He didn’t have time to take out both of them, not without risking the ones near the truck making it to him while he struggled with these two.
He shoved the woman to the ground, grimacing when his hand sank into rotting sinew and tissue. His memory briefly flashed back to the time when he was a child, reaching into his mother’s fruit basket for an apple, and jerking his hand back in disgust when a gooey wetness coated his fingers, a rotting apple at the bottom of the basket the nasty culprit.
Shaking his head to clear his mind, he drove the blade into the woman’s right eye, then scuttled to the side when the boy bent over to grab him. Grasping the choker around its neck, Colin smashed its face into the concrete and buried the sword into the back of its head.
He and Johnny B. both turned when they heard Kennedy shouting at them, her voice an echo from the elevator shaft.
They spun on their heels and raced to the elevator. Johnny B. threw his rifle strap over his shoulder and held his flashlight up, revealing Kennedy’s red hair and pale face several floor up.
He grabbed onto the rope Kennedy had thrown down and leapt up, twisting the rope in his hands and bracing his feet against the concrete wall. He began climbing higher, while Colin anxiously looked over his shoulder and hurried him.
As soon as there was enough rope for him to hold onto, Colin tried to mimic Johnny B.’s climbing method, but the rope swung wildly, his own technique severely lacking, and he pulled himself off the floor only a few feet.
“Get a move on, you big oaf! They’re about to bite my arse off!” Colin exclaimed.
The first of the zombies trickled in beneath him, and he drew his legs up close to his hips, away from their gnashing teeth. They lifted their arms and grasped at his boots.
Colin had never been less enthused to be in a kilt, but as their broken, cracked fingernails scraped against the thick leather of his shoes, he started to panic, and his grip on the rope faltered.
“Hang on!” Kennedy called to him.
Colin felt the fingernails slip away from his body. He looked up and saw Kennedy and Johnny B.’s faces getting closer as they tugged on the length of the rope.
Kennedy’s gloved hands reached for him as soon as the top of his head appeared, and he breathed a sigh of relief.
“Don’t worry. I got ya,” she assured him as she and Johnny B. pulled him over the ledge of the fifth floor.
The landing they were perched on was only one or two feet wide, and sharing the narrow space with Johnny B.’s colossal frame only made the remaining inches left for Colin seem impossibly insufficient at best.
“I have no words,” Colin said, and he tentatively gazed down at the ghastly, hungry faces glaring at him from the basement floor.
They’d completely flooded the space, their stench unbearable, but Kennedy and Colin had already spent some quality time in a coffin that had previously been filled with the remains of a decaying corpse, so Colin was sure his sense of smell was permanently wrecked. He cast another glance at the zombies as they angrily strained to reach them, then turned to Kennedy. “How the hell did you get up here so quickly?”
Kennedy gathered the rope and wound it in a large loop once more.
When she only responded with a shrug, Johnny B. answered for her. “She holds the unofficial—and undefeated—ropes record for women when she was in boot camp. She can shimmy up a rope faster than most men, too,” he explained, a tinge of pride evident in his normally sarcastic tone.
She humbly waved him off. “I had my gloves and my good boots. That’s the only reason I knew I could do it.”
Colin nodded approvingly. “That’s amazing,” he complimented. Every day, he learned something new about Kennedy, and each time, the new tidbit of knowledge seemed to be more impressive than the last.
“So what now?” Johnny B. asked, peering into the shaft above them. “We still have a few more floors to scale.”
“I’m gonna climb up to nine, where Brett said he was at, then throw the rope back down to you again, like I did the first time. I would’ve gone all the way up, but it would have taken more time, and I knew you guys had your hands full with the rotters, so I just went up half-way and figured it was high enough to get away from them.” She pointed with her flashlight. “That elevator up there is on the tenth floor, the tallest one in the building. Power’s been off for a while, looks like, so that thing ain’t going anywhere.”
Johnny B. shone his flashlight on a grated air duct to their left, as well as the ones above it on each level. “I have an idea. See these air ducts? Once we get to nine, we can take the ventilation shaft to where Brett is, and bring him back here.”
“What about the rotters down there?” Colin inquired.
“Best case scenario, they wander off when they don’t see us anymore. They’ve got one-track minds. I’m counting on them to forget about us. But if not, we can figure out a way to draw them out of the garage so we can get to the truck.” He held out his rifle and grinned. “Worst case scenario, they stay where they are and wait for us. It’ll be like shooting fish in a motherfucking barrel.”
“Good call, J.B. I like it.” Kennedy looked down once at the zombies still snarling at them, then determinedly grabbed the rails with both hands. “You guys catch your breaths. It’s only four floors. Easy,” she reassured them before bracing her feet against the concrete wall, her treaded boots providing traction against the smooth surface.
There was no harness keeping her tethered from falling. If she didn’t die from the impact, her spine would be crushed once she hit the concrete floor. She’d be paralyzed, unable to fight off the zombies as they fed on her innards and flesh, awake for it all and completely helpless. Colin swallowed hard.
“Hey,” he said softly, hiding the worry from his voice. “Be careful.”
Kennedy gave him an appreciative nod. “You two behave while I’m gone.”
Colin watched Kennedy as she rose higher and higher in the shaft, marveling at her fearlessness and her strength.
When she finally got to the ninth floor, she knotted the rope multiple times around the rails and brackets, then tossed the rope down for them.
By the time Colin reached them, he could barely feel his muscles. He’d tried to work the rope around his feet the way Johnny B. did, but he just ended up slipping down and getting tangled along the way, which only served to further exhaust him.
He tried to appear calm and collected when his feet touched the small platform where the elevator would normally stop to pick people up, but he was winded, not as much from the physical exertion, but more from the terrifying thought of falling nine floors down into the voracious, welcoming embrace of the walking dead.
“You did well. Was that your first time climbing a rope?” Kennedy asked him.
“Saying both of those things at the same time makes me think I didn’t do so great,” Colin replied suspiciously.
“You looked like a fucking idiot,” Johnny B. interrupted. “I went back and forth between thinking I should take out my knife and cut the rope to give you a merciful death and end your embarrassment, or go down and rescue you myself. I decided to just sit back and watch the train wreck instead.”
Colin wagged a finger at him. “And that was the response I can always look forward to. Thanks a million, you bloody wanker.”
“No, you really did a good job,” Kennedy promised him. “J.B. and I spent months in boot camp doing this shit. It takes practice to get good.”
Johnny B. gestured to the air duct near them. “Now we gotta figure out a way to get into this.”
The air duct was large, likely spacious enough for even Johnny B.’s hefty frame, although he openly expressed his doubts about fitting in it. The problem was that they’d need to unscrew the grate over the air shaft while dangling over nothingness, then be able to pull themselves up and into it.
“The good news is that we don’t need a screwdriver,” Johnny B. announced, trying to make light of the situation. “They’re twist
-off screws.”
Colin scoffed at him. “And the bad news is that someone still has to dangle over the edge and unscrew them.”
Kennedy studied the area around the grate. “I’ll do it.”
Johnny B. shook his head. “You’ve already done enough. I can do it.”
“I’m lighter than you. If I loop this rope around my waist, and you guys hold onto it, I can lean over far enough to reach the grate. The worst part will be hanging over the edge and pulling yourself into the duct. But if you can get up the rope, this is easy. We can do this.”
Creating a makeshift harness made Johnny B. and Colin feel much better about Kennedy being suspended nine stories high. After she tied the rope around her waist, cinching it tightly, she handed them the remainder of the rope and leaned sideways until her fingertips could reach the furthest screw.
Even with Johnny B. shining his flashlight in her direction, Kennedy still held her own in her mouth, her brows deeply furrowed in concentration as she undid the screws one by one. When she got to the last screw, the grate slid to one side before falling down the shaft, metallic thuds against concrete, until a loud clatter and growls below let them know it had hit the bottom.
“Pull me back,” she mumbled around the flashlight, spreading her hands out on the concrete until she felt Colin’s hands on her waist, drawing her back to safety. When she had both feet on the platform, she found herself clinging to his forearms. Immediately, he wrapped an arm around her securely, and heat radiated from his skin to her fingertips. He looked down at her, his gaze intense, holding steadfastly to hers.
Her chest rose and fell more rapidly than usual, and she almost thought she saw a flicker of something else in his eyes. She chastised herself for behaving like a silly schoolgirl and broke away, reluctantly letting go of him. “Alright,” she told them, her voice a little breathier. “Let’s get this over with.”
Colin stepped around her carefully. “I’m going in first. I can help you once I’m in.”
She nodded as she shimmied out of the makeshift harness, handing it to him. “We’ll be holding this just in case so you don’t fall.”
The Scotsman pulled the rope around his torso. “I trust you,” he quipped. “Him,” he added, pointing to Johnny B., “not so much.”
Johnny B. chuckled. “Well, if the rope ‘slips,’” he joked, making air quotes with his fingers, “through my hands, at least you know she’s strong enough to hold you.”
Colin gave him a condescending smirk. Refusing to look down, he reached as far as he could for the duct with one hand, then swung out with the other, his shoes scraping against the concrete in an attempt to find solid footing. With a grunt, he pulled himself up until his front half was inside the air duct, and his ankles were dangling out.
“I can’t turn around in this metal casket, but you can grab my ankles if you need help, and I can crawl ahead and yank you up.”
“I’m good!” she replied. “Keep moving!”
The metal creaked noisily as he crawled along. Once there was enough space for Kennedy to follow suit, he felt the thin metal shift slightly from her added weight as she smoothly hoisted herself behind him. He smiled, realizing Kennedy probably could have carried out this rescue mission singlehandedly.
He shone the light in front of him, not thrilled with the idea of being confined to the dark, cramped space with only one way forward. Kennedy followed him, and the two of them clambered along noisily. It was impossible to move quietly in the shaft, the metal bending and protesting against their weight.
And there was absolutely no stealth when it was Johnny B.’s turn. The large man cursed and complained the entire time, saying his shoulders wouldn’t fit in the narrow opening, while Kennedy remained encouraging and calm. With one final roar, he squeezed his shoulders through, the rope looped around his neck and underarm, and collapsed against the bottom of the duct, breathing heavily.
Colin’s eyes went wide when he felt the duct buckle slightly. He automatically jutted his hands out on either side of the duct, bracing himself for the whole thing to collapse from their combined weight.
“Holy. Fucking. Hell,” Johnny B. panted. “I’m crammed in here like a can of sardines.” He tried to crawl to them, but cursed loudly when he got stuck. Colin could hear the panic in his voice, even though he tried to make light of it. “Good thing those fuckers aren’t in here with us, or I’d be screwed.”
Kennedy looked over her shoulder at him. “You’re okay. Just take a deep breath,” she assured him calmly. “My dad had the same problem once. He took me and my brother caving, and like you, he was a big guy. Got wedged between some rocks in one of the tunnels. And like him, you’ll make it out just fine. Wiggle your shoulders back and forth. And keep breathing. You’ll get through.”
Slowly, Johnny B. inched forward a little at a time. Once he found his rhythm, Kennedy tapped Colin on the foot and motioned for him to start down the duct. He jostled his flashlight from side to side, dusting aside the husks of dead cockroaches and rodents as he army-crawled along.
The metal creaked loudly as they moved, but the prospect of the duct caving under their weight suddenly didn’t bother him; instead it was the putrid stench that wafted up to his nostrils as he came to a grate beneath them. He wanted to turn around somehow and rush back to the elevator shaft, as if it was somehow safer than the metal tunnel. He felt Kennedy bump into his feet.
“What is it?” she whispered.
Colin didn’t respond. His gaze was fixated on the scene below.
Through the slivered openings of the grate, dozens of zombies milled around. Initially, they seemed to be aimlessly wandering in some kind of trance. But as the seconds ticked by, Colin noticed them waking from their hibernation. Their faces began to jolt up from their slumped necks, and their arms and hands, once limply dangling at their sides, spasmed.
Many of them lifted their faces upward, rabid eyes hunting for something, nostrils flaring in desperation, sniffing at the stale air.
One of them jerked its head back and forth, spittle hanging from what remained of its lips, and then abruptly stopped. It tilted its chin up, eyes roving to the grate, until Colin was sure it had seen him.
“We gotta move,” he said to the others and quickly scrambled across the grate. Kennedy gasped as she crossed over it.
By now, the zombies were well aware that they were above them, not from their scent, but from the outrageously loud noise they made as they clambered through the tunnel. They swiped their tattered arms in the air, futilely trying to reach them.
“You don’t think that’s where the kid was, do you?” Johnny B. asked quietly.
“No,” Kennedy responded resolutely. “It was further to the west side of the complex. We should be able to find him—”
Her sentence was cut short as the duct suddenly caved where Johnny B. had just scooted across. Before he could rush forward, the ceiling around the duct collapsed, tearing the others down with it.
Colin landed roughly on his hip, narrowly missing his sword. He heard Kennedy cry out, and he tried to find her, but a thick cloud of dust and debris occluded his vision. He coughed as he painfully rose to his feet, attempting to wave the dust away.
He stumbled over to Kennedy when he saw her, each step sending searing pain down the left side of his body. Grabbing her under her arm, he helped her up. Johnny B. lay on his back, his arms sprawled out at his sides.
“Hey, man,” Colin said, his voice hoarse. “You okay?” He extended a hand and pulled him to his feet.
Johnny B. looked as though he’d had the worst fall. “Yeah,” he managed. “I’ll be
fine. I just landed wrong and knocked the wind out of me.”
Kennedy looped her arm around his back, concern in her eyes as she searched their surroundings. “Let’s find Brett.”
The dust began to settle and grant them a little visibility. They were in a long corridor, a hallway lined with apartments on either side.
They all whirled
around collectively when the dreaded moans of the undead began to drift down the hallway.
Several zombies trickled out of one apartment in particular. The rest of the doors were closed, and the three of them nodded to each other with the same realization. Brett had to be in there.
Kennedy let go of Johnny B. and removed her firearm from her drop-leg holster. Colin had his sword ready, while Johnny B. aimed his rifle at the first of the zombies in the pack headed right for them. They backed into each other, shooting and swinging.
Zombies in all stages of decay reached for them. Some had turned recently, their wounds still angry and bright red, and came at them with a startling speed, while others, their skin dry and weathered, staggered forward on limbs that had bones protruding from the leathered skin.
Somehow above the raucous wails of the undead, Colin heard Kennedy gasp.
Her finger hovered over the trigger of her gun, but she didn’t fire. Instead, the weapon began to shake in her grasp.
Colin followed her line of sight, his eyes widening in shock.
Grady had just come from the apartment secreting the mass exodus of zombies. His eyes were deeply narrowed as he stared at them, his ponytail an unkempt mess, arms rigidly held out at his sides. The entire front of his shirt was soaked in fresh blood, and just above the collar of his shirt, a huge chunk of his throat was missing, revealing a thick larynx. He bared his teeth at them and started barreling down the hall.
Colin stepped in front of Kennedy protectively, then rushed to meet Grady before he could get to them. With a heavy blow, he severed their friend’s head from his neck. The body hit the floor slower than the head, which continued to roll down the hallway until it finally stopped a few feet from Kennedy’s boots.
She retreated in horror, then shut her eyes and lowered her head.
Colin placed a hand on her shoulder as he passed her and resumed his position with his back to hers. “I’m sorry, Red,” he said solemnly.
The Good, The Dead & The Lawless (Book 2): The Hell That Follows Page 32