Martin nods but maintains his noise discipline by not responding. Assuming what has quickly become our standard positions to enter a room, I head in first. The door opens to a large corner office filled with file cabinets, document boxes, and stacks of paper. Moving further into the room, I find neither human nor zombie.
Martin uses his Glock to point at a door almost hidden behind a file cabinet piled with paperwork on the right side wall. Getting closer, I can hear the breathing more clearly now. I know it’s a woman, from her smell, even through the door. I’m scared and exhilarated by my obviously enhanced senses, but keep them to myself. I think Martin has had his fill of my level of crazy for the time being.
Getting even closer, I say quietly, “Hello, we’re human, my name is Ashleigh, and I’m with Martin Schofield.”
I hear her breathing catch, followed by a scared, “Are those things gone?”
Martin replies, “Yes Jennifer, you are quite safe for the moment.”
The door opens quickly as a short, dark-haired, round woman in a lab coat bursts out the small coat closet. Running to Martin, hugging him to her ample bosom, she talks, without waiting for a response.
“Oh my God!” (Well, it was more like, ‘Gawd.’ New England accents are only marginally less grating to me than their Long Island counterparts, but not by much.) Martin, what is going on? Mr. Richards fell on the floor outside the elevator, he had a nasty wound on his left arm.
Brandy and Arthur came out of Big Lab to help. Brandy said he was dead, but then he sat up and attacked Brandy! Arthur got Brandi away from Richard, and was trying to stop all the bleeding then she bit him! I screamed and headed for my office to call the police. Wait! That was hours ago, why aren’t the here yet? Why is it-”
Martin placed his hand over her mouth to quiet her, and said, “This floor may not be completely safe. Can you please be quiet for now?” With scared eyes, she nods through his hand.
“I want you to wait here, in the closet again if you prefer. My friend Ashleigh and I are going to deal with all the remaining... zombies; then we will be back for you.”
Jennifer shakes her head adamantly, “Zombies! Are you serious? There’s no way; there has to be another explanation!” she quietly exclaims.
Quieting her a little less gently this time, he replies, “Unfortunately, I’m deadly serious.” his eyes saying the debate was over.
Jennifer immediately moves back to her closet. Holding the door, she looks at us desperately, “Please don’t forget me,” closing the door on us.
Looking at Martin, I question him with raised eyebrows. Shaking his head, he replies, “Scientists” under his breath. Moving back into the hallway, we close Jennifer’s office door behind us.
Traveling further around the circular hallway, we dispatch five more Hollywood zombies. Their clunky, disjointed motion of the undead got the gears of my dry, less than appropriate, sense of humor turning. I really needed to come up with a better name for our stumbling, bumbling undead enemies.
I know how I should be thinking in a situation like this. I’m supposed to be more serious, more scared, more introspective, more hand-wringing, of all that has happened to me and to the world, but I’m not.
Everyone handles stress and strife differently. Some get angry and lash out, some drink or do drugs, but not me. I’ve always been painfully pragmatic, overly logical, and oftenly inappropriately humorous with the way I deal with life and the crap that goes with it. When I’m stressed or angry, I use humor and sarcasm as a personal pressure relief valve.
I smiled as a rotund zombie in a stained lab coat pin-balls and bounces its way out of a small lab in front of us. When the creature got close enough, I say, “Nighty-night George.” bringing the bed-leg down on its head.
Martin questions, “George? His name was Jon.”
I reply, “Nope. From now on all the slow ones are George to me, after the director of all those campy zombie movies that my Dad and brother love so much.”
Smiling broadly, Martin says, “I know of the movies, but never had the pleasure of viewing any of them. Though I do - did enjoy that zombie series on cable TV, the first one at least. The second one was a bit too “L-A” for me.”
With mock chagrin, I reply, “Lucky you, between my deranged brother and father, I saw them all more often than I care to remember. The movies, TV shows, the books, they had it all. I still have nightmares.”
We finished our circuit back to the stairwell door, without finding anyone else, living or dead.
21
Martin went back to collect Jennifer, having to quiet her down two more times during the short trip. The cold presence of Myers washed over me as Jennifer started to get loud again, and my anger got the best of me.
Grabbing her by the lab coat, I dragged her to the damaged door and whispered menacingly, “Did you hear banging a little while ago? This Hunter did that to a metal fire door trying to get to us!” as I swung her around to show her one of the dead Hunters. Yes, Hunters, that would work.
“Now Martin, in his proper British way, has told you to be quiet four times. I’m not that nice. If you can’t shut the fuck up, I will put you back in that fucking closet and leave you there! Do we understand each other?”
Martin gently separates us as Jennifer’s colorless face barely nods. Moving away, she huddles against the wall, staring at me like I’m the devil incarnate. I’m instantly embarrassed by my loss of control and hostility towards Jennifer.
Martin picks up the phone hanging on the wall across from us, dialing a number.
Smiling, he said, “Nikki, yes, were fine, just ran into some of our new friends. Put me on speaker so the gents can hear me too.
Listen to me very carefully. There is a new type of undead out here. They are not the normal, shuffling ones we’ve encountered so far. They’re very fast and amazingly strong. Do not engage them for any reason.”
“They seem to move in packs of two or more. Ashleigh has seen fit to name them Hunters, and it is a remarkably accurate description of them. One of these Hunters destroyed a metal fire door trying to get to us. Yes, that was the banging you heard. And yes, I am unfortunately completely fucking serious, Mr. Roberts. ….. ….Your apology is accepted as long as you do not engage these new zombies.”
“How many? That’s wonderful! I’m so pleased that so many of our friends are safe. We found a survivor…. Just one so far, Jennifer Carter, she’s a scientist from 16. Connor, could you and Marcus quietly meet us on the 19th-floor landing and bring her back up to 22? Excellent! We’re leaving now. Remember! Be quiet!” he hung up the phone and returned to us.
“Jennifer, we are going meet Connor Butler and Marcus Roberts from Facilities on the 19th-floor landing. They will take you up to the 22nd…”
She interrupts him, exclaiming, “What? Up? No! We need to get out of here and go get help!” Realizing her voice was getting louder again, she looked meekly at me, dropping to a loud whisper. “We need to get the police and medical people in here!”
Martin gently takes her by the shoulders and compassionately replies, “Jennifer, there is no one left to help us. It appears that these things have taken over every major city in America, if not the world. We need to help ourselves if we are to survive. Now, please come with us, and we will keep you as safe as we can. And be quiet!”
Jennifer nods, and we head up to meet the guys. I take point, listening and looking for danger as we creep back up to the 19th floor.
Even as silent as they were, I hear Connor and Marcus long before they arrive.
We exchange quiet greetings and introductions before I turn to Jennifer and say, “I’m sorry if I was little harsh back there. I was a little high-strung after dealing with the Hunters earlier.”
Jennifer nodded nervously, smiled, and replied, “It’s OK. I was a bit of a nervous blabber mouth myself when you found me.”
She quickly moved up the stairs and behind Connor, getting as far away from me as she can. After some equally qui
ck goodbyes and be safes, we each went our separate ways.
22
Martin and I move down the stairwell quickly, but as quietly as we can. Random splotches of blood, flesh and even an occasional body are mixed in with puddles, smears, and drippings of the black fluid of the undead. Luckily, the smell had not caught up to the visual atrocity of the situation.
Don’t get me wrong, the undead don’t smell good, they just didn’t smell as bad as I thought they would. I figured the outbreak was still too new for any decay to set in. With all the zombie paradigms that had already failed the test of real life, I wasn’t even sure if they would decay in the first place.
I might have to rethink this in July. Boston summers of 95-plus degrees and 97% humidity can make anyone smell rank, alive or dead. I had no interest in finding out the fragrance level of a zombie under those conditions. I was only speculating at this point; this was my first zombie apocalypse, and my learning curve was still pretty steep.
Every movement or noise we make has become much more serious with the Hunters now playing for the other team.
I was thinking about them when Martin whispered, “How are you doing?”
I replied quietly, “OK, just thinking about the Hunters, trying to figure out what makes them different than the generic George zombies. Did you recognize any of them?”
Martin replied, “Yes, as a matter of fact, I did. The first one was Greg Lewis, one of the others was Donald Black. I didn’t recognize the other two, due to extensive facial damage, and expedited physical changes wrought by this infection.”
Continuing downward, Martin says, “I sincerely hope these fellows aren’t the majority in the zombie world, I’m not sure the remains of the human race will survive such a strong and agile aggressor.”
I stopped suddenly at Martin’s response. Almost running into me, he instantly goes on the defensive.
“Trouble?” he whispers to me.
“Oh, no, based on what you just said, I had a revelation about the Hunters,” I explained. We both move down to the 8th-floor landing, as he looked at me to continue.
Whispering, I ask him, “What do you know about Greg and Donald? Were they in good physical shape?”
Martin replies quietly, “Oh yes, Don was a huge cross-country skier, who switched to inline skates during the warmer months, and Greg was a marathon……. Oh, Dear.” as he realized where I’m going with my thought process.
I ask, “Okay, can you name anyone that turned into a George, as in a regular movie-like zombie?”
He responded, “Let’s see, there’s Jon, we just met him on 16, and Mrs. Watkins, and a new patient, Garcia, I don’t remember his first name.
Jon was a junk food nut. I think his left index finger and thumb were permanently stained vivid orange by those hideous little artificial cheese snacks he loved so much. Mrs. Watkins, bless her soul, was very overweight, and Garcia was a smoker.”
Nodding, I said, “Doc, you know before all this happened I was an engineer for my Dad’s construction company. He always said garbage in, garbage out. Of course, he was talking about the substandard building materials used in many of the terrible tract homes going up all over the Southwest.”
Martin says, “I agree. It is not a stretch of the imagination to think that if the raw materials are of a better quality, you’ll build a better zombie. Excellent analysis my dear, but the implications are horrific with how many Hunters there could be out there. Let’s hope all our zombie friends had many super-sized burgers and fries before they joined the ranks of the undead.” with a small smile.
23
Continuing downward, we heard the now unmistakable sounds of the undead below. Seeing the door to 7 closed, we kept going. The noise of the undead kept increasing, sounding almost frustrated. I surmised they knew prey was close, but couldn’t find it. Peeking between the handrails, I caught movement two more landings down. I turned to Martin, motioning for him to stay put, and moved down the stairs without waiting for a response.
While part of me was confident I could handle the zombies below, I was worried that I would suddenly forget all these new fighting skills at the worst possible moment. My stomach turned, and my eyes teared up for the 80 gazillionth time as I remembered how I acquired these skills. The fear that I was on borrowed time, destined to become one the foul creatures below, still invaded my every thought.
Shaking the insecurities from my head, I continued down, and right into a group of over 30 Georges. A petite Asian woman whose beauty was still apparent even though she was missing most of the flesh on the right side of her face and shoulder, moaned and reached for me. As she closed in to grab me, she seemed agitated and hesitant. If it wasn’t for the mass of undead pushing her towards me, I think she might have shuffled away. I brought my bed leg mace down on the top of her head, ending all speculation about what might be.
The throng of zombies was so heavy that I could only attack them with large overhead swings. I had reduced their numbers by half when something pulled off my feet. I fell to the floor, landing in a mass of corpses and carnage. Whatever pulled me down still had a vise-like grip on my left ankle. I swung the bed leg wildly, with more desperation than skill, to dislodge the zombie that had a hold of me. The monster bit deeply into my left calf, sending a searing burst of pain up my leg. Screaming, I brought my right leg up and kicked downwards as hard as I could. I heard a resounding crack of bone which caused whatever had my leg to lose its grip. I tucked myself into a ball and rolled backward. I ignored the pain as my head met the bottom stair behind me with a bonging thunk.
Standing up, I saw our first female Hunter. Most of her hair had fallen out, but the residual makeup and her clothing helped identify her pre-undead gender. It was then I realized most of the hair on the male Hunters was missing too. The virus appeared to be changing the physiology of the Hunters more drastically than the Georges.
She dragged herself towards me; it was obvious her legs did not work. Disabled or not, the Hunter was still a bigger threat than the remaining Georges. As she approached, she continued to chew on the mouthful of flesh she’d taken out of my calf. I was shocked when she faltered, fell forward, and started screaming! A dreadful, heart-stopping, human scream issued forth from her mouth!
The remaining Georges turned as one, descending on the now screaming Hunter. Those in range fell on her, biting huge chunks of flesh from her prone form. The Hunter made no attempt to protect herself and continued to scream until she expired from the onslaught. As soon as she stopped screaming, so did her attackers. Georges that had fed on her spit out their prize within seconds, which increased their irritation and confusion.
I used their confusion to renew my attack on them, silently relieved that the Georges who fed did not start screaming as the Hunter had. Halfway through the remaining Georges, I felt my makeshift mace start to bend. By the time I finished my grisly work the bend halfway up the leg had made it practically useless. Dropping the damaged weapon on the pile of corpses, I turned to find Martin. I was surprised to see him standing just four stairs behind me.
He explained, “I came down when I heard your second scream, I was sure they had overrun you. What happened?”
I replied, “The second scream wasn’t me, it was one of them. I was taking out the Georges when I was pulled off my feet by a Hunter, a female this time. Her back was broken, but her upper body was still functional. She bit a chunk out of my left calf.” showing him the rent in the leg of my jeans, “I got her off my leg, but she came for me again as she chewed on the chunk of meat. Then she just stopped, fell face down, and started screaming. The Georges fell on her like a pack of hungry lions. She didn’t even put up a fight while they tore her to pieces. They spat it out and didn’t scream like she did.”
Martin looked at the carnage wrought on the small stairwell landing and the open doorway to the 5th floor and said wearily, “Let’s clear the stairwell, then take the executive elevator the rest of the way down, I’ll trade noise for speed a
nd relative safety. I think we’ve had enough excitement for one day.”
The 5th floor was broken up into large, high ceiling rooms with lots of tables and chairs. A medium-sized cafeteria filled the far center of the floor. As we searched for survivors, I saw white dry erase boards covering 3 out of four walls in each of the large rooms, with a ceiling mounted projectors aimed at the remaining wall.
Martin explained, “These are... were our brainstorming and meeting rooms. The 5th floor is where we come... came to meet to discuss new treatments, our successes, and failures. It looks like a lot of people were in here when things fell apart.” For the first time, the overwhelming sadness was plainly visible on his face.
I walked up and leaned on him, “I’m so sorry Martin.”
There was nothing here for us, so we headed for the executive elevator.
24
We nearly jumped out of our skins when we heard a panicked voice yell “Wait! Please don’t leave me!”
We scanned the room, trying to find the disembodied voice when I saw a ceiling tile in the corner move. I tapped Martin and pointed. We rushed over to the corner of the room just as the tile crashed onto the haphazard pile of chairs a few feet in front of us.
“Sorry, I lost my grip. Been up here a while, I’m a little sore.” said the voice from the gloom above the tiles. “I’m sure I could climb down on the chairs if they were stacked up again.” he continued.
Martin and I quickly stacked the chairs up under the hole in the ceiling. As soon as it was high enough, a pair of canvas high-top basketball sneakers appeared from the crawlspace.
I found myself looking up at a thin man about my age, of average height, with a large mane of unruly hair, with a pair of round glasses perched on his nose. Not my usual type, but he was cute, in a geeky sort of way. As he climbed down the chairs, I thought he looked a little unsteady on his feet. I was about to offer him my hand when I realized he was more interested in staring at my chest than where he needed to step.
Dark Rhodes: Book 1 of the Ashleigh Rhodes Chronicles Page 7