylinder, he pulled it out.
Taking a step forward, Hunter struck the leg of the table and staggered towards the counter.
Still on his back, Mr. Briggs fingers found the pin. Looping a finger through the ring, he pulled the pin out and squeezed the lever. White foam shot out of the nozzle striking Hunter in the face. Blinded, Hunter continued forward. His hands reaching for Mr. Briggs.
As the spray died, Mr. Briggs swung the cylinder at Hunter’s knee. A loud crack sounded as Hunter’s patella shattered and the tendons holding the joint together gave. Like a bag of bricks, Hunter dropped. Striking the cupboard with a shoulder, he did not stop trying to get at Mr. Briggs. His useless jaw quivering, as his tongue flopped about, slinging bits of foam everywhere.
A hard as he could, Mr. Briggs swung the extinguisher at Hunter’s head. The hard cylinder made contact. Driving Hunter’s head against edge of the countertop. Not holding back, Mr. Briggs swung again. This time a wet crack sounded as the hard counter and extinguisher entered Hunter’s skull from both sides.
Foam covered fingers took hold of the lapel of Mr. Briggs jacket. He felt a slight pull, then Hunter’s hand went slack as Mr. Briggs punched forward one last time with the blunt end of the cylinder crushing Hunter’s nose.
Head rocking back, Hunter fell on top of Mr. Briggs as the synapsis in his brain stopped firing. Holding firmly to the handle of the extinguisher in case he had to use it again. Mr. Briggs pushed the boy off.
Slowly Mr. Briggs got to his feet. Confident that he was safe for now, he dropped the extinguisher. With a hard thunk it hit the tiles and rolled against the leg of the table.
Stiff and sore, Mr. Briggs walked to the door. Keys still in his hand, he pushed into the hall and started for the stairs.
Taking the stairs two at a time, he reached the top and was hit by the smell of heavy acidic smoke seeping through the dock doors. Ignoring it, he rushed down the hall and through the preparation room. Coming into the hallway a chorus of voices met him.
“Did you get the keys?” Samantha asked, her face was pale and it was clear that she had been crying.
Dangling both sets in his left hand. Mr. Briggs replied, “Yes, we’ll all go in one van.”
From inside the office Mrs. Foust voice rose, “Wait!”
Stepping to the door, Mr. Briggs looked in to see that she had the phone to her ear, and her eyes were plastered on the monitors above the door. “Did you get through to the police?”
Mrs. Foust shook her head, dialing 911 again. Hoping for a different result from the last hundred times she had tried before.
Knowing that every kid in America had a cellphone. Mr. Briggs looked back into the hall. “Have any of you gotten through?”
Everyone shook their heads, a few replying with, “No.” And one replying with, “I got ahold of my mom. She told me to quit joking.”
Mr. Briggs glanced up at the monitors. Jennifer was still laying trapped under the tire of the bus. Suddenly she moved, her hand sluggishly sliding across the pool of blood that surrounded her. Monitor one was empty, but Mr. Briggs felt that Raymond was still hanging around just off camera. But the monitor that he was most concerned about showed the empty backlot. The cloud of black smoke drifting in from the side of the building showed that something was burning close by. The fire was not in the lot. So, all he had to worry about was getting the students into the van. And then pulling open the gate now that the power was out.
“Everyone,” he said, “I need everyone to listen.” Feeling over a dozen sets of eyes, he continued, “We are all leaving together. So, I need each of you to follow Samantha to the van out back. We will drive promptly to the police station, and you all can get ahold of your parents then.”
Immediately a few students started to protest not wanting to leave the safety of the funeral home.
Mr. Briggs cut them short, “No complaining.”
Handing the keys to Samantha, he gave her hand a reassuring squeeze as she looked questionably at him. “Get all of the kids in one van. I will pull the gate open.”
“Are you sure this is safe?” she replied.
Mr. Briggs was not sure how to answer the question. Nothing seemed safe at the moment.
He started down the hall towards the preparation room. The students didn’t follow until Mrs. Foust came out of the office and urged them along. You could feel the tension building as Mr. Briggs held the door of the preparation room open.
Seeing Mrs. Wilkens covered body on the gurney. All the students crossed the room quickly. The adults followed up the rear. Closing the door, Mr. Briggs glanced at Mrs. Wilkens. His throat went dry at the thought that she may get up. After a second, he forced a smile and turned towards the students. “Okay everyone, follow Samantha out the door to the docks. She will escort you across the parking lot to the van.”
As soon as Mr. Briggs finished, Samantha spoke up, “Please follow me.”
Gripping the keys tight, Samantha made her way through the students, and pushed open the door to the back hall. Looking both ways, she saw nothing except for the drying stains of blood. Holding back the fear she felt welling in her chest. She put on a look of confidence and waved the students towards the dock doors.
As he watched the students file out, Mr. Briggs suddenly remembered what lay across the seats in van one. Hurrying forward, he brushed past a couple of students. “Samantha.”
As she stepped over from the edge of the dock, Mr. Briggs continued quietly, “Don’t take van one.”
Samantha was going to ask why. But the look of concern that was in Mr. Briggs eyes made her nod in agreement. She handed the keys to van one back to him and he pocketed them.
As the students left the building. The cloud of smoke that floated across the parking lot was now accompanied by the crackle of flame. Stepping to the edge, Mr. Briggs could see that a burning car had crashed against the fence.
From the hall came the sound of the elevator door opening. Mr. Briggs stepped back to the doors and looked through the window. Suddenly the swinging door came at him. He blocked it with a forearm as a thin fingered hand, caked in hair and blood, wrapped around the edge of the door. The old lady had found her way upstairs via the elevator working on its programed route. With her head hanging against a shoulder, she tried to push her way through.
The second door swung open as the old lady shouldered her head out. Her cloudy eyes did not focus on anything at first. Nostrils flaring, she sniffed out dinner. As she came out onto the dock, her slack face came to life as she caught Mr. Brigg scent.
A scream rose from the parking lot as a student looked back at the dock. The old lady turned at the sound, her attention drawn away from Mr. Briggs for just a moment.
“Run,” Mr. Briggs yelled, setting the students into motion as he put a shoulder to the door trying to knock the old lady back into the hall. But she was too far out, and the closing door propelled her sideways onto the dock. Losing her already shaky balance, the old lady tumbled to the cement.
He followed up by putting a foot into her mid-section. The old lady responded by blindly clawing the air as her head was pressed against the cement by her shoulders. Mr. Briggs laid another kick into her ribcage. Then ran for the ramp.
“Go,” he yelled, as he raced across the lot.
Reaching the gate, Mr. Briggs wrapped his fingers throug
h the honeycomb of fencing and started to pull it open. He felt the gearbox fight to turn without the aid of electricity. But slowly it responded as he walked it back.
Crammed in like sardines, Samantha turned over the motor, then quickly pulled the van out of its assigned stall. Nervously, she drove across the lot. As Mr. Briggs watched the van pass through the gate, he caught sight of the old lady regaining her feet. Even though her head hung against her chest, she knew where the ramp was and moved towards it.
Turning onto the road away from the burning car. Samantha stopped the van as Mr. Briggs pulled the gate shut. Halfway closed, the gears jammed refusing to move any further. Mr. Briggs strained to get the gate to shut completely. But it was no use.
Rolling down her window, Samantha shouted, “Hurry, she’s coming!”
Looking back towards the dock, Mr. Briggs saw that the old lady had cleared the ramp and was coming their way.
“No,” Mr. Briggs said, knowing that more innocent lives would be lost if the old lady made it out of the parking lot. “Get to the police station.”
Reaching van one the old lady stopped. She seemed confused for a moment as she turned and looked at the dead man hanging out the open door of the van. A breeze blew by, carrying the smoke from the burning car. The old lady turned into the breeze and took a deep breath. Though her lungs were no longer providing the needed oxygen. She caught the scent that covered the city. The scent of the living.
Letting loose a scream of hunger she began to quickly stagger towards the gate. Her steps moving at a more urgent pace.
“Go, now!” Mr. Briggs shouted.
With a hesitant pause, Samantha pressed on the gas and drove the van away. Leaving Mr. Briggs to hold the line and stop the old lady from getting through.
About the author
Being a lifelong reader and writer. Shawn published his first novel in 2010. Since then he has published a plethora of fantasy, horror, and children’s books. In 2014, Shawn had the honor of being placed in the top 100 of the ‘All-time Greatest Horror Writers’ on www.ranker.com, alongside Stephen King and Dean Koontz.
Chicago Undead (Books 3-4): Encounters Page 10