Waiting to Die ~ A Zombie Novel

by Cochran, Richard M.

  “Just go!” Greg shouts again.

  She clenches her jaw and stomps on the gas pedal as the bodies close in and begin to slap at the car as it speeds away. An explosion rocks the hospital and a section of wall crumbles away, exposing the inferno within. In the rearview, Scarlet can see the dead divert their attention back toward the hospital and shamble off. People flee from the emergency exits as several groups of corpses converge and surround them. More of the dead home in on the unsuspecting escapees and tackle them as they make their way toward freedom. Gasping howls fill the air like predators enraptured by a kill. Raping mouths gnash as more victims evacuate the hospital.

  “There was a little girl …” Scarlet says, but her voice trails off and her eyes begin to swell. “She’s only a little girl.” She turns her attention to the road and away from those that cry behind distorted faces.

  “There’s nothing we can do,” Greg replies, as he jerks his attention away from the roadside. “There’re too many of them.”

  “What the hell is going on?” Scarlet says, slamming her hands on the steering wheel.

  “I don’t know,” Greg replies as his voice shakes. “But we’ve got to get out of here.”

  Greg stares off at a group of corpses surrounding a car that has crashed into a light pole. As Scarlet speeds by, the cries in the car are too much and Greg flinches away as bile rises in his throat.

  “We have to get away from the city,” he says, blankly gazing through the front window and swallowing down the sick in his throat.

  “Point the way and I’ll drive wherever you tell me to,” Scarlet replies as she swerves around an abandoned passenger car and corrects the steering wheel to return to her own lane.

  “We’ll have to take the freeway,” he says. “It’s the only way out of the city. Make a left up here at 16th street.” He points out the directions as the street comes into view.

  Once Scarlet makes the left, a child can be seen ahead, sprinting down the middle of the street. The boy’s face is deformed by terror as his mouth hangs open, panting with exhaustion. He looks over his shoulder to see the dead still following, their freshly reanimated bodies barely able to keep up with him.

  A scowl intensifies across Scarlet’s face and her mouth becomes a mere slit when she finds her resolve. She positions her hands tightly on the steering wheel and veers across the lane to opposing traffic. She negotiates around the boy and swings the wheel back, aiming for the horde of bodies.

  “What are you…” Greg’s question is cut off by a sudden jerk of the car.

  “Hold on!” she shouts as the tires squeal when she redirects the car into the mob.

  Bodies glance off the car and are thrown along the asphalt as others are sucked below. The car bounces over limbs, cracking bone and splitting meat through the frail fabric of skin torn by the tread of the tires. Mangled moans issue from under the car as Scarlet stomps on the gas, sending up sprays of bloody waste in her wake. She hits the brakes and twists the wheel, making the car slide on the pulverized flesh that drips from the undercarriage.

  The vehicle rests, pointing the opposite direction. Scraps of filth hang loosely from the grill, baking with the heat of the engine. Scarlet grits her teeth as she glares ahead, intent on the broken mass of bodies.

  “Don’t …” Greg says, holding on to the dashboard.

  The front end of the car lights up and it slides momentarily before gaining traction and launching forward. A few mobile corpses remain and Scarlet is dead set on relieving them of their curse. She barrels down on the bodies, centering the front end of the car on their putrid forms. One of the bodies glances off the front quarter panel, taking most of the headlight with it while another disappears beneath the bumper and gets caught up on the muffler. The body grinds under the car as Scarlet swerves to the curb line, scraping spine and skull to a smooth finish as it’s planed away by the road.

  Frightened and shaking, the child stands, looking on at the mayhem. His brow arches upward as he watches the woman take out the few remaining corpses and veer to the side of the road toward him. In shock, he stands motionless as the car barrels down.

  “Get in!”

  The boy nods his head and hops into the back seat as an arm reaches out from under the car, missing the child’s leg by inches.

  “What are you doing out there all by yourself?” Scarlet asks, her voice still energized from the assault.

  “I … I was trying to get to my dad,” he replies.

  “Where is he?” Greg asks.

  “At the hospital,” the child replies.

  Greg diverts his gaze knowingly as he looks back at the child. “What’s your name, kid?”

  “Billy,” he replies.

  “Billy,” Greg repeats. “I’m sorry, but…” His voice trails off as he watches the boy begin to cry.

  “Do you want us to take you home?” Scarlet asks.

  “No,” Billy presses firmly against the seat, his eyes bulging with fear.

  “You can come with us,” Scarlet says softly.

  The child nods.

  “Okay then,” she says and turns her attention to Greg. “How the hell do we get out of here?”

  Three miles east along 16th street and traffic is beginning to thicken. Both lanes are packed heading toward the freeway and Scarlet can see a commotion up ahead.

  “We’re not going to get out this way,” she says.

  “Cross traffic and take a left on the next street,” Greg says.

  “Won’t that take us back toward the hospital?” she asks.

  “No, there’s a service entrance to the freeway that’s pretty well hidden.”

  She turns into the empty street along the freeway and guides the vehicle into a small fenced in area. “Through here?” she asks.

  “Yeah, that’s it,” Greg replies. “Wait, hold up,” he says, squinting through the fence.

  Through the chain link that separates the freeway, the traffic is deadlocked. All four lanes are packed to capacity as horns blare through in agitation. Up ahead, people are getting out of their cars to see farther along the traffic jam. Screams rattle through as a group of bodies veers through the deadlock. Like a swarm, corpses tread over cars and pound against windows. Bodies pack the spaces along the dividing lines, tightening the gap. The people who had gotten out of their cars begin to flee, but are caught up in the flailing mass of death that pours from the streets above.

  “Back up!” Greg shouts.

  Scarlet throws the car into reverse and speeds backward, slamming against fence posts in her haste. The chain link scrapes against the car, shedding its paint through deep gouges and knocks off the driver’s side mirror. She swings the wheel around and the front of the car skids until it is facing the opposite direction from which they came.

  In a panic, Scarlet slams the automatic into drive and punches the gas pedal, sending up a flop of dislodged meat from the undercarriage. As the car speeds away, the body from beneath the vehicle rolls out. Mangled and burnt from the muffler, the faceless corpse purses its lipless mouth at the car, letting its blue and bloody tongue lap at the gristle and bone that has been exposed.

  “Where do we go now?” Scarlet asks.

  Greg shakes his head, still in shock. “I don’t know …”

  “We’re going to have to figure it out fast,” she says, her eyes fixed on the instrument panel. “The engine’s overheating.”

  “Shit,” Greg replies. “Cross under the freeway at the next stop sign. Keep going straight until you come to the business district. I used to do security in one of those buildings and I know a way in.”

  Scarlet steers the car west and punches the gas as smoke begins to bellow from under the hood. The engine knocks as she accelerates, tapping out in retaliation.

  “It’s not going to hold,” she says as the engine lopes and loses power.

  “Turn in here,” Greg says, guiding her into a parking lot. “Park the car in the back.” He turns to Billy. “Get ready, we’re going to
have to run. Just follow me and stay close.”

  Before Scarlet can put the car into a parking space at the back of the building, the engine whines and dies. Everyone is out and following Greg before the car can come to a complete stop. Scarlet leads Billy in front of her, guiding him by the shoulder, almost pushing him along as she tries to keep up. She glances back at the car and sees a bone sticking out of the grill attached to what’s left of a forearm and hand, still contracting in convulsive spasms.

  As the sun descends over the horizon, Greg shuffles into an alcove at the side of the building in between a cropping of hedges. “Through here,” he directs. “I hope they haven’t changed the code.

  On a small lockbox, Greg dials the combination. With a quiet click, the box opens, revealing a key fastened to the inside of the cover. He fidgets with it for a moment, removes the key, and slides it into the door effortlessly.

  A dim hallway exposes itself, lit by fluorescent lights that flutter on when Greg flicks the light switch.

  “There shouldn’t be anyone here,” he says, leading the way. “The first security patrols aren’t for another couple of hours. Maybe someone will show up, but I doubt it.”

  “Is it safe here?” Scarlet asks.

  “As safe as can be expected,” he replies as he opens the door to the stairwell that leads to the first floor.

  “The break room is through here,” Greg says, leading them through a long hallway adorned with generic prints of flowers and wildlife scenes. “We’ll just wait here for a while until someone comes by.”

  “Do you actually think that someone will?” Scarlet asks with a hint of disbelief in her voice.

  “I really don’t know.” He shakes his head. “Eventually, they’re going to have to send in the military.”

  “I saw soldiers.” Billy chimes in.

  “See?” Greg says optimistically. “They’ll get this shit sorted out.”

  “They killed everyone,” Billy continues.

  “Who did they kill?” Scarlet asks.

  “All of my neighbors and friends,” the boy replies. “They shot them all.”

  “He must be mistaken,” Greg says. “The military just doesn’t come in and wipe everyone out.”

  “They do if they if there isn’t any other course of action,” Scarlet says. “My brother was an infantryman in the Iraq war. You would be amazed at the kind of stuff the military is capable of.”

  “But they’re not going to murder Americans,” he says, unmoved.

  “I’m telling you, Greg, there’s a lot of stuff that wasn’t reported during those wars.” Scarlet takes a seat in one of the chairs in front of the offices. “My brother told me some stories I still can’t believe.”

  “I’m going to see if there’s any food in the vending machines,” Greg says, changing the subject. “I’m still starving.”

  Scarlet gives a quick nod and turns to Billy. “Would you like something to eat?”

  The boy manages to nod back.

  “Get something for us too,” she calls after Greg.

  He opens the door to the break room and pushes it in quietly. Running his hand along the inside of the wall, he searches for the light switch, fumbling in the dark past the jam. His fingers make contact with the switch and he smiles to himself as a shadow scurries across the floor.

  “What the…” he says before the wind is knocked out of him and he’s thrown to the floor.

  A snapping mouth inches closer. As he turns his head away and tries to push the creature back, thin lengths of bloody saliva lap at his neck and slop against his uniform. On the floor, he struggles, locking his arms and trying to turn the corpse over. He pulls his legs up, letting the creature come closer, giving him enough room to tuck his feet under the cadaver’s waist.

  Greg pushes with all his might, leveling his boots under the ghoul’s abdomen. He clenches his jaw and kicks out, throttling the body off, but expelling rancid bile from the pressure of his kick. A wave of rotten puke splashes against Greg as the body hurls backward into the break room.

  He’s on his feet as Scarlet runs from the seating area to see what’s happening. With a fierce look of determination, Greg launches on the corpse and knocks it to the floor. He grabs a chair from beside the table as the body struggles to stand and swings it over his head in an arch. The gleaming metal of the legs whooshes through the air as Greg swings wildly, making contact with the creature’s head. The blow is enough to knock the body back down, and Greg pulls the chair over his head for another swing.

  The corpse hisses as Greg slams one of the legs of the chair into the ghoul’s head, fracturing its skull. With another swing, he impales the cadaver to the floor as it blinks in convulsive twitches.

  “Son of a bitch,” Greg pants.

  “Are you all right?” Scarlet asks.

  He holds up his hand as he steadies himself. “I’m fine,” he breathes.

  “Do you think there are more of them?” Scarlet asks; an air of concern in her voice.

  “No, that’s probably it,” he says, wiping at his brow. “I’d like you to meet, Chuck.” He introduces the corpse. “He was supposed to be on last night’s shift. I never did like the bastard,” he says, kicking at the corpse.

  Scarlet places her hand on his shoulder as he bends at the knees, breathing heavy. “Let’s get you to one of the couches,” she says.

  “I’ll be fine,” he replies, wobbling in place. “You know, maybe I do need to sit down for a minute.”

  They return to the seating area and Greg flops down on one of the couches. He leans back and closes his eyes. “I always did think that guy was an asshole.” He smirks.

  Scarlet smiles and lets out a simple laugh.

  “Is it dead?” Billy asks.

  “Yeah, kid, it’s dead,” Greg replies.

  “I don’t like those people,” the boy says, shaking his head.

  “Neither do I,” Greg replies as he stares down at his uniform. “I think I’m going to need to change.” He unbuttons his shirt and pulls it off, careful of the slime that covers it.

  Scarlet hears something, a soft sound, loping in the distance. She follows her ears, wandering a little ways along the hallway. When the sound becomes louder, she presses her ear to an office door and listens carefully. A humming comes from somewhere inside and she slowly turns the doorknob.

  Inside the small office, she stares out at the last rays of light from a descending sun through an open window behind a desk. She moves closer and the sound becomes clear. She closes her eyes as she approaches the window, afraid of what she’ll find.

  The moaning becomes louder as she peers down. Arms extending into the air, reaching up, hundreds of bodies gather. Farther along the roadway, more are coming. Some of the crowd converges on the office building while others settle around another.

  In a window across the street, Scarlet can see a man looking down at the dead much in the same way she had. He glances up and makes eye contact with Scarlet. His face is accepting, his expression acute. He lowers his head again and scans the surrounding. When he looks back to Scarlet, he raises his brow as his chest deflates. He turns and walks back into the darkening room, out of eyeshot.

  Reserved to the situation, she returns to the seating area. She casually sits down on the edge of one of the chairs and looks at Greg. “No one is coming for us,” she says.

  “What do you mean?” he asks.

  She jerks her head toward the office and Greg follows her gaze. Curious, Greg stands and moves to the other room. After a few minutes of reflection, he returns.

  “No, we’re not going to be leaving any time soon,” he says and flops back onto the couch.

  ·6

  The door to her sister’s house is locked. Sarah pounds on the window and checks over her shoulder at the bodies that creep closer in the street. As the tears flow, she can hear someone inside dragging something out of the way before the sound of unbolting the locks ensue.

  A corpse notices her from the street
and swings its graying mass toward her. Its tongue clicks across its teeth as its jaw opens wide. Slowly, it stumbles forward, scraping out a death march with its hollow footfalls.

  The front door whips open, “Oh my God, Sarah!” the woman exclaims and pulls the child inside, slamming the door behind her. “Are you alright?”

  “April, they’re everywhere!” Sarah sobs.

  “It’s okay; it’s going to be okay. Johnny’s in the attic, he can look at those scrapes on your arm,” she says, pulling the child in to her chest.

  Sarah shivers from her fever. Her frail body is tucked tightly beneath a comforter with flower patterns sewn along the soft fabric. Beads of sweat glisten across her hairless head and trickle down along her cheeks to her dry and cracked lips.

  “Johnny, she’s burning up,” April says in desperation.

  He rests his head in his hands as he sits on the couch in the living room. He wears an expression of hopelessness on his otherwise youthful face, “What can we do?” he asks, looking up between sorrowful eyes.

  “We have to do something,” she replies as she paces back and forth in front of the coffee table. “It’s been three days and she’s getting worse.”

  Johnny stares at the pistol on the table, eyes its polished surface and pleads within himself for another way out.

  She looks to the gun and back up to Johnny. “Don’t you even fucking think about it!” she shouts between clenched teeth.

  “Damn it, April, I’ve seen this before,” he explains. “The same thing happened to a guy at the office. Hell, he only had a knick; it wasn’t even as bad as the scratches on Sarah’s arm.”

  “That little girl in there,” she points to the spare bedroom, “hasn’t survived all of that chemotherapy just to die from a couple of fucking scratches.”

  “Do you think if I knew of any other way, I wouldn’t try to do something to save her?”

  “I’m not sure with the way you’re acting.”

  “For fuck’s sake!” he yells and tosses his hands up into the air. He leans back against the couch and stares at the ceiling for a moment. “When that guy at work changed, he started eating another guy. When that guy died, he came back, got up and ate someone else. That’s how this shit spreads, April. People get bit, they die, get up and fucking bite someone else.”