Zombie, Illinois

by Scott Kenemore

  The tunnel gets even bigger.

  “Are we going down, or is the ceiling getting taller?” Maria asks. “Could be a little of both” I say.

  The shuffling, scratching noise becomes even louder. Even more disconcertingly, the coal car tracks—which have been with us the entire way on the tunnel floor—appear to end up ahead, simply terminating into darkness. I would say we’re now looking into a flat, empty wall, except that the sounds are near to cavernous. These noises aren’t bouncing back off a wall, they’re echoing into the darkness.

  “What is this?” whispers Maria.

  “I don’t know, but tread carefully,” I say.

  We edge forward. Our flashlights trace the grimy floor inch by inch. Then, suddenly, we are all starkly aware of what we’re seeing.

  The tracks appear to end because they have fallen forward into a miniature ravine. It is perhaps 40 feet across and 7 or 8 feet deep. It is filled with metal drums and ruined coal equipment. (The tracks resume on the far side of the depression, beyond which the tunnel appears to continue.) The ravine is also filled with a terrifying collection of writhing, gibbering things that used to be human. Their jarring bones and scampering feet combine to form the strange sound we hear. Hundreds of zombies—whole and half-formed—are clamoring to get out. This pit is the lowest of the low. All the human things that Chicago throws away drifted deeper and deeper until they reached this point. The coal tunnels are the lowest point in Chicago, and this pit is the lowest point in the tunnels.

  The eyeless, toothless faces below sense our proximity and scuttle toward us. They are stopped only by the steep edge of the rift. My heart jumps to my throat, my knees go weak, and, catastrophically, I lose my grip on my Maglite. It rolls forward onto the ground— rolling, rolling—and falls down over the edge of the pit.

  I can only stand at the edge and look on in horror.

  My errant flashlight shows me horrible things as it rolls to the bottom of the pit. If I could purge them from my mind, I would. I ask God, what can be the benefit to showing me such things? What can be the point of a floor filled with flapping, half formed human fetuses, gasping for brains like little fish gasping for water? What makes me a better Christian to know that dusty, legless mummies will drag themselves on stumps to gnash a single tooth in my direction? What is the lesson for me in a trio of freshly killed girl scouts—still in their uniforms—that look like they could be from my neighborhood: hair carefully braided, little black shiny shoes, and throats slit almost to the point of decapitation?

  I start swearing. I can’t tell if I’m swearing at the zombies or God or just my flashlight. I don’t care anymore. (Either way, bad pastor. Very bad pastor.) I swear and swear and swear, all at the top of my lungs. There is no point to whispering now. The ravine of scuttling zombies is well aware of our presence.

  When I calm down, I turn back to my compatriots. In the glow of our remaining flashlight, their faces reveal that we are— all of us—all at a loss.

  “It makes sense,” Maria says, looking down at my flashlight. “The zombies walking around in the tunnel try to cross the pit, but they fall in and can’t get back out. They start to collect, and pretty soon you’ve got this big group. I guess a pit is a good zombie defense, if you think about it”

  “It’s not so good if you need to get to the other side,” I observe. “Which we definitely do.”

  “I’ll bet this was some kind of service depot,” Ben says, observing the entirety of the widened corridor. “Maybe it was where they repaired the coal cars or loaded them.”

  “What happened to this place?” Maria wonders, still looking down into the pit as if hypnotized by the gnashing, writhing zombies. “Why is the track broken?”

  “I dunno,” Ben answers. “A minor earthquake? Shitty construction? Supports that collapsed due to age? Your guess is as good as mine.”

  I kick the grimy ground in frustration and try to think of what to do next.

  “We have to get to the other side somehow. Look across— I mean straight across—from where we’re standing. Maria, hit it with your light. There! See, on the other side? Those broken tracks dangle down into the pit. I bet you could climb them like a ladder.”

  There is a moment of silence as my friends contemplate that.

  “Maybe,” Ben eventually allows. “But they might be brittle and break.”

  “We won’t know until we try, will we?” Maria says. Her tone is not optimistic. It’s grim. The idea ofjumping down into the pit and not finding a way out again is awful. Even if the tracks on the other side will work like a ladder, it’s still awful. Descending into a pit filled with the undead—for any reason—seems like the most insane thing you could do. Something you would only do if you had no other choice...

  “Do we have another choice?” I ask the pair.

  “I don’t see one,” Maria responds after some thought. “Go back and try one of the other tunnels—hope it also leads to Oak Park? Go back to a hatch and do the rest of the way above ground? But then, when was the last time we saw a hatch? It’s been a while.”

  “I don’t remember,” Ben adds.

  “Yeah,” Maria agrees. “We’d have to go a hella long way back. We’d lose hours, probably.”

  “That’s why we have to go forward,” I say.

  To me, it feels do-able. The roiling mass of zombies in the pit has collected near us. That leaves the back half of the pit virtually empty. I’ll bet a reasonably strong person could take a running jump and clear most of the zombies no problem. Then it’d just be a matter of scrambling to the far side and climbing up the broken track. I think Maria and I could definitely do it, and Ben is at least a strong maybe.

  Out of nowhere, Maria cries, “Oh shit!”

  I ask what it is, and then I see for myself.

  She is shining her flashlight back down the tunnel, back the way we came. Her beam shows us the silhouettes of several humanoids. At least three or four. Maybe more. It’s hard to tell because of the way the shadows play on the walls. The figures move slowly but with great determination. They move straight for us.

  “Oh no,” whispers Ben.

  “This looks like a lot of them,” Maria whispers, drawing her gun. “Do we have enough bullets?”

  “Forget bullets,” I tell her. “That’s the wrong direction anyway. We need to go forward. I think we can cross the pit if we take a running jump.”

  “What?” Maria says. Then, after a moment, adds, “Omigod... you’re serious.”

  “Yes” I tell her. “Ben, what do you say? We take a running jump, leap over the bulk of the zombies, then run to the tracks and climb up to the other side.”

  “I.I don’t know,” he says rubbing his chin.

  “What don’t you know?” I ask, trying my most commanding voice. “If we go across the pit, we get to Oak Park before the aldermen do. We keep something bad from happening to Maria’s family. We make sure evil aldermen don’t steal the city. We’re very close now, and you know it. But if we go backward . . . or we just stand here . . . then bad things happen. Do you understand me, Ben? Bad things. It’s not a choice.”

  “But.” Ben manages, looking down into the pit of gnashing zombies. One near him is trying unsuccessfully to climb up the side. It not only fails but pulls its own index finger off in the attempt. Undeterred by the missing digit, the zombie claws up at us as if nothing had happened.

  “Don’t worry about the zombies,” I tell him. “They can’t climb ladders. And look how they’re massed so close. Jump over their heads and you’ll clear them. By the time they turn around, you’re going to be climbing up the other side.”

  “I don’t know,” Ben says. “I just don’t know.”

  Behind us, the other group of zombies continues to saunter toward us. It’s time for action.

  “Here, I’ll go first,” I say. “Maria, you’ve got our only remaining flashlight, so you’re going to have to be my eyes. It’ll be like I’m a performer on a stage, and you’re operating th
e spotlight. But keep it just a little in front of me if you can, so I can see where I’m going.”

  “Are you sure about this?” she says.

  “Yes, now get ready.”

  I take a few paces back from the lip of the pit so I can make a running start. Maria trains her light so I can see what I’m up against. There are four or five feet of solid zombie to clear, and then mostly nothing. (A few especially-decrepit zombies linger at the back of the pit simply because they’re too broken to move properly. They should be no problem to hurdle. I hope.)

  I inhale and exhale deeply. I clear my mind and sprint.

  And jump.

  Maria Ramirez

  I hold my breath as Mack leaps over the rows of gibbering zombies and into the darkened pit. He falls faster than I expect him to, and for a moment, I lose him. It is terrifying.

  I rush to the edge and point my light over the side. It’s difficult to see for all the writhing, flailing zombies, but in a moment, I locate him. He has landed a few feet past the zombie horde— which is good—but it takes him a moment to stand. When he does, he teeters and rubs his side like he’s hurt himself. Which is very bad.

  “Mack, are you all right?” I call down.

  “Yes, fine!” he shoots back, waving me off.

  Remarkably, the zombies in the pit below remain focused on Ben and I, and not on Mack. Many of them appear not to have noticed his jump at all.

  Mack does not immediately make for the opposite side of the pit. Instead, he cranes his neck to a spot a couple of paces off, where his lost Maglite still shines.

  “Mack, don’t—” I begin to call, but I’m too late. Before I can tell him it’s not worth the risk, Mack turns and delivers a karate kick to the chest of a moldering zombie near him. The zombie goes down with a splat, but Mack also pauses for a moment and winces in pain. Then he lunges in and picks up the Maglite. A tiny, fetus-zombie clings to the long barrel like a koala bear clinging to a branch. Mack shakes the flashlight until the tiny creature flies off into the darkness.

  The zombies nearest Mack start rotating to face him. “Run,” I shout. “They see you. Run!” He does.

  Favoring his right leg, Mack lopes across the remainder of the pit. He’s got his own flashlight now, but I still try to light the way for him. He reaches the twists of broken track that hang down from the opposite side. To my great relief, he is able to pull himself up. Finding regular footholds in the wooden cross ties, he climbs the 7 or 8 feet until he is out of the ravine. He shines his light all around his new surroundings. It shows oil drums and piles of broken wood, but no zombies.

  “Okay then!” Mack calls from across the gorge. “Maria, you’re next. Ben, hold the light on her. I’ll do the same from my end. Hurry!”

  I hand my flashlight over to Ben, who accepts it nervously.

  “Keep it on the edge of the pit” I tell him. “I don’t want to slip at the last minute.”

  Copying Mack, I take a few steps back and prepare for a running start. I should feel scared, but I don’t have time to. In a way, this is sort of a relief. What’s happening is happening. I’ve got to take this jump. I’ve got to make this jump. There’s no time to think about what happens if I fail. No time to worry about what happens once we reach the other side.

  I sense something behind me.. .something close. Almost close enough to reach out and touch me. Something old and creaking yet imbued with unnatural life. Something that all experience and knowledge tells me should not be moving, that yet moves. My nostrils fill with the stench of the dead.

  I run.

  I run from whatever undead thing stands behind me. I run toward Mack and safety on the other side of the pit. I reach the edge and leap, arms and legs flying. I clear the zombies easily and hit the floor of the pit. Hard. Really hard. Like, take a moment to recover hard. (I may be a five-foot nothing, but I’m in pretty good shape. I played basketball in high school, and the drumming gives my limbs a regular workout. [Also, I don’t weigh much, so I don’t fall that hard. As I struggle to right myself, I think about how difficult this would be for a seventy-year-old who weighs 200 pounds.])

  “Run!” Mack screams from above me. “Come on, girl, run!”

  I do. My path is mostly clear. There are a couple of disabled zombies flopping around, but it’s easy to avoid them. The stench, though, is almost intolerable. The floor of this place reeks of death, charnel earth, and rancid meat. It is suffocating. I feel nose-raped.

  I reach the broken tracks and begin to climb. Again, I’m impressed with Mack, because the wood is full of splinters, and the metal edges are sharp as shit. By the time I get to the top, I’ve cut my hands up pretty good. The moment my adrenaline ebbs, I’m really going to feel it.

  As I near the top, Mack grabs me by the scruff of the neck and hauls me to safety. For all of the contempt I’ve felt toward this man, his touch feels good. I grasp him back as he pulls me up out of the zombie pit.

  “You all right?” he asks, staring down at my bleeding hands.

  “Yeah, fine. The zombies coming down the corridor, they were right behind me. We need to get Ben across.”

  We turn and face the far side of the pit where Ben still stands.

  He is holding the flashlight and looking at us from underneath his riot helmet. Some of the zombies below have started to notice that there are now more edible humans on our side of the divide. Several stumble in our direction.

  “Ben!” I call. “You need to jump right now!”

  Ben turns around. In the beam of his flashlight, we can see a number of zombies closing in on him. He has very little room with which to take a running jump. The expression on his face makes clear he understands this.

  “Jump, young man!” Mack calls. “Do it now!”

  Suddenly, Ben slips on the greasy floor and falls to the ground. His flashlight flies out of his hand and goes out completely. The space across the pit goes completely dark.

  “Ben!” I call. “Bennnnnn!!!”

  Mack fumbles with his Maglite.

  “Come on” I tell Mack. “He can’t see. Give him light” Mack rights his fancy flashlight and trains it on the far side of the pit. It shows us only a group of six zombies, idly inspecting the edge of the pit. They look at one another and around at the walls. One of them risks a step onto the lip of the pit and promptly falls in. The remaining five hardly appear to notice their compatriot’s departure.

  But Ben is nowhere to be seen.

  “What the fuck!” I exclaim. “Ben...Ben...where are you?” Mack frantically explores the far side of the pit with his flashlight. The zombies are there. The pit is still there. Ben is just gone.

  Did he fall in? No. The zombies in the pit would have noticed him. (There would be a feeding frenzy going on right now.) Instead, they merely jostle each other idiotically, like too many fish in a Chinatown vendor’s bucket.

  Did he go back down the tunnel? No. We would have heard him fleeing.

  After several breathless moments of exploration, Mack’s beam locates Ben’s extinguished flashlight at the lip of the pit. Nothing more.

  “What the hell just happened?” I whisper.

  “I’m not sure,” says Mack. “But I think he’s gone.”

  Ben Bennington

  “...”

  Leopold Mack

  After a point, there seems to be no use in looking across for him. There is no sign of human activity. No new clues. The zombies below have lost interest in that side of the pit entirely and reassembled over by where I stand next to Maria.

  Ben Bennington—my Good Samaritan on this night of judgment and horror—has been taken from me as suddenly as he appeared. I have no idea what’s happened. He might have ascended to the Heavens for all I know. All that’s sure is that we have precious little time. We need to keep moving. We can still reach Maria’s family.

  I exhale deeply, signaling to Maria that we need to think about next steps. She looks at me, clearly distraught, but manages a nod.

  “He liked
you, you know.”

  “Yeah,” Maria says. “I kind of picked up on that.”

  We discuss going back across for the remaining flashlight. Two would be better than one in this situation. However, we both ultimately agree that it’s not worth the risk. As terrifying as it is to imagine being trapped in the darkness without any light, the prospect of going back across the pit is much worse. The tracks on the other side do not descend as sympathetically. It doesn’t take much to imagine trying to scuttle up the side of the pit like a beetle on a slick surface—failing utterly—and being torn apart by the undead.

  One light then. One light between us and the zombies. One

  light between us and not being able to see signs or exits from

  the tunnel. One light.

  Ladies and gentlemen, we are working without a net.

  Exhausted, shaken, and increasingly hungry, we continue down the coal tunnel passageway toward Oak Park. It narrows back to its original size, maybe 9 feet across. We are resolute and quiet. At one point, a strange thunder echoes down the tunnels behind us. Maria looks at me and raises an eyebrow. Her expression seems to ask if that could be Ben.

  I shake my head solemnly.

  No, Maria. Whatever that was, it’s not Ben. Not anymore. “My hands hurt,” Maria whispers.

  “Mine too,” I tell her. “Climbing up that track was awful.” Maria nods.

  “How’s your leg?” she asks me. “Fine.”

  This is not the entire truth. I suppose that by “fine,” I mean “fine to get to Oak Park.” After that, I’m not too sure. Maria laughs to herself. “What?” I say, confused.

  “We’re in a tunnel twenty feet below the street, in the middle of a zombie apocalypse—racing against people who would like to kill us—and you still don’t tell the truth. We could both die at the next bend in the tunnel. Zombies could jump out and kill us. Why not be honest, Mack? Who are you possibly kidding? I saw the way you hit the floor when you made that jump.”