by Alan Spencer
“That sounds eloquent,” Todd broke in, “but I’m about action. I’m trusting my gut. Follow me if you want, leave if you want. It’s nothing personal. I consider you all friends.”
Jessica’s eyes went heavy for a moment. Addey felt her sorrow and hugged her close. “You do what’s best for you.” Cynthia came in for a hug too, and Todd finished the group embrace. They wanted to sob and not leave the circle, but a decision had to be made.
“I know it’s nothing personal, guys,” Addey reiterated. “I’m trusting my intuition on this one. You do the same for yourselves. When we’re dead, none of us will be there to apologize for dying. I’m looking for Brenner and Richard. That’s all I know to do.”
“Good luck,” Todd said. “Maybe this will be resolved, and we’ll all make it.”
Nobody put stock in the statement. The three of them left Addey behind. They circulated through the halls and disappeared among the throng of people.
She couldn’t think with the endless cacophony of worried exchanges, so she pushed her way out of the cafeteria.
The siren that blared was cutting loud.
Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah.
It was a tornado siren, shrill and foreboding. Everybody froze. Looked around. The conversations were snuffed. The intercoms crackled, then emanated the words. “This is Carl Brenner. Report to the back of the strip club. An armory has been opened. I’ll be waiting there to issue orders. Make haste immediately.”
The hundreds bumbled into each other, pushing, shoving, running and desperate to reach help. Addey hesitated, overwhelmed by the chain reaction. Half the crowd had already powered their way out of the hall and were running toward the strip club. Addey attached herself to the backmost herd. The gym and the living quarters had been abandoned. She kept moving as they entered the shopping area. The bar’s lights were dimmed, the techno music absent. The clothing stores were uninhabited. The red-light district was up ahead, the red curtain drawn.
They picked a strange place to keep an armory.
The front of the club wasn’t visible from her standpoint. The crowd bustled in, the curtain shuffled back again and again and nearly torn from the ceiling. A booming voice could be heard from within the strip club. “Hey—where’s Brenner?”
“There’s no armory here! There’s nothing.”
“Who the fuck made the announcement?”
“Maybe Brenner’s not here yet.”
“Then what’s going on?”
“Brenner didn’t make the call?”
“Then who did?”
“I don’t know.”
She caught the front quarter of people eclipsed by moving shadows overhead. Addey looked up—too late! The lurking anomaly lurched down upon them. They were doused with a heavy liquid. Clear. Viscous. Slithering. Forking. Expanding. Thickening in composition. The liquid upgraded into flesh, patches and squares of skin forming cell by cell, blood vessel by blood vessel, flesh stacking, ATP sticking muscle fibers together. Then in a flash, the level-two dead attacked in full form. Thirty of the workers were taken down at once, devoured by the roaring horde that was born from fluids.
Screams ejected her up the stairs and into the shopping district’s foyer. Nearby, a fleet of vampires charged from the bar. Their pale faces delved into necks and punched through chest cavities for the heart. Fifty, a hundred, two hundred—she couldn’t count them, there were so many, and the numbers kept escalating. Wolves charged from the clothing store, the pack mixing with the zombies who’d changed from liquid to putrid flesh right before her eyes.
They were hundreds strong and still coming!
She was halted by the crouched, naked zombie on the floor between the clothing stores and the stairway. The female thing writhed, her head shaking spastically and on the verge of exploding. Her back split, the spine bobbing up and down as gallons of blood leaked free. Then hands, feet and a body forced themselves from the female, birthing itself. It was a wolf slathered in blood and birth fluids. The wolf uncurled from its fetal position and shrieked. Another body was spit out from the same mother, a vampire this time. The next two were vampires, then three more zombies. The zombie wouldn’t stop giving birth, continuing the cycle of vicious life.
Gunshots ricocheted, cordite and gunpowder congesting the area. Addey was astonished at the vampire that was shot in the face. It didn’t die; instead, it removed a layer of skin about its entirety with its clawing hands and revealed a raging werewolf. Shot again, its hairy sheath dismantled and unraveled itself into a decaying zombie. Another bullet to the head, and the creature crashed to the floor, deceased.
That fucking thing died three times!
From behind her, a familiar face demanded, “Let’s move, Addey. I know a way out.”
It was Richard Cortez. She was relieved he was here. “Where’s Brenner? Who made the announcement? There’s no armory. There’s nothing here but them!”
“We have to move,” Richard instructed her, pointing north. “Up the stairs—go!”
“Did you see them?” Addey cried out, not ready to give up on her questions. “They have three lives, and they’re turning into different creatures each time. The IV tubes, they were swapping blood—each other’s abilities! Can’t you see?”
Richard’s face then metamorphosed into a wolf’s snout and broke through a false mask of skin, his teeth clicking and clacking, spittle flying, its breath hot and stinking of raw meat, its eyes golden and sideways triangles, its outer sheath of flesh torn free to reveal bushy coils of hair and throbbing muscles. “Raaaaaaaaargggh!”
It wasn’t Richard—or if it was, he’d been turned into a werewolf. She retreated from the werewolf, regardless of its identity. Wild stomping pursued her. She dodged a huddle of zombies crouched over a disemboweled shift manager. Liquid slid down the wall, viscous and clear. The liquid dissipated, forked, then turned into netting, shaping itself into patches of skin, bones and tangles of muscle tissue. Then it all came together and created a mixed herd of vampires and zombies, fifteen strong. She changed direction, taking a sharp left and then sprinting toward the cafeteria to avoid the collection of monsters in waiting.
The same wolf swiped its claws in her direction, inches from claiming her in its meaty grip. The wolf refused to give up the chase as she stormed into the cafeteria and shuffled through the kitchen area. The wolf smashed through shelves of chips and snack cakes, and leveled the buffet line into pieces with its hulking fists, shattering glass and warping steel.
Running blindly, she was cornered in the cook’s station. The wolf smashed the face of two ovens. Face foamy and purple tongue wild in its mouth, it shrieked and snorted in a savage mix of a banshee and boar. Her back was pressed against the wall with nowhere else to run. The kitchen had been scoured for useful implements, the drawers opened and scattered on the floor. She had dropped her boning knife when the wolf started chasing her. She was defenseless.
The wolf crouched on all fours, poised to kill. Nails rendered sparks from the tiles when it bolted toward her. She closed her eyes, unable to watch it close in. Before it touched her, it yelped, spilling onto the floor. She opened her eyes at the hiss and crackle of sizzling. The wolf had knocked over a burning hot vat of grease from an industrial cooker. It writhed, the flesh turned inside out with burns and boiling skin. She sprinted past it, the wolf reaching out and clawing her left calf, but failing to prevent her escape.
She stumbled into the seating area of the cafeteria after being tackled by a zombie from behind. Addey struck the ground. The zombie clenched her by the neck, the other hand pushing aside her head to expose the jugular vein. She flailed and kicked to escape, trying to gain leverage. She recalled when surfers were attacked by sharks, they were supposed to gouge out the eyes.
“Let me go!”
She extended all five fingers and punched through its eye. Her fist squished into its brain cavity, the mess wet and slithery. She removed her hand, each digit covered in grease, blood and a colony of mealworms. She flicked her
hand to remove them. “Sick!”
The dead man collapsed onto the floor.
She couldn’t turn back the way she’d come. The screams were warning enough, each bloodcurdling, high pitched and carrying on. In a matter of minutes, everybody would be slaughtered.
Searching about every way, she caught sight of the window in the back of the cafeteria. She rushed past the wolf, its body curled up—breathing, but shivering in the agony of its burns. This window was wide enough for her to crawl out of, so she peered down, seeing there was an emergency ladder she could scale.
Addey surveyed the cafeteria one last time. The area was swarmed by hundreds and hundreds of monsters. They literally tore through the walls, howling at the sight of her. She was just another victim to be killed to them.
Maybe the final victim.
She gasped for breath, her instincts and common sense choked by peril. Crawling through the window, she began her descent. One bar, two bars, three bars, she kept lowering herself down the ladder. Rotten faces peeked down at her from the edge of the roof and through shattered windows and broken paneling. Vampires and wolves cackled at her, and it wasn’t much longer before shards of concrete and brick rained down on her. She was struck on the shoulder, and then something smacked her on the head. A blade sliced between her shoulders, and she had to stop, clutching the ladder so as not to fall.
“Ah—God!”
Wicked laughter, celebrations from the dead, rejoicing from freaks with blood on their tongues and human meat in their bellies, roared from every direction.
Keep moving!
You’re not dead yet.
One bar, two bars, three bars traveled, she was halfway down to the ground level. The courtyard was below. She was near the med wing, the dining hall, and the mobile storage units. The monsters hadn’t paraded those grounds yet.
Hearing slosh and gloop sounds above her, she gawked at what was incoming. A moving mud slick of human flesh trailed from the roof’s edge. It scooted down to her with alarming speed. Her hair blasted upward in the wind. Her skin ached, threatening to rip from the bone. Pinching. Grasping. Yanking. The feeling was of a great suction. Nodules formed along the layers of skin, the nodules themselves sucking in to steal her skin.
The stitching along her face was unraveled thread by thread. Warmth drained down her face in hot rivers. The creature was trying to suck her skin off the bone. Unable to take it, she was forced to release her grip on the bars. She went sailing down to the ground, soon striking a patch of grass. The drop was about five feet. On all fours, she wasn’t sure if she’d broken anything, but her face was dripping blood. The bitter flavor of iron tainted her tongue.
Debris meant to serve as weapons continued to rain down on her as she fled through the courtyard. There was no place she could hide that they couldn’t see. The red cross on the white sign urged her on. She needed medical attention, and even more so, a place to hide.
She sprinted to the building, running on little energy and reeling from the agony of her open wounds. Arriving there, she pounded on the door, the barrier reinforced steel and locked.
“Open up, it’s me! I’m not one of them.”
She wasn’t sure if she was reasoning with a locked door, or if there was really somebody behind the barrier. She kept pounding, having no alternative but to keep on trying. “Look, I’m bleeding. That fucking puddle tore the stitches out of my face. My name is Addey. I was here the other day. The level-one zombie tried to eat me. Does that help? I am who I say I am.”
The door was disturbed, as if someone had touched the doorknob and then decided against opening it.
“Please, my life is in your hands!”
A deadbolt was undone. And then another one. She waited, afraid if she pulled the door open herself, they’d lock it again and leave her to die.
She heard the whisper, and then a familiar voice demanded. “Let her in. She’s not one of them. I know her. I’ll open it myself then!”
The door finally opened. She was ushered inside. The door slammed closed behind her once she crossed the threshold.
Herman was the first one to greet her among the small group. He hugged her close. “You’re still alive. Thank God.”
She pointed through the door, shortchanging the man’s joy. “Yeah, and so are they.”
Chapter Forty-Four
Jessica Ladd was trapped in the women’s bathroom, hidden in the cornermost stall. The muffled war continued outside, though it had slowed considerably in the last five minutes. She’d been bitten on the shoulder by a vampire, the collarbone jutting up from the throbbing pink meat. She had lost the others in the mess of events. When they heard the announcement over the intercom, they abandoned their original plan to steal one of the monsters’ boats and sail out.
She removed her bandanna to staunch the bleeding wound.
The bathroom door was opened. She froze. She lifted her feet from the floor to stay hidden. Damn it, they’ve already found me.
She was numb with pain and drenched in sweat. Jessica’s gun was empty of ammo. She would be helpless to their attack.
Another body stepped into the room, bare feet clopping against the tiles. And then another set.
“Nobody dumb enough to hide in here,” something said.
“Move on,” another decided. “There are a billion rooms and holes to hide in this place. We’re not leaving until every drop of blood and scrap of food is accounted for.”
The door closed. The threat had vacated the room. Jessica sighed, wincing when her wound acted up. It spurted once and then drained with new fervor.
She rested her back against the tiled wall. Closed her eyes. She was weary and exhausted with the blood loss.
She dozed off without realizing it.
Minutes later, the air duct grate above her exploded from the wall. She opened her eyes and witnessed a liquid arm of viscous fluid spill from the vent and force its way into her mouth, prying through her lips effortlessly. Her throat expanded as it invaded her. Jessica’s belly expanded, her rib cage shattered by the expansion, her organs forced out of her anus in one bulbous blast. Then her spine bent, the collective pressure of the invading fluids causing her eyes to fire out of the sockets in twin cork pops.
Ten seconds later, the process was complete.
Two zombies were born from within her.
Todd Lamberson leaped over the dance stage to avoid the horde of vampires who stampeded from the peep-show booths. Behind the velvet curtain, he fled through dressing rooms, fired down a short hall with men’s and women’s bathrooms. Forcing himself onward, he kept sprinting until he hit a dead end. He turned and nobody was behind him. His heart rattled. His eyes were dizzy from taking in every exit and hiding spot over and over again.
He had to keep moving.
He then checked to the right of him, locating the men’s bathroom. Opening the door, he discovered there was a window inside. He climbed to the top of the toilet, cranked open the window and crawled free. Rich air brushed across him, cooling the sweat on his body.
Free-falling, Todd landed on a patch of grass below. He was now in the outdoor dining area. Salvation looked him in the eye. Boats were scattered about, feet away from shore. Thank God.
The screams coming from everywhere wouldn’t end. Defiled shrieks. Laughter. Wolves howling. Gunshots resounding. Agony repeating.
He charged on toward the boats, decided on his next course of action. He chose a boat taken from steel parts and crafted into a pontoon boat of sorts. Two oars were created out of two by fours. Water bottles weighed the back down.
This is perfect.
He shoved the boat into the water and set sail. Todd was well into the waters when the boat froze. The water failed to scoot it forward.
“What the fuck? Come on! Come on!”
Silhouettes of heads bobbed from the surface. Barnacle-faced dead men rose from the ocean floor by the hundreds. Their clothes were twisted up into their skin in a clay and petrified wood texture. Sexle
ss and without true facial features, they were creatures born from the muddy abyss. The monsters had hidden their numbers by residing in the ocean.
He opened fire with his .28 service pistol. That! That! That!
“Bastards!”
A few of them went down after getting struck in the head, but it did nothing to improve his situation. Out of bullets, the boat was suddenly shaken from the bottom, and then lifted off the surface and pushed up. He was pitched into the water. He broke into a swim, desperate to return to the island he had vowed to flee. He sloshed, paddled, kicked, flailed and cried out in his extreme anxiety to touch land. Now breathless, lungs sharp, mouth suffering from the taste of salt water—he swore he could taste the dead bodies mixed in the ocean—his body slapped against the muddy bank. Forcing himself to keep on, he used his hands to lift up to his knees. Before he could stand, the mud was sinking, sucking him in and popping with air bubbles.
Schluck-schluck-schluck.
The surface was a literal quicksand, and suffering by its powers, he thrashed for his life, digging his fingers into mud. It turned out to be a useless lifeline. As in the water, a row of moving skeletons dyed the color of earth uncovered themselves, rising to the surface. Bare phalanges tore into his legs; then one hand pulled him headfirst into its maw, biting into the cartilage of his nose. Bleeding, suffocating and chewed to ribbons, he was forced under the mud, never to be recovered.
Cynthia Wells followed Todd Lamberson up the stage and through the back hall. He hid in the bathroom, not breaking pace. She called out to him, and with no answer, she knew they were right behind her, so she shot into the men’s room too. She caught sight of Todd’s legs dangling from the window, and then he slipped out. Desperate to be in his position, she followed the same course. When she struggled through the window and landed on the grass, Todd was already racing to the shore toward a boat. And that’s when the dead surfaced, hundreds of bodies lunging from the waters and walking to land.