by Derek Slaton
“Like a fuckin’ glove,” Jerry fist bumped his best friend and they shared a grin.
Brent went next, scowling when Zion had to steady him and get him onto their floor, not wanting to be shown up by the others. When Zion leaned back out, Tom was leaning over, white-faced, staring fearfully down at him.
“Come on, man!” Zion urged. “Don’t worry, we’ll catch you!”
Tom nodded jerkily, and ever-so-slowly eased his body over the edge, hanging from his hands.
“Let go!” Zion called.
Tom shook his head, unable to make his hands let go. “I can’t!” he screamed.
Brent poked his head out to look up at him. “It’s okay, Tom, let go, we’ve got you.”
Tom’s heart pounded in his ears, mouth parting in a terrified moan. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to will away his fear, will away the world… and then a zombie brushed up against his fingers, and the feeling of squishy rotted flesh caused him to panic, letting go of the concrete.
The rest of the group watched in horror as Tom plummeted to the roof that was their destination, his head meeting the concrete with a sickening splat.
A zombie screeched nearby, and Zion snapped his head around. “We got spotted,” he warned, and vaulted over to the outside of the wall, repeating his previous movements to get down to the next floor. Monique went next, and then Jerry and Cory hopped down simultaneously by themselves, helping to get Calvin and Brent back in.
The next floor was even more populated with the backlog of zombies from the street, but from this floor they’d be able to drop down to the roof that was their escape route, and Tom’s untimely grave site.
Jerry and Cory leapt over first, dropping down and tucking into expert rolls to minimize impact on the concrete. Calvin attempted that, and managed, though far less gracefully than his personal trainer friends.
“Hurry,” Zion urged his sister, and helped her over the edge. He lowered her hands as far as he could go, giving her a little less of a drop than the others, and she crouched into the landing, safely hitting the ground on her feet.
Zion turned to motion for Brent to go next, just as a zombie made a lunge for the ex-leader’s arm. He reeled back with the tire iron, ramming it right through the corpse’s face.
“Go!” he cried, and Brent hopped over the wall, letting himself hang before dropping down. Zion followed suit, rolling into his own landing. He looked up at the horde on all three floors, pushing up against the walls like lemmings attempting to fall off the edge. Luckily for the group, the cement barricade was too high, trapping the corpses in the parkade.
Brent hissed, and Cory hooked an arm under his to help him to his feet.
“Looks like you rolled it, man,” the younger man declared, furrowing his brow. “Be careful putting weight on it, now.”
Brent tore his arm away. “I’m fine,” he muttered, and limped over to Tom. He shook his head as he stared down at the motionless body, glad that the fall had liquefied the man’s brain so he wouldn’t come back as one of those things.
“We gotta move,” Zion said quietly, and led the group across the roof to the only door, standing a tall silhouette in the early morning light.
They moved briskly, Brent skipping to avoid putting too much weight on his ankle, and thankfully the door was unlocked.
“I’ll go first, in case there’s any resistance,” Zion said, holding up the tire iron to accentuate the point that he was the only one with a weapon. He grasped the door handle and opened it a crack, listening for anything.
It was quiet inside, and he slowly moved into the stairwell, wandering down onto a massive expanse of cubicles. He strained his ears and didn’t hear any shuffling or groaning, so he leaned back into the stairwell and waved the others after him.
“Daily nine-to-five grind,” Jerry commented as he surveyed the office floor.
“Everyone spread out, try to find anything you can use to arm yourselves,” Zion instructed, waving his arm. He moved towards one of the floor-to-ceiling windows, squinting out over the street to see if he could get their bearings.
“This isn’t good,” Jerry commented from beside him, smacking a metal ruler against his palm. “They fucked us, man. It’s not going to be easy getting out of here.”
“You know the city better than me,” Zion admitted. “If it ain’t gonna be easy, at least what’s the least impossible?”
Jerry shook his head. “We’re about four blocks south of the Pearl District,” he mused. “If we can get over the Willamette River, then we can get out of downtown into residential areas.”
“The 405 is just behind us, right?” Zion asked.
Cory and Monique wandered over to them, each holding metal staplers.
“Yeah the 405 is going to be a mess,” Cory piped up, inserting himself into the conversation. “There’s no way we’ll make it over there. And it’s so open that there is no hiding from zombies kicking around. Of which there will be lots.”
“We could try the Broadway bridge,” Jerry replied, pursing his lips in thought.
Monique peered out the window to the street. “First things first, we need to figure out how to get outta this building,” she said.
CHAPTER NINE
There were zombies clustered around the front doors of the office building, all across the street, nearly shoulder to shoulder. Zion peered over the edge of the roof, holding a metal disc they’d found in one of the maintenance closets. He reeled back as if he were about to throw a discus and hucked it up the street, in the opposite direction to the way they needed to go.
The clang echoed brilliantly, and the zombies immediately turned to look for the source of the noise. As they headed towards it, Zion saw Monique open the front doors of the building, waving everyone out silently into the street. He nodded to her and then took off running for the far end of the roof, vaulting over the edge.
He hung for a second before dropping down on top of a dumpster as noiselessly as he could, hopping down into the alleyway below. He smashed in the head of a wayward corpse with his tire iron on the way down, leaving it crumpled next to the dumpster. He took off towards the group on the street in hopes of making it to the Broadway Bridge without detection.
It didn’t take long, however, to realize that their hopes weren’t going to get them very far. They were attracting too much attention by virtue of being such a large group. Brent skipped as quietly as he could behind them, but his rolled ankle wasn’t doing him any favors.
Zion made it to them, taking the lead and busting a few heads in the process. He shoved one corpse into another, knocking a few over like bowling pins, able to clear a path for them to continue block after block.
When they barreled around the corner to head towards the bridge, however, they skidded to a stop. At least a thousand zombies turned towards them all at the same time in a horrifying synchronized display.
“Guys!” Jerry cried as he and Cory fended off the zombies clustering in the rear.
Brent swung with the two-by-four he’d found in the maintenance closet, taking one down, but at least a dozen descended on Cory.
“No!” Jerry screamed, diving for his friend who disappeared under a mass of bodies, and Brent grabbed his arm to keep him from needlessly fighting into his own death.
“Back up!” Zion cried, motioning to the only open space that would back them against a building. “Look for an open window, something!” he called to Monique and Brent as he, Jerry and Calvin attempted to fend of the oncoming horde.
“INSIDE!” a voice boomed from a nearby rooftop, and Zion looked up to see a silhouette motioning to his left. About twenty yards away there was an unbarred window.
“This way!” he bellowed, leading the charge to the window. He continued to slash and stab and swing with his tire iron, clearing a path for the group to the building. He managed to reach the window and throw it open, stabbing a corpse to use as a barrier to that Monique and Calvin could boost Brent inside. They hopped in after him.
“Jerry, let’s go!” Zion yelled, but the ex-personal trainer was blind with rage, smacking down corpses in retribution for the death of his best friend. “Jerry!” The horde was closing in fast, and soon there wouldn’t be a path for him to get to the window.
Zion jumped up inside as the barrier he’d made crumpled under five zombies, and watched as Jerry swung around, his eyes widening with the realization that he’d waited too long. The sea of zombies between himself and the window was too thick. The remaining quartet watched with horror as he fought valiantly, but was quickly overtaken by the hungry corpses. Zion clenched his jaw and slammed the window shut with more force than was necessary, drowning out the happy groans of the munching zombies.
He didn’t say a word, only clenched his jaw as he pushed past them further into the building. It looked like it had been a machine shop once upon a time. The big bay doors had a few CNC lathing machines stacked up against them as a barricade, and a stern-looking older man with a shotgun stood at the base. His shoulders were square and his gun aimed at the group. His face betrayed no emotion.
“What in the ever-loving fuck were you doing out on the streets?” he demanded, voice gruff with age.
“Our home was overtaken by a power-tripping military maniac,” Zion replied, keeping his own shoulders back, tire iron firm in his hand. “We resisted, so his lackeys dumped us in the middle of the city as punishment.”
The man let out a deep breath and lowered his gun, scratching the back of his head. “That’ll be Holcomb, I bet,” he said. “As soon as the zombies started slowing down, they rolled on up through town, killing everyone they could find and taking their goods. We saw what they did to a neighboring group a few days back. It wasn’t pretty.” As he spoke, a small cluster of people came out of the shadows, all dressed in the same navy coveralls as the old man. “They don’t just kill people… they got creative.”
“Well it seems like they’ve found their new home,” Monique said bitterly. “Our apartment complex. It’s full of people that can barely fend for themselves. Now those soldiers are there, having exiled those of us who were taking care of the place. God knows what the hell they’re putting our friends through right now.”
“Probably nothing pleasant,” the man replied grimly. “Come on. We don’t have much in the way of supplies, but you can have some water.” He motioned for them to follow, and his group led the newcomers into what looked like it might have been a break room at one point. “Name’s Adam. I’d say it’s a pleasure to meet you all, but these aren’t exactly pleasant times.”
“Well it’s a pleasure on our end,” Calvin piped up. “If we hadn’t have met you, we would’ve been zombie chow.”
“Ain’t that the truth,” Zion added quietly.
Monique reached the table first, where a middle-aged woman handed her a few bottles of water.
“Thank you for your hospitality,” she said with a smile.
Adam narrowed his eyes at Brent. “Why are you limping?” he asked, suspiciously.
Brent scowled.
“Don’t worry, he ain’t bit, he just rolled his ankle,” Monique said quickly, and Zion leaned back against the wall, letting her act the mediator. These people weren’t warriors—they didn’t need intimidation. They were just a scared group trying to survive the apocalypse. He knew his sister’s gentler bedside manner would be more appropriate here.
The woman who’d handed over the water took a step forward. “Have a seat, then,” she offered, pulling out a chair.
“You a doctor?” Brent raised an eyebrow.
She deadpanned. “Former middle school nurse,” she replied flatly, as if challenging him to say something.
“Beggars can’t be choosers,” he muttered, in typical Brent fashion, and she pursed her lips as she sat across from him, lifting his leg none-too-gently into her lap.
Monique couldn’t help but crack a smile as he tried not to grimace. She startled when she realized Calvin was standing a hair away from her elbow, and raised her eyebrows at him. He crossed his arms, jutting out his chin, as if he were a wiry little kid playing at being a bodyguard.
She shook her head and chuckled, taking a seat and unscrewing one of the bottles of water.
Adam’s brow furrowed as Zion walked over to the far side of the room, digging through a pile of discarded scrap metal in the corner without even asking permission.
Monique sighed. “His gang enforcer mentality seems to have kicked back in,” she explained. “We’re originally from California, and he ran with some pretty dangerous people. He’s done shit you can’t even begin to imagine.” She put up a hand. “Don’t worry, he’s reformed.” She paused and chewed her lip for a moment. “At least… he was before our home was taken from us.”
Adam stroked the silver stubble on his chin and rested his shotgun on his shoulder, strolling over to the far corner where Zion was still digging for a weapon.
“Your sister tells us you were in a gang,” he said.
The other man didn’t look up, tossing aside a bent hubcap. “I was an enforcer,” he said with a grunt as he reached for a chunk of rebar, but frowned when he saw it was too short. He straightened up. “I don’t like guns. Too quick, too deadly. I wanted the people I was punishin’ to remember me. I wanted them to live with their busted up fuckin’ limbs and remember never to cross my boys again.
“That said…” He raised his chin. “I’m lookin’ to make an exception this time. On the livin’ part.”
“I can imagine,” Adam replied with a nod. “I wouldn’t be too happy if anyone hurt my family and took my home from me.” He paused. “What’s your weapon of choice?”
“Aluminum bat,” Zion replied immediately. He swung an invisible one for effect. “I love the fuckin’ ping sound it makes when it cracks against a skull.”
The old man couldn’t help but crack a smile at that. “Well, I don’t have a bat, but if you give me an hour or so I think I can whip something up for you.”
“Unless you have a secret exit, we ain’t got nothin’ but time,” Zion said with a shrug.
Adam’s eyes sparkled. “As a matter of fact, I do have a secret exit, but you’re going to want to hang out for a bit.”
His new friend nodded in intrigued appreciation, and extended his hand. The old man shook it with an affirmative smile.
Adam selected a four-foot long by eight-inch wide hunk of metal, and brought it over to a welding table outside of the break room. Zion followed him, watching in quiet interest as he set it down, inspecting it. There were holes along the center of it, as if at one point there had been rods that would slip through it like a shelf.
Adam pulled the short side to the edge of his table and used the torch to bore a hole up into the metal. He pulled a thinner round solid rod from a pile of scrap next to the table and worked it into the still-warm hole, until it was buried securely inside. He welded it together, and then plunged it into a bucket of dirty cooling water to set it.
Zion watched as he wandered over to a nearby tool chest and pulled out a roll of duct tape, wrapping it around the handle he’d just fastened to make sure no jagged edges would irritate the wielder’s hand.
“Sorry, the tape might make the handle a little sticky,” Adam said as he held the makeshift club out to his new friend. “But we work with what we’ve got.”
Zion offered a rare smile. “No worries, I plan on baptizing it in blood soon enough.”
“I’d be happy to add some spikes to it when we have more time,” Adam added, and Zion nodded appreciatively. “But for now,” the older man continued as he wiped his hands on an old rag, “we have a basement exit that leads to a neighboring building. Both of these buildings used to be a multi-level factory. We can create a distraction over here to give you a chance to get outside and head north from over there. We know another group north of the river that are friendly and can help you get back home.”
Zion nodded, eyes sincere. “Thank you,” he said, and put a hand on his new
friend’s shoulder. “We’ll be in touch.”
CHAPTER TEN
Zion peered out of the double doors of the neighboring building. It looked out into a quiet side street, though there were a few zombies milling about. It appeared that whatever the others had done to distract the horde had worked, and these few were definitely preferable to the sea that had been here before.
He burst out of the door and swung his brand new weapon at the nearest corpse, knocking its head nearly from its body. He grinned as the zombie crumpled to the ground, neck lolling at an impossible angle, and waved for the group to follow him as he swung at corpse after corpse, heading north.
They stayed low when they crested the alley, keeping behind busted cars and trying to stay silent so that the horde didn’t come back towards them. A few times Zion felt as if he had to hold his breath, they passed so close to a few groups. As much as he wanted to leap out, weapon blazing, and take out as many of the fuckers as he could, he knew he had a duty to get his group home so they could save it. And they wouldn’t be able to do that by taking unnecessary risks.
There was a little cafe across from the bridge, and Zion peered inside, seeing no movement. He opened the door and waved for the others to follow him so they could regroup before making their way across.
“It’s bumper to bumper out there,” Monique pursed her lips as she looked out at the bridge, arms crossed. “And there are tons of zombies… and those are just the ones we can see.”
“We could swim,” Brent offered the idea as he sat down on one of the barstools. Calvin snaked behind the counter and dug around for a drink, finding a few unopened cans of cola.
“I think it’s a little cold for that, bud,” he said as he set a can in front of the ex-leader. “Here, have a can of sugar and let’s rethink that strategy.”
Brent scowled as he popped the tab on the can, taking a long sip and enjoying the burn on the back of his throat.
“Can we go under the bridge?” Monique asked. “Is there a walkway?”