Waiting to Die ~ A Zombie Novel

by Cochran, Richard M.

  Like the Pied Piper of the dead, Johnny leads the magnitude of bodies along through the neighborhood. At first glance, he looks to be their shambling, stumbling leader, disheveled and spent. But upon closer inspection, he is merely their victim.

  ·16

  The glow from the flashlight is dim in the midday sun, almost unperceivable as the child flashes it toward the window of the office building.

  “Quiet as a mouse,” Emma breathes and tucks the light back into her pack when she sees the woman nod from the window.

  She watches the writhing bodies, intertwined from a block away. There are more than she has ever seen before. Their rotten limbs and contorted faces blend with one another like scowling facades drenched in coagulated filth. The culmination of moans sound like a low, pulsating hum as each dead voice mingles with the next.

  They crane their necks at the faintest sound, searching desperately for anything of substance. They climb over one another, bombarding the walls of an office building with putrid and decomposed fists and fingers, smearing waste along the surface like primitive graffiti.

  Emma has her rifle slung tightly across her back, nestled between the folds of her pack. She keeps low to the ground, switching her vantage point from one abandoned vehicle to the next as she makes her way along the street. As she scurries alongside a delivery truck, she spots a body dragging itself on the ground. She climbs onto the step at the side of the truck’s cab and silently opens the door as the creature drags itself under the vehicle.

  The corpse sniffs the air as its tongue laps out of its jawless mouth, coursing along its leathery neck like a worm dangling from a black and slimy crevasse. It inspects the area where it had registered movement. With dripping, milky eyes, it slithers away once it is satisfied that there is nothing there.

  The girl tries to keep herself calm as the corpse wiggles alongside the truck, making its way through the gutter. She doesn’t dare move for fear of alerting the ghoul. She remains motionless until the corpse has rounded the corner of the next street and slithers off out of sight.

  Her grandfather has told her that things happen in life for a purpose and she begins to believe him when she gazes down between the seats of the delivery truck and finds an unopened candy bar. She picks it up by the upper portion of the wrapper and silently places it in the bottom pocket of her coat.

  Through the driver’s side window, Emma looks out upon the crowd of bodies as they continue to slam against the building. She gazes up at the third story window and sees a woman give her the thumbs up. From her backpack, Emma pulls out a small device, extends the antenna and turns it on with a switch situated in the center between two joysticks.

  She can’t hear the hum of the remote control car a few yards away, but she knows that the dead can. The corpses begin to twist their heads around, looking for the source of the sound. In the distance, the small car moves back and forth as Emma plays with the controls, trying to get the attention of the dead.

  The crowd surges as the electronic sound of the car winds up, moving a few feet forward then stopping for a second as Emma waits for the bodies to catch up. Hundreds strong, the bodies lurch forward, tripping over one another as they shamble off toward the car.

  Emma giggles under her breath as a corpse falls to the ground and the crowd behind follows, tripping over one another. She stops the toy and waits until the dead have regained their footing before finally putting it back in drive and navigating up a wheelchair ramp. Once the dead are in position, Emma drives the car off of the side of the ramp and watches as the bodies pack in. She taps the throttle forward, taunting the dead.

  Once the crowd disperses, a group of survivors emerge through the debris of office chairs and desks that are positioned against the inside of the front doors. The woman Emma had seen in the window is the first to emerge, followed by a stout man in a disheveled security guard uniform and finally, a young, brown haired boy.

  The three survivors scurry off along the street, moving away from Emma. She pulls a small length of tape from a roll she has removed from her bag and tapes the joystick in the forward position before exiting out through the passenger side door and back onto the street.

  When the car is out of range of the signal, it begins to circle, stop and reverse as the dead pour out from over the railing of the wheelchair ramp and land in a pile below, trying to get at the device. Straggling, decrepit hands probe through the railing, left behind by the others that launched themselves over.

  Emma runs after the group of survivors and follows them into a walkway between two buildings. She glances upward at a sign that indicates they are heading toward the train station at Central and Graham. The footbridge is narrow, surrounded by a chain link fence, and Emma worries about getting trapped in the enclosure.

  The woman ahead turns and waits for the girl, letting the man and the boy go ahead of her. “Come on,” she beckons, “it’s just a little further.”

  “Just go, I’m coming!” Emma shouts.

  She can hear the dead getting closer and quickly glances over her shoulder. Ragged and decay deformed bodies begin to squeeze into the alleyway. Black, lifeless lips snarl and distort, exposing broken, stained teeth. Hordes of the walking dead fill the alley, scraping against the brick buildings at each side, and shed scraps of putrid flesh upon the once clean façade.

  The woman turns the corner and begins to descend the stairway to the train terminal as Emma catches up. Once they clear the final landing, the boy slams the chain link gate at the bottom of the stairs behind them and closes the clasp. He inserts a scrap of heavy wire from his pocket into the lock fitting and twists it closed.

  A guttural scream sounds out from alongside the train tracks as the stout man grapples with a cadaver. He is pushed back hard against a boxcar as the autonomous body inches in with bared teeth. The man wrenches his arms up between himself and the corpse, managing to keep the creature at bay as it snaps at him between jutting out its filthy, flailing tongue.

  The boy scavenges a length of board from a pile of broken pallets at the edge of the train platform. With a look of intensity on his face, he rears back with the board and sends it into the base of the corpse’s neck. A high pitched crack ensues as the aged board snaps in half, leaving splinters in the decomposed flesh. Gelatinous filth smears away from the dead thing’s spine, exposing bone and gore that oozes out like a pustule on leprous skin.

  The impact is enough to make the creature turn its attention to the boy. It stumbles, waivers and reaches out drunkenly as its dead, placid eyes home in on the child. As if at the edge of a sneeze, the cadaver’s jaw hangs slack before it lurches forward.

  The stout man’s eyes widen as the creature turns, and he launches himself onto its back, sending it hard to the ground. Face first in the cold concrete platform, the body writhes in the man’s grasp, trying to turn over to face the meal on its back. He grabs the corpse by its hair and slams its face into the walkway, smashing out most of the creature’s front teeth. Again and again, he slams the cadaver into the cement until it finally goes slack and lays face first on the ground.

  Covered in the waste, the man stands up on unsure legs. His breath is labored and quick as he stares at the cadaver. Pulsating mush leaks through its collapsed skull. A moment of sickness graces his face and he closes his eyes, trying to get his stomach to settle. He looks through the corpse’s pockets, but comes up empty handed.

  The dead bombard the gate, snarling and moaning out in hunger at the group on the other side. They bite and snap at the fencing as if they were trying to eat their way through and bash their hands against the metal strands.

  The boy backs away from the gate as his face contorts. “We have to go,” his voice shakes.

  “He’s right, that won’t hold for long,” the stout man adds, motioning to the buckling gate.

  “The main station is this way,” the woman says. “It should be safe. The CDC locked it down when all this started.”

  The group follows the track
s through abandoned cars to the main terminal and up along a maintenance walkway to the rear entrance.

  Emma imagines all of the people who would have packed into the platform, waiting for their respective trains to arrive. She imagines what it would have been like if the station hadn’t been shut down for fear of spreading the disease. She imagines that it would have looked a lot like what happened when her mother was killed.

  The images come back like dreams, flashes of pictures in her mind that make her tremble inside. She sees her mother flash before the slit in the blanket, feels herself being tossed around, and hears the rasping moans of the dead. She shivers from the memories.

  Emma watches the stout man pull at the doors of the train station. Sweat beads up along his face as he wrenches the handle and places his foot on the doorframe for leverage. He slams his fist against the glass. “Why won’t you fucking open?!”

  “I’m pretty sure because it’s locked,” the woman says. “Look, we’re obviously not going to get in this way. Why don’t you give me a lift to that window up there, maybe its unlocked?”

  The man breathes heavily, “Yeah, sure.”

  He interlaces his hands together and bends down to one knee. With very little effort, he is able to lift the woman to the window ledge.

  She fumbles with the frame, lacing her fingers under the trim and pulls with all her strength. Slowly, the window begins to open outward. When enough space is afforded and she is confident that she can fit through the space she has created, she lifts herself up and slides between the window and the frame. Her legs dangle for a second as she turns over and pulls on something inside the room, heaving herself inside.

  The rest of the group waits patiently in silence for the woman to appear. There is a shrill scream coupled with loud bangs and finally, splintering glass. Someone crashes through the half opened window, flails in midair, and falls to the ground below.

  A resounding crack is heard as the person lands on the side of their face, twisting their head at a disturbing angle, and breaks their neck.

  Emma jumps back a few feet as the body lands and begins to convulse. Its arm spasms and its shoulders twitch for a few seconds before it finally lays still. The group is wide eyed and staring as the body stops moving.

  The group converges around the corpse, afraid to look at who it might be. The back of its head is a tangled mess of hair and coagulated blood, showing fragments of skull through sprawling scalp.

  “No…” Emma mouths the words silently to herself.

  “What’s everyone staring at?” the woman asks from the window. “Get to the doors, I’ll be there in a second,” she says with a smile.

  “Christ, Scarlet! You just about gave me a goddamn heart attack,” the stout man shakes his head at the lifeless corpse and tosses a look to the woman.

  The boy laughs at the exchange as he walks next to Emma. “Don’t worry,” he says, “they’re always doing stuff like that to each other. They say that it cuts the tension.” He shrugs and smiles at Emma.

  “Oh,” Emma answers, not quite grasping the concept.

  Through the sets of glass doors, they can see Scarlet fishing through the drawers at the security desk. With a jerk of her hand, she reveals a key ring and dangles it in front of herself for everyone to see.

  Within seconds, Scarlet is at the door, fumbling with the keys until she finds one that fits the lock. There’s a faint click as she pushes on the door, but it is still stuck and will not open. The stout man points down toward the floor and taps on the glass with his other hand to make sure she sees him.

  “Thanks, Greg,” Scarlet says, her words muffled between the glass.

  She pulls the lever at the bottom of one of the doors and opens it inward. “Come on in, and don’t mind the mess in the bathroom,” she says with a smile.

  Greg chuckles, “You really need to start announcing it before you throw a zombie through the window that looks almost exactly like your twin.”

  “No problem.” She grins. “I’ll just say, ‘body at twelve o’clock’, so you won’t get me confused with a rotting skin sack.” She shakes her head, looks to Emma and kneels down to eyelevel, “We really should thank you for what you did back there. That was some good thinking, using a toy car to distract those things. So what’s your name?”

  “Emma,” she says.

  “Nice to meet you, Emma,” the woman extends her hand and brushes the child’s hair from her face. “I’m Scarlet and that is Greg,” she says, pointing to the stout man. “And this here is Billy.” She grins. “He’s our leader.”

  The boy gives a wide smile, “She’s just kidding, of course.”

  “Of course,” Emma replies.

  “But it was his idea to use the flashlight to signal you,” Scarlet says. “And without that, we’d all still be sitting there waiting for the food to run out.”

  “Ah, it was nothin’,” Billy blushes.

  “So what was a young lady like you doing out there all alone?” Scarlet asks.

  “I was heading east like my grandpa told me to,” Emma replies. “He said to go toward the forest and the mountains. He said I would be safer there.”

  “That’s not a bad idea,” Greg agrees. “It would be a hell of a lot better than sticking around the city with enough corpses to give the Chinese Army a run for their money.”

  “What happened to your grandpa…?” Billy asks.

  “He died,” Emma replies, lowering her gaze to the floor. “I… I couldn’t do anything.”

  “Of course you couldn’t, sweetie.” Again, Scarlet brushes the hair out of the child’s face. “There’s nothing any of us could do.”

  “Hey, there’s a man out there,” Billy says, guiding everyone’s attention to the street entrance on the other side of the station.

  “No, it’s just another skin sack,” Greg says, watching the way the man staggers.

  “I think he’s right, Greg,” Scarlet says as she runs to the door with the keys jangling in her hand. “That guy’s alive.” She unbolts the door and searches through the ring for the key that fits the security gate. “Hey! Over here!” she yells.

  The man stumbles and turns his head. He looks out of breath, and at the edge of collapsing. He drags his feet in exhaustion and trips. He catches himself and staggers a few more feet as Scarlet unlocks the gate.

  Greg squeezes through once the gate is wide enough to accommodate his girth. “Why do I think I’m going to regret this?” he says, sliding around the protrusion. Nervously, he scans his surroundings, keeping a watchful eye on the dead as they scurry toward the man on the street. “Hey, buddy, you okay?”

  Johnny looks up to the man with glassy eyes. “I’m fine… I just…” He stumbles and Greg catches him.

  “I got ya,” he says, lifting Johnny beneath his arms.

  As the dead near, Greg quickens his step, almost dragging Johnny along with him. A paranoid feeling makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand at attention as he can almost feel their rotten fingers graze his back. He shakes it off as he trudges forward with new found strength.

  “Hurry, Greg!” Scarlet shouts as she pushes the gate open a little farther.

  He turns Johnny around and places his hands under the man’s arms and drags him through the front door. Once inside, Greg places Johnny on the cool floor and helps Scarlet with the gate. Bodies approach with vigor, raising their acrid voices as they close in on the entry. With a grinding clank, Greg and Scarlet manage to close the security gate as a corpse reaches out. The body lurches forward and inches its fingers between the clasps of the gate.

  “Push!” Greg shouts, his face reddening from exertion.

  With a snap, the creature’s fingers are clipped off between the bars. Scarlet twists the key, locking the mechanism, and quickly closes the glass door as the creature gnashes out at the barrier.

  “Too close,” Greg pants. “Too close!”

  Scarlet leans down in front of the man and places the palm of her hand on his forehead. �
�He’s burning up,” she says to the others. She gazes down at him and looks into his fluttering eyes. “You’re going to be just fine. What’s your name?”

  “John…” he breathes, his tongue clicks against the roof of his mouth.

  “Okay, John, just rest. You’re safe now,” she says in a low voice, trying to comfort him. “We’re going to need some water.” She turns her attention to Greg. “He’s really dehydrated.”

  “I’m on it,” Greg replies, scoping out the terminal.

  “Um, guy’s,” Billy says, staring at the front entrance, “they’re coming.”

  In unison the group stops what they’re doing and turns toward the doors. Decrepit faces gather in the glare, blotting out the sun, obliterating the reflection in the glass. Hands grasp at the bars, smearing their waste along in tiny strokes through the crisscross patterns of the security gate.

  “Good Lord!” Scarlet exclaims. “Is it going to hold?”

  “I have a feeling we’re going to find out,” Greg replies from the row of vending machines along the terminal wall.

  The dead begin to pull at the obstruction, making the steel gate clank against the door supports. A corpse bites at the bars, dislodging a few front teeth in the process, causing the incisors to stick to the metal and course their way downward along a thick trail of waste.

  “We’ve got to go, we have to hide,” Billy pulls at Emma’s shirt.

  “It’ll be fine,” Emma says, staring at the dead. “We have to stay with the others, they might need our help.”

  The boy gives a quick nod, “Yeah, okay,” and cowers behind the girl, looking over her shoulder at the creatures.

  “Hey, kids,” Greg says, noticing their agitation. “Why don’t you go in the back? I’m sure there’re all sorts of things to play with back in the offices.” He feigns a smile.