Firewalk

by Chris Roberson

  She trailed off into silence.

  “Izzie?” Patrick called, sounding increasingly anxious.

  “Shit,” Izzie spat. “The elevator’s not here.” She leaned into the shaft and looked up into the darkness above. “It must be back up on street level.”

  “There’s the button,” Daphne said, and slapped it with her palm. There was no response. She hit it again, and then a third time. “Dead.”

  “I’d prefer if you didn’t use that word just this very moment,” Joyce said, shoulders hunched defensively.

  “We need another way out,” Izzie shouted back to Patrick.

  “End of the hallway,” he answered, his back bumping against Joyce. The dead people were right behind them now. “There’s a stairway behind a fire door. That’s how Carlson and I came down.”

  Izzie turned and looked in that direction. The lights in this section of the hallway were dim, but she could just make out a red metal door at the end of the hall, and there were no obstructions between it and where she stood. “Got it.”

  She jogged down the hall, eyes shifting left and right on the off chance that any of the closed doors might spring open and some new danger jump out at them. But she reached the fire door without incident, grabbed hold of the handle, and tried to yank it open, but the door was stuck.

  “Damn it,” she said, tugging harder on the door. She glanced back the way she’d come. Daphne was right behind her, followed closely by Joyce, with Patrick bringing up the rear, the jostling dead people only a short distance behind.

  The metronome-like plink and guitar fuzz from Joyce’s phone decrescendoed as the song reached its end, and silence filled the hall.

  As one, the seven dead people turned and faced Izzie and the others, and started shambling with purpose towards them, arms out.

  “Music!” Izzie shouted, yanking harder on the door. “Noise!”

  The sound of delicate flutes playing spilled out of the phone’s speaker. “CAN YOU HEAR THE DRUMS, FERNANDO …”

  The thing that had been Tyler Campbell and the others were not deterred, but kept on advancing.

  “It’s not working, it’s not working!” Patrick shouted.

  Joyce reached over, tapped the left arrow on the phone’s screen, and the previous song came blaring out of the speaker again.

  The dead people seemed suddenly disoriented, their movements more erratic, less purposeful.

  Izzie holstered her pistol, knowing it would be of little use to her against the dead people anyway, and grabbed hold of the handle with both hands. She pulled again, and felt the door begin to give, but it still remained shut.

  “Let me help,” Daphne said, her own pistol already in its holster. She came to stand beside Izzie, shoulder to shoulder, and grabbed the end of the door handle. “Pull!”

  With a scream of metal on metal, the fire door bounced open.

  “Inside!” Izzie shouted, holding the door open.

  Daphne slipped past her into the stairwell, with Joyce close on her heels. Patrick backed down the hallway towards the door, holding the phone out towards the dead people like it was a crucifix and they were silver-screen vampires.

  “Go on, already!” Izzie said, grabbing the back of Patrick’s quilted jacket and dragging him through the door.

  As soon as they were both inside, Izzie pulled the door shut behind them. It was darker in the stairway than it had been in the hall, and she looked around frantically in the low light cast by Joyce’s phone.

  “There’s no lock,” she said, looking the door up and down.

  “It’s a fire door, Izzie,” Patrick said, grabbing her elbow and pulling her towards the stairs. “They don’t lock. Now come on!”

  Daphne and Joyce were already one flight ahead of them, and as Izzie and Patrick reached the landing and turned to take the next leg, she could see that there was light shining from the next floor up.

  “Keep going,” Patrick called up the stairwell to them. “The ground level is the next door you’ll see.”

  He and Izzie caught up with them as Daphne was struggling to open the ground floor door. Light was spilling from underneath the door, but it wasn’t budging.

  “It’s dummied up to look like an electrical closet, remember?” Patrick said. “There’s a lot of crap piled on the other side. Must have shifted when Carlson and I came through.”

  Patrick grabbed hold of the door handle, twisted it hard, and then drove his shoulder into the door as hard as he could.

  The door slammed open, and light flooded into the stairway. They were on the ground floor level of the converted warehouse space, with a stairway on their left leading up to the floors above, and a foyer to the right that lead to the front glass doors. The ground floor was brightly lit by fluorescent fixtures in the suspended ceiling above, surrounded by acoustic tiles.

  “Let’s get out of here.” Joyce leaned heavily on her cane and started towards the front door.

  “It’s dark out there,” Daphne said, lingering and looking at the glass door, her eyes narrowed warily.

  “It’s nighttime,” Patrick said matter-of-factly as he followed Joyce towards the door.

  “Riiight.” Daphne was exasperated as she answered. “It was night when we got here, too. But it wasn’t dark.”

  She glanced back at Izzie, who realized what she was saying.

  Joyce had already opened the door and was stepping outside onto the sidewalk. “Um, guys?”

  Patrick followed her out, with Izzie and Daphne hanging back in the doorway.

  “The lights are out,” Daphne said, looking down the block.

  Izzie looked in that direction, and could see that the streetlamps on either end of the block, which had been shining as bright as daylight when they arrived, were dark. Had they been shot out? Or had someone somehow turned them off?

  There was noise from behind them, and glancing back over her shoulder Izzie could see the door that lead to the basement stairway being forced open from the other side.

  “They’re coming,” she said, grabbing Daphne’s elbow. “We’ve got to go.”

  “But the lights … ?” Daphne was wary as they stepped out onto the darkened sidewalk.

  Joyce and Patrick were already standing by the curb.

  “Something’s not right,” Joyce said, turning in place.

  Izzie and Daphne joined them, catching their breath.

  “Did you hear that?” Patrick asked, turning and looking up the street.

  “What I’d like to hear,” Daphne answered, exasperated, “is the sound of someone telling me just what the hell is going on here.”

  “No, look.” Patrick pointed towards the north end of the block.

  In the low light, Izzie couldn’t see what he was pointing at for a moment. The skies overhead were moonless, and the only illumination on the street came from the light spilling out from the glass door of the office building.

  Then she spotted it. Something moving in the shadows at the end of the block.

  From the office building entrance behind them came a sudden sound, breaking glass and screaming metal, and in the next instant the street was plunged into near total darkness.

  “They broke the lights inside, too,” Daphne said, looking back towards the office building. Beyond the glass door now was only darkness.

  Izzie’s eyes adjusted quickly to the lack of light, and she found it was somewhat easier to see the gradations of shadow without the bright lights spilling out of the door behind them.

  There were people standing at the end of the block, at least a dozen. Heads tilted forward, arms at their sides, little more than rough silhouettes in the dim. And as Izzie watched, they began to advance, moving in lockstep, perfectly synchronized.

  “Recondito PD!” Patrick raised his voice, while pulling a flashlight out of his pocket. He thumbed the switch, and pointed the light at the end of the block. “Please leave the area immediately!”

  From the office building came more sounds of shattering glass,
as the seven dead people began to smash through the door. In moments they would be outside.

  “Patrick,” Joyce said, moving closer to his side. “You see that, don’t you?”

  Izzie and Daphne stepped off the curb and into the street, drawing their pistols.

  The beam from Patrick’s flashlight played over the people who were approaching from the end of the block, and Izzie and the others could clearly see the massive inky blots that covered the faces, necks, and arms of each of them, all but completely obscuring any distinguishing features. They weren’t simply silhouettes in the darkness, they were practically silhouettes in the light, as well.

  “Blots,” Patrick hissed.

  It was a horde of Ink users, all of them pretty far gone, their memories and personalities no doubt completely erased by the drug, who were now shambling with purpose towards them out of the darkness, moving as one.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  “Here, take this,” Patrick said, handing the flashlight to Joyce. He pulled the radio out of his pocket, thumb on the button. “Dispatch. Chavez. Harrison. Anybody copy?”

  When he lifted his thumb, there was only silence in response.

  “Why aren’t they answering?” Joyce asked.

  “I don’t know,” Patrick answered with a scowl, shoving the radio back into his pocket. “Sounds like there’s some kind of interference, maybe. I’m not sure.”

  “Let’s get out of here, already,” Daphne urged.

  Izzie turned to look towards the south end of the block. “There’s more coming from that direction.”

  She pointed at the dozen or so “blots” who were shambling up the street from the other side towards them. They were being hemmed in on three sides now.

  “Well, that’s just great,” Patrick deadpanned.

  It was eerily quiet on the street. The only sound was that of the shambling blots’ shuffling feet moving in perfect unison, like fingers on the same hand, closing around them.

  “Maybe more music would help?” Joyce held up her phone.

  “I doubt it,” Izzie answered. “Wouldn’t be loud enough out here, too much space to fill with sound.”

  The thing that had been Tyler Campbell and the other dead people were on the sidewalk now, advancing towards them.

  “Come on!” Izzie said, hurrying towards where Daphne’s and Joyce’s cars were parked a short distance up the street. “Let’s get moving.”

  “Where are they all coming from?” Daphne asked, following close behind.

  Joyce was panicking, patting the pockets of her leather jacket. “I can’t find my keys.” She looked up, her expression stricken. “My car keys! I can’t find them!”

  Patrick put an arm around her shoulders, urging her gently forward as he looked back at the seven dead people approaching from the office building. “Well, we’re not going back to look for them.”

  “Come on,” Daphne said, her key ring already in her hand. She pressed a button, and the car alarm on her bucar turned off with a quick pair of beeps. When the others caught up, she was already yanking open the driver’s side door. “I’ll drive.”

  Izzie jumped in the front passenger seat, and was slamming the door shut behind her as Patrick and Joyce slid in the backseat.

  Daphne turned the key in the ignition.

  Nothing happened.

  “Daphne?” Izzie said, looking out the window at the shambling hordes who were closing in on three sides, almost within arms’ reach.

  “It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay,” Daphne repeated under her breath like a mantra. “You can do it you can do it you can do it …”

  The engine roared to life.

  Daphne shifted the car into gear and took off the parking brake. “Which way?”

  “Just drive!” Patrick shouted from the backseat.

  The thing that had been Tyler Campbell in life reached the passenger side of the car and grabbed hold of the side-view mirror.

  “Okay, okay!” Daphne floored the accelerator and yanked the wheel to the left.

  With a screech of tearing metal, the side-view mirror was wrenched off of the car door, but the car kept moving, trailing wires.

  The horde of shambling blots from the south was right in front of them, undeterred by the sight of a car speeding towards them.

  “Come on!” Daphne said, jerking the wheel to the left just in time to avoid plowing into the closest of the shambling figures. “Do they want me to run them over?!”

  “I don’t think they want anything,” Izzie answered. “They’re not the ones calling the shots.”

  The street they were on curved to the right just ahead before veering back towards the south and merging with Bayfront Drive.

  There weren’t any other cars out on the street on these industrial blocks, which was hardly surprising given the lateness of the hour. And even when they continued onto Bayfront, the only headlights they saw were blocks and blocks away to the north, or briefly glimpsed up side streets to the west.

  “We should head back to City Center,” Joyce said. “I want to know how a dead man got up and walked out of my morgue without anyone knowing.”

  “A morgue filled with dead bodies,” Patrick pointed out. “Can you say for certain that the others aren’t going to get up and starting moving around, too?”

  Joyce started to answer, then closed her mouth, fuming with frustration. “I saw it, but I’m still having trouble believing it.”

  “There’s another one,” Daphne said, nodding in the direction of the sidewalk up ahead on the left, where another person covered in inky blots was shambling towards them from the opposite direction. “They’re all over the place.”

  Izzie turned around in the passenger seat, so she could address both Daphne at the steering wheel and also Patrick and Joyce in the back. “Look, someone is controlling everyone who has taken enough Ink to get the blots on their skin. Both the living, and the dead. Joyce, you’ve got too many dead dealers and users down in the morgue for me to feel comfortable about going back there. But there are living users all over the city, right?”

  Patrick nodded.

  “So we need to go somewhere there aren’t any,” Izzie said, giving Patrick a meaningful look.

  “Little Kovoko,” he answered, nodding slowly. “Assuming that our guess about my great-uncle’s wards is correct, then …”

  “That’s what I’m thinking,” Izzie said, cutting him off. She turned to Daphne. “Take the next right you come to. We’re going to head over a few blocks to Mission and then turn south.”

  “Got it,” Daphne answered, shifting lanes to the right and turning on her signal.

  “I don’t know that we really need to signal our intent to the undead lurching after us, do we?” Joyce said, hearing the turn signal clicking.

  “Sorry.” Daphne switched off the signal. “Force of habit. Okay, everyone hold on.”

  She cut the wheel sharply to the right, about to turn onto Mason. But as soon as they started to round the corner they saw a dozen or more of the blot-covered shamblers blocking the road.

  “Damn!” Daphne spun the wheel back to the left, bumping up over the curb and narrowly avoiding running into a stop sign as she veered back onto Bayfront Drive.

  One of the shamblers lurched in front of the car, got side-swiped by Daphne’s bumper, and was knocked to one side. Those it had impacted with made a sickening crunch. As Izzie looked back she could see that the shambler was already climbing back to its feet, intent on continuing after them.

  “Just keep driving,” Izzie urged, continuing to look behind. The shamblers were not terribly fast moving, but there were more of them pouring out onto the streets with each passing moment. It was as if they had kicked an anthill by accident, and now a seemingly endless horde of biting insects was swarming up out of the ground to attack them.

  The next street up had been torn up for road construction, with barricades blocking traffic from entering. The street after that was swarming with more of the blot-c
overed shamblers, coming out of dingy apartment buildings. They seemed to be avoiding the most brightly lit blocks, but in this part of the Oceanview, there were more than enough long shadows for them to move around freely on the rest of the streets.

  “How many of these guys are there?!” Daphne gripped the steering wheel and tensed up.

  “Look,” Patrick said, leaning forward and pointing ahead through the windshield. “We’re almost to Shoreline Boulevard, anyway.” Bayfront Drive had begun to curve around to the west as it hugged the edge of the isthmus. If they continued on, they would reach the intersection with Shoreline Boulevard at the southernmost tip of the Oceanview. “We can just double back to the north, and that will take us straight into Little Kovoko. So long as we don’t …”

  He trailed off, his eyes narrowed and his brow furrowed as he glared at the road ahead of them.

  There was a city bus parked across all three lanes of traffic ahead, completely blocking their way. A man in a bus driver’s uniform was on the ground, unconscious and possibly dead, while a small group of shamblers stood over him, with more still getting off the bus.

  “They take public transportation, even?!” Joyce said.

  “This is a coordinated effort,” Patrick said. “They somehow found out we were down there, and they don’t want us getting away.”

  “But how could they have known so quickly?” Daphne asked.

  “I think they’re all being driven by the same intelligence.” Izzie had her hands pressed together, fingertips on her chin, trying to concentrate. “They really are like a bunch of fingers on the same hand, all trying to close us in. We’ll never get to Little Kovoko at this rate …”

  If the old man’s wards couldn’t protect them, then what other options were there? “Fire,” Izzie muttered out loud. “Discordant noise.” She bit her lower lip. “Running water …”

  She lowered her hands, and her eyes widened.

  “Daphne, turn left here!” Izzie pointed towards a paved walkway that continued past the intersection of Shoreline and Bayfront, just before the city bus that blocked their way. “We’ll have to hop the curb, but we should be able to make it.”