“But what if they get through?” Emma asks.
“Ah, don’t worry about that.” He waves his hand dismissively. “They’re not going to get through all that steel,” he says with a nervous laugh.
“Yeah, let’s go,” Billy says, grabbing onto Emma’s shirt again.
The boy pulls Emma along as she looks back to the adults for reassurance.
“Go ahead, we’ll be fine,” Scarlet says.
“See? It’s okay, let’s go,” Billy tells Emma.
Reluctantly, she follows him into the office area, signs of worry crossing her face as she goes. She knows very well what that many dead can do, she’s seen it firsthand. She glances back over her shoulder again at the mass of the dead shaking the gate fiercely and gives off a little sigh, reserved to do what she’s been told.
Greg kicks out the Plexiglas on one of the vending machines and roots around behind the narrow grid until he pops the lever to open the machine fully. He fishes through the grates and comes up with a couple of bottles of water. Satisfied with his find, he brings the bottles to Scarlet.
As he hands off the water, he asks, “So what do you think? Will it hold?”
“God, I hope so,” she replies with a worried look. “There aren’t many places we could run if it doesn’t.”
“Yeah,” he replies, placing the second bottle of water on the floor next to Johnny.
“So what kind of stuff do you carry in there?” Billy asks, eyeing Emma’s pack.
“Just the usual kinds of stuff,” she says with a shrug.
“Like what?” he asks.
“Um, well,” she begins, routing through her pack. “I have a wilderness survival guide.”
“Eww, a book?!” Billy looks sickened. “Books aren’t any fun” He shakes his head.
“Sure they are,” she replies. “They tell you all sorts of things that are very helpful.”
“Oh, yeah?” he asks sarcastically, rolling his eyes.
“No, they really do,” she opens the book. “Like this here,” she points down at one of the pages, “this shows how to build a campfire in the snow. And there’s an entire chapter on plants and stuff you can eat if you’re stranded in the woods.”
“But we’re not in the woods, so I guess your book’s kind of pointless.”
“No it’s not,” she protests. “A lot of the plants that grow in the forest also grow here in the city, but people kill them because they think they’re weeds.”
“Still sounds dumb and boring.” Billy shrugs.
“What’s dumb and boring is not having a book like this.”
Billy changes the subject with a shrug of his shoulders. “That gun’s pretty cool,” he says with a bright smile, eyeing the shiny rifle slung across her back.
“Do you know how to shoot?” she asks.
“No,” he says. “My parents wouldn’t have let me have a gun.”
“See? If you read this book, you would know how to aim and load it. You would also know how important it is to keep it oiled.”
“Really?” he asks, his face brightening.
“Sure,” she begins. “It also shows how to keep it clean so it fires right.”
“Wow that is a pretty cool book.”
“You bet it is,” she says. “My grandpa gave it to me and said that anything I needed to know once I was out on my own could be found inside. I’ve read it a couple of times already and sometimes I reread some of my favorite chapters.”
“What are your favorite chapters?” he asks.
“I like the one about insects,” she explains. “Did you know there are bugs that you can eat?”
“Yuck!” he says.
“Yeah, you’re right, they’re not the best, but when you’re hungry, anything tastes good.” She smiles.
“I don’t know,” he shakes his head. “I can’t imagine a bug tasting good.”
“They are if you’re in a pinch.” She widens her eyes and gives a quick nod.
“So what else you got?” he asks.
“Let’s see.” She rummages through her pack. “I have some clothes and a few cans of food… Oh, and some shells for the gun. Those are always handy.”
“You didn’t bring anything to play with?”
“I have my stuffed bear, his name is Benny.” She pulls out a small stuffed toy. “I always keep him in my pack just in case I have to go really quick.”
“That’s a good idea,” he comments.
“My grandpa says that you should always be ready to move out.”
“You know, the kid had a pretty good idea,” Greg says.
“About?” Scarlet asks, dabbing a swatch of wet cloth on Johnny’s forehead that she found in one of the drawers behind the counter.
“About the idea she had to head out into the wilderness.” He kneels down beside her and turns his attention to Johnny. “Has he been bitten?”
“I don’t think so, but he sure has been beaten,” she says, pressing the cloth to his head. Once the cloth is in position, she stands up and looks to Greg. “I’m not so sure it isn’t a bad idea either,” she replies. “If we can get to a secluded area that wasn’t too populated, we might be able to live off the land for a while until whatever this is works itself out.”
“Do you really believe this is just going to go away?” he asks.
“Nothing lasts forever,” she replies.
“And dead people aren’t supposed to get up and move around either,” he comments. “But that doesn’t look like it’s stopping them.”
“You have a point,” she says, taking another look at the injured man on the floor.
“Shouldn’t we put him on one of the benches?” Greg asks.
“No, the cool floor might help with his fever,” she says. “God only knows how long he’s been out there. He’s lucky to be alive.”
Greg peers through the front doors and replies, “Yeah, we’re all a little bit lucky.”
·17
It is as if Johnny were looking out at the world from inside of a tin can. He can see the man and woman speaking, can register their words, but everything is hollow and echoes in his head. The people become blurry, almost fading into their surroundings before popping in his sight and becoming focused once again. His head is swimming and the only thing he can truly hear with any clarity is the heart thumping within his chest.
The floor is cold beneath him. He feels the smooth tile with the tips of his fingers and moves them between the grout lines, playing with the texture. Even the simplest movement is a distraction, helping ease the delirium. When he was a boy, he would get headaches that were so bad he had to keep the rest of his body moving to and fro to keep the pain from becoming too much to bear. He feels the same way now as he twitches his fingers along the floor. There’s comfort in the movement, something sure that he can control, something that he can consciously do. As small of a victory as it is, it’s still reassuring.
His eyes become heavy and he smiles to himself as sleep takes him away.
April is in his thoughts. He can see the first day they met. She dropped her purse and he scrambled to her side to help her gather her things. It was such a cliché. He had seen it in all the movies and read it in all the books, but it was the first step to a long and happy relationship. He can’t think of her in the way she became after the dead rose. They were both under a lot of pressure and not quite themselves. No, he remembers her how she was, in the perfect world they had created together.
She was happy in those days. Sometimes he would glance at her doing some chore or another and she would be smiling like she had suddenly remembered a particularly funny joke. He loved to see her that way, loved the way the edges of her mouth bent upward, creating tiny lines around her eyes. He imagined her older and how she would have those features etched into her skin and it made him love her all that much more.
But as quickly as the happiness came, he could see the woman in the window of the attic. The snarl spread across her face, the look of hunger in those very sa
me eyes that he had come to love. It pained him deeply to look at her like that. If he could go back, he would have jumped that day back at Mike’s place, he wouldn’t have given it a second thought. He would have sacrificed himself so she could have held out that much longer.
“Retrospect,” he whispers between parched lips.
“Hey, I think he’s waking up,” Greg kneels down beside him and checks his eyes.
Scarlet checks his forehead. “His fever seems to be down,” she says, giving Greg a quick look and placing the wet cloth back on Johnny’s forehead.
“I tried to save her,” Johnny coughs. “It should have… been… me…” He falls back into unconsciousness.
“He’s still in a bad way, we should let him rest,” Scarlet says and walks away with Greg.
“I think I should go and poke around in back,” Greg says. “There doesn’t seem to be any of them out there and I’m curious to see what’s in those garages and storage sheds on the other side of the yard.”
“We should wait until John’s better,” Scarlet replies. “I mean, we don’t want to go fooling around and have to get out of here in a hurry with him in that condition.”
“Do you think he’s going to get better?” he asks.
“He’s already showing signs of improvement,” she answers. “Let’s give him a couple more days before we make a decision.”
“All right, but I’m itching to get out of here,” he says. “I don’t like how many of them there are out there. If any more show up, we’ll be hard pressed to run. Plus,” he adds, “I don’t like the way they’re looking at me. It freaks me the hell out.”
“I know what you’re saying, but just give it a little more time,” she says.
The dead crawl out from the street, from the asphalt and concrete, from the cracks and crevices. They are thick, black ink, gurgling up from the sewers and from beneath the abandoned cars. From under rich, dark soil, they birth themselves to the surface of the earth with hellish veracity, scarring the scenery with their putrid forms.
They leak out onto the world as punishment unto the living. Bodies twist as fragments of decay drop out onto the ground, slapping, scraping against petrified bones. Gnashing mouths… so many gnashing mouths.
Johnny runs, but he can’t seem to keep from tripping. Everything he encounters is an obstacle, placed by the hand of fate to make him fail. He’s quick to his feet, swaggering on unsure legs, slipping on the blood soaked ground, pushing himself forward.
There’s nowhere to go. Every street is the same, every route a prison. He laughs uncontrollably from fear and panic. His mouth is thick with spit and he’s spraying out insults to the dead. He screams at them, he rips away at their shadows and throws himself against them, trying to tear them away.
“You’re not real!” he howls. “You’re not supposed to be real.” His words are hysterical and without meaning.
His face slams against the ground, splitting his lip, nursing blood into his mouth. They encroach, stagger forward and moan his name. They sing out in rasping growls for spilled blood, for deliverance, for the soul he hides within his flesh.
“You can’t have it,” he spits and flails his arms to fend off the crouching horde. “It’s mine and you can’t fucking have it!”
His eyes open wide and he gasps for air. Darkness is everywhere - nothing but darkness and the cool moan of the dead. He kicks to get away, pushing himself along the tile, scooting away on his back.
…they do not follow.
He breathes easier, watching the silhouette of the dead grow and collapse in the front doors. Like a moving illustration of Hell, the dead waver as the flames of an inferno, licking upward along the gate that separates them from their purpose.
“Easy, easy.” Someone taps Johnny on the shoulder and he recoils. “Take it easy, buddy. You’re safe.” The voice tries to sooth him.
“Where the fuck am I?” Johnny asks.
“You’re safe,” the voice says. “We’re in the train station. Everything is okay.”
“Who are you?” he asks.
“I’m Greg. I was the one who helped you in from out there.” His shadow points through the dead.
“Oh hell,” Johnny breathes, placing his head in his hands.
“A nightmare?” Greg asks.
“Yeah.” He shakes his head, moving it between his palms.
Greg sits on the bench next to Johnny, cross legged on the floor. “Those seem to be the norm nowadays.”
Johnny sits up straight and clenches his jaw. “Yeah, I suppose they are.”
“You want to talk about it?” Greg asks.
“No, not really,” he replies. “Just the dead chasing me, and I’m not able to get away,” he adds.
“Ah, the usual,” Greg laughs. “Don’t let it bother you. We all have those. That’s one of the reasons I’m not sleeping now. Smoke?” he asks, extending a pack of cigarettes.
“No thanks, I don’t smoke.”
“Neither did I,” Greg laughs through the filter and lights the cigarette. “It’s funny what kind of bad habits you can take up when there’s a distinct possibility that you could be eaten at any moment.” He takes a deep drag.
“Ah, what the hell,” Johnny says, extending his hand.
“Thought you might,” Greg says, pursing his lips into a smile that is lost in the darkness and nurses out a cigarette with a shake of the pack. “They’re kind of stale though.”
“I wouldn’t know the difference.” Johnny takes the cigarette and Greg lights it for him. He lets out a muffled cough and takes another drag.
“So what’s your story?” Greg asks. “How did you wind up out there in such bad shape?”
“I lost someone I loved,” he replies.
“Join the club,” Greg says and takes another puff from the smoke. “I don’t think anybody living right now hasn’t lost someone.”
“How about you? What brought you here?” Johnny asks.
“Well,” he pauses and takes another drag, “that lady over there,” he points to Scarlet, sleeping on a bench at the far side of the room by the train yard, “saved my ass.”
“Oh yeah?” Johnny asks.
“Yep,” he tips his head to the side. “She stepped up and here I am.”
“Let’s hear it,” Johnny says, snuffing out the cigarette on the floor.
“It’s not all that exciting.” He shrugs.
“What? You have something better to do?”
Greg lets out a small laugh. “Yeah, I guess not.” He throws his cigarette to the floor and stomps it out. “I was working a night shift as a security guard down at the docks. I’m a terrible underachiever,” he snickers. “This was before anyone knew what was happening, mind you, and I was doing my rounds just like any other night…”
“Excuse me, sir,” the woman says from her car as she turns off the headlights. “I think I’m a little lost.”
“I’ll say ya are, lady” Greg replies. “This is not the place to be after dark.”
“I know, that’s why I need your help,” she explains. “I need to get back to the interstate.”
“In that case, you’re going in the exact opposite direction that you should be going,” he replies, leaning on the door of the car. “You’ll need to go back a few blocks and make a left at Newport. Take that for about six miles and it will take you to the 57 freeway.”
“Wow, I’ve really gone out of my way, haven’t I?” she laughs uncomfortably.
“Yeah ya have,” he replies. “What brings you out here, anyway?”
“I have a job interview in the morning so I figured I would get an early start on it and stay in a hotel tonight so I can get there as early as possible,” she replies.
“Where’re ya coming from?” he asks.
“Vegas,” she replies.
“Holy crap! That must be one hell of a job to come all this way.”
“It’s an opportunity of a lifetime,” she says.
From along the dimly lit street, the
re’s a loud bang like a trashcan being knocked over. Greg pulls his flashlight and shines it in the direction of the noise. A shadowed figure stumbles in the darkness, wavering back and forth.
“Fucking drunks,” Greg whispers. “Hey buddy, take it somewhere else, would ya?”
“Maybe I should go now,” the woman says, eyeing her rearview mirror.
Greg turns to the car. “Yeah, you go ahead. I’ve got this,” he says, pulling his revolver. “Good luck with the job, lady.”
“Thanks for the directions,” she replies and turns on the headlights of the car. Lit up in front of the car is a black, oozing form. She recoils hard against the seat. She whimpers out a scream which becomes louder as the body stagers in front of the car, bathed in light.
Greg turns on his heels. “What the fuck is that?!” He backs away from the body as his flashlight swings wildly.
“Hey, I was just looking for something to eat,” the drunk says from behind Greg’s shoulder in an inebriated voice. “Oh shit, never mind,” he adds when he sees the corpse. With a drunken shuffle, the man turns and starts to run.
“Stop where you are,” Greg commands, leveling his weapon on the staggering form.
The ghoul takes an awkward step forward, seaweed hanging from the scraps of rags that linger along its torso.
“I mean it, pal!” He aims for the creature’s arm. “One more step and I’ll shoot!”
The body lurches forward quickly and stumbles against the front bumper of the vehicle.
There comes a scream from behind as the drunk is taken down to the ground by two silhouetted figures. The shadowy figures are in the same condition as the one that is leaking out black ooze in front of the car. Greg is distracted by the drunken man and turns his attention away for only a moment.
“What the fuck?” he says.
Greg hears the scraping of feet against the asphalt and turns back to the first body as it looms in over him. He takes a shot and lands on his mark, blowing the creature’s arm off at the elbow. Unfazed, the ghoul steps forward, reaching out. Inches away and the car door swings wide, slamming hard against the corpse’s waist, causing it to fall to the side with a piercing hiss.
Waiting to Die ~ A Zombie Novel Page 17