Our conversation has calmed with the topic of what we each hope to find at the high school. Genny wants to find more people of her age, or at least close. We tease her about boys and about what poor Kent will do if there are any. Alicia hopes to learn what exactly all of this is about or at least some plan to survive it. When they look at me, I don’t know what to say. In my pause a tapping sound comes from the other room; a light drumming of finger tips perhaps on the metal outside door. We smile thinking it is one of the guys checking on us, but being shy about it, fearing what he may see if he just walks in.
When the hinges creak with the slow, steady opening of the door, Alicia winks at us. She walks around her corner of the small divider wall plotting to surprise someone, but when she runs back and pulls us to the floor, her wide eyes and shaking hands tell us it is we who are about to receive a surprise.
Chapter 17
Alicia holds a quivering finger to her full, pursed lips telling us not to ask any questions. There is only one thing left to this world that makes someone shake this hard. We don’t need to ask anything at all.
With our backs pressed to the mirrors, we listen to the shuffling feet sliding along the tiles in the adjoining room. It whispers to us, warning us of the path they are taking. The locker doors clang with their metallic hints as the monsters draw closer to our side of the room. With a serial killer’s torment, each door rings out with its slamming audibly torturing us with each sound that grows closer. We jump with each loud clang, creeping further to the opposite corner of the wall to escape the noise. When the noise stops, the pounding of my heart fills the white noise of my panic.
The sounds stopped short of the wall, giving us no further proof of a path of travel or hints of progression. The whispering shuffles have evaporated. However many there are, they are either standing still or are waiting right behind the wall we are now hiding behind. A thousand pictures of what they are doing and how many are waiting for us parade through my mind.
Genny has her hands clamped over her mouth to prevent the sounds of her sobbing from reaching them. I squeeze her other hand, trying to lend her the strength I am pretending to contain.
Alicia lays flat on the cold tiles. She shimmies along the floor until she can see around the corner before pulling back to us. Sitting back up with her back against the mirror, she stares at the vacant stalls across from us. Her jaw muscles flex with her somber thoughts. I know from her reaction that we are outnumbered and our escape is blocked. We have no way to call for help. If we are going to get out of here, it is up to us to think of something, and fast.
My sister and I share a look over Genny’s quaking body. The determination we share with it rebuilds our bravery layer by shared layer. This is all that is left of our family, sitting here pinned, and we both silently agree that we are not willing to lose each other again.
“Make a noise to draw them to the other corner,” I offer a plan with a breath barely above a whisper. “Maybe it will bring them to that side and we can crawl behind them to the door.”
“There are too many.” Alicia shakes her head, rejecting it.
“How many?” Genny asks, fearing the answer but afraid to not know, too.
“I counted seven,” Alicia says, “but I can’t be sure.”
Genny has started to shut down her emotions. She is swallowing against the fear with hopes to clear her head. She says, “Mom’s idea is the only way then.”
My sister looks at me again. I arch one eyebrow asking if she can think of anything before our time runs out. Her eyes roll and sigh tells me she can’t.
“You ready?” I ask them, but I am also asking myself. Once this starts to play out, there is no detour to the ending, whatever it may end up being.
They nod and we slide as close as we can to the corner that sits near the wall where the door waits. It should be a simple plan. We will draw their attention to the other side and when we see them start to come in, we will slip around the divider wall, staying low to the ground, and crawl to the door. As long as there are no more in the hallway, we will be able to escape to the parking lot where the rest of the group waits. It sounds simple enough in my head, but plans always do.
I crawl to the sink, staying as close to the wall as I can in case something comes around the corner before I am ready to run. I try to block out the thoughts of what we are about to do as my fingers fumble for the brush’s handle that projects from the rim of the sink. It scrapes along the metal as I pull it down to me and it is as loud as a banshee’s wail in so much forced silence. If there were any second thoughts, my folly has stolen that option. The first shuffle heads our way.
The screeching came from the middle sink where we were standing moments ago. The noise not being on any definite side could bring them around both corners. If that happens, they will block us and we will have no way out. My clumsiness may have just killed us.
My stomach is a sour pit of dread as I crawl back to them. Alicia’s eyes are closed with her head resting back against the mirror while we wait to see what happens now. We are inmates sitting on death row with all the anxiety and prayers that it brings.
Please Lord, don’t let my daughter see me die today.
Footsteps, more eager now than the whispering shuffling of before with the proof that something is in here, come our way. The locker doors start slamming again, louder this time in the rush to reach the sound they heard. Their excitement causes them to make short, guttural vocal sounds. It jars my fears, speeding my pulse to hear so many of them so close.
Genny sobs again, no longer needing to hide the sound. She is shaking so hard that my arm trembles with the force from it. I squeeze her hand, pulling her wild eyes towards me.
“Get ready,” I whisper to her. My voice is barely heard over the many excited noises from the other side of the wall that make their way to us.
We will have to move quickly to avoid being seen. They are searching for something now, where as before, they were exploring due to the sounds of our laughter. Their hunting skills are fully awake. They are hunting for us.
When the first leg comes around the other corner, Alicia leads us around our corner. I pray the row of sinks will block us from their sight, allowing us the time to slip away. We press our backs to the back of the wall we just left, and wait for as many as we can to go around, removing them from this space. Monsters don’t play by plans and we hit the first mistake of ours.
Finding nothing on that side of the wall, the first few slip back into an exploring mode. They slow down from the rushing pace they set and block the last few from turning the corner. Standing even with us, we stare at them afraid to even breathe.
The woman who is the closest to us is barely wearing her once fitted suit. Her body has become sunken-in hollows and jutting joints. She is barefoot, exposing the bones of her feet from the layers of damage the snow and ice have done to them. Her skirt hangs low on her hips with the wide, elastic band no longer needed to help hold it where a large belly once stretched it holding the new life within her safe. Her thighs are caked with the blood from her miscarriage. She was pregnant when she became what she is now and her body expelled the life that was inside her, staining her flesh with its departure.
Next to her is another woman that was not as well-dressed when her life ended. Her basic blue jeans are discolored in various patterns at various spots. There is mud and dirt adhered to her calves as if she waded through something at one time. Her tennis shoes are a ruin from the dragging and the weather. Her basic grey tee shirt has fared no better. Its cotton collar is stretched and hangs loosely around her neck. The flesh of one arm is gone. It’s a weaving of tendons and muscles with congealed thick, black blood that splatters to the white tiles. The blood no longer flows through her veins. It is only as useful as oil is to a car, keeping the moving parts lubed and moving. It falls from her just as dark and thick.
The scent of their decaying bodies surrounds us, giving a weight to the air as if I could taste it on my tongu
e. We are panting with fear and the attempts to overcome the smell of their putrid decomposition. We might as well be trying to inhale acid with how it burns our lungs. My stomach rolls with it, bringing tart bile to my tongue.
They will turn soon and see us. The first few may come around my corner any moment, encircling us. We are waiting, letting precious seconds be stolen from us with the terror that holds us imprisoned, unable to move or breathe. Unless one of us moves, the spell will not be broken.
Please Lord, don’t let my daughter see me die today.
Pitching my body slowly forward, I start to crawl through the room that grows in length before me. I spare a quick glance over my shoulder, hoping that Genny will follow me. I hope her fear of being left alone will carry her forward unlike her fear of the monsters that keep her a prisoner. I crawl on my knees and forearms, doing my best to keep low to the ground. Genny follows my example, scrambling after me and leaving Alicia to follow.
We pass bench after bench as they are searching the stalls. The metal rings protest the sharp sliding along the metal poles of the showers. I can hear the vinyl curtains as they are shoved aside or being completely ripped apart. The howls of their anger are growing with each empty stall that they discover. With the red door looming before me, I can almost touch our salvation with my fingers.
“Elizabeth!” Flipping my head around to see behind me with my name screamed from my sister, I see that our time has run out. The woman in what’s left of the suit is heading right for us.
With no reason left to crawl, I stand, pulling Genny up with me, and force her to run the last few inches to the door. Alicia’s scream has brought all of them around the wall. A collection of decrepit bodies enrage at our sight, screaming out in a battle cry from Hell for our deaths. The freezing weather has done its destruction to their exposed bodies. It adds extra monstrosities to the creatures that chase us. Being starved for so long fuels them with intense rage and eagerness to destroy everything they can. Right now, it’s us that they want to feed from. Their mouths crave our bodies to taste. It’s our flesh for which their fingers hook with hopes of raking chunks from, spilling the hot blood that is the nectar of life for them. A room that seemed so long when we were crawling now shrinks rapidly as they run towards us.
I continue to shove Genny forward with Alicia holding onto my hand. Touching one another, we keep our bond and refuse to be separated, but it slows us, making us clumsy. Genny slips on the black ooze-like substance one of them has left behind, smearing the drops into a long streak on the tiled floor. Refusing to place her behind me, I stop to steady her shaking body and we lose the fragment of the space we held between them.
The suited woman lunges for Alicia, jerking her backwards and my arm with her. My sister’s screams puncture my sanity and I’m paralyzed watching them attack her. Their hands rip through her clothing, pulling red, dripping pieces from her body like a summer’s ripe watermelon. Mouths gnaw at her neck, lacerating her veins. Her blood pumps and pours from the wounds, arching outwards, showering her with her death. The tiles at her feet become pools of crimsons and bright reds. It spreads from her like jars of broken jam. The smallest of them drops to those tiles, licking and sucking the floor. He rubs his face into it as if he were a cat, stroking his fur.
I am locked and deaf to my surroundings. I can only see my sister being destroyed so ferociously that their acts support her still standing body when her knees fall out from under her. Her mouth is open with her screams, but I can’t hear her. She stares at me, but the light is fading from her teal-green eyes. We still clutch each other’s hand, but I can feel her grasp growing weaker.
I want to hold on to her, disproving what I am seeing, refusing to let her go now that I have found her. Genny is screaming my name. The sounds travel down a long tunnel, expanding the syllables. Alicia’s fingers slide from my hand when she falls to the ground like a broken angel. All that keeps me from following her down is my daughter’s screams. With a “pop”, time catches up to me as my sister fades from view amid a disarray of carnage and growling forms. One shaky step at a time, I walk backwards to my name and shut the door behind me. My older sister, Alicia Helen Clark, is dead.
“We have to go!” Genny is pulling on me to move.
I can already hear their screams starting from the other side of the door. They have already destroyed Alicia and are hungry for more. There will be no running from them, not now. You can’t outrun death.
Images of Alicia and myself at different times of our lives play like a silent movie in my mind. Memories of us flow past like a silent slide show of heart-touching moments. I watch us running by the beach, chasing the waves that we were both too small and too scared to swim. I watched her soar past me on the swings, her brown hair flowing in the wind behind her as she launches into the air, always being the brave one. Our laughter at “borrowing” our parent’s car for late night food runs when they are asleep. Weddings, separations, laughter, tears, it all flashes before me like an invitation to which I have already sent my RSVP. Hands test the door that I am pushing. There will be no running today.
“Mom!” Genny is screaming for me as she side-steps down the hallway. Something on my face slows her.
“What is the plan?” My voice is hoarse and my eyes sting with unshed tears.
“No. No, we can do this. Mom, please…” Her tears spill forth with the same flurry as her words.
“What is the plan?” I ask her again, this time with more conviction. Fingertips tap on the door behind me.
“Get out. My safety first, only then help others. Think with your head, not your heart.” Her voice cracks with each word. The sentences are paused with her unsteady breathing.
“The notebooks?” I prod her, helping her to focus and remember. Nails claw at the paint, unable to fully press the door open yet with my weight blocking them.
“Use the notebooks to figure out what stores have been looted and which ones have not. Keep track of where people have set up to avoid them. Use the side roads. Never the main ones.” She recites the words we have practiced knowing that this time it is not just a rehearsal.
“You’ll be fine. You’ll be brave. Keep close to Peyton. Find that high school and you live. You survive this.” The first real push comes and I stumble before reapplying pressure.
“You can’t leave me! I can’t do this alone…” She has already begun to take small steps backwards, still praying I will join her. Her face begs me to run with her, attempting to call my bluff, but I’m not bluffing. There are too many of them for us to both run and survive. I can buy my daughter the time she needs to make it.
The door bounces again, and I know this is what I have to do, because the truth is, I can’t do it without her.
“Yes, you can. Listen to me.” I talk over her moan of refusal. “Listen! Nothing is how it used to be. I don’t know if it ever will be again. You will have to do things now that you don’t want to do. Some things will rip your heart right out, Genny girl. It won’t make you a bad person. It just makes you a survivor. You remember that,” I tell her, fighting against the door. As their eagerness grows, so does their strength. “Not all choices are easy anymore, but we have to make them. Just like what you are going to do now. You are going to run. Stick to the plan. You have to survive. You have to survive for me and for your aunt. You have to keep going to wherever this takes you. Don’t you ever give up, Genny. Don’t you ever give up on life.”
Each sobbing step leads her further away from me. I fight back my tears. Her last sight of me will not be of me sobbing and scared, but of a strong woman that believes in her. I know this moment will haunt her, but she won’t be haunted by my weakness. She’ll be haunted by my love.
The door presses harder against my back, thumping me with a sudden shove.
“Go, Genny. Go! I love you. Now run. Run, Genny girl! You run!” I shout at her, commanding her to move before it’s too late. Genny breaks down in sorrow, but my voice finally reaches her and she tur
ns from me to run.
She runs from the sight of what is inevitable. She runs from her shame of living another day while I stay behind. She runs from the pain of losing her family. She runs. My little girl runs away.
I slide down to the floor, wedging my knees up to provide better traction to fight against their strength and the desperation to be free from that room. Their savage nature that craves our flesh forces them to beat against the metal with no concern for themselves.
A piece of paper crinkles in my pocket and reminds me of the treasure I hold. Pulling out the purple and pink card, I open it to stare at her smiling face. Genny’s grinning face of innocence with the joys of wonder that each day brought to her at that age smiles up at me. I am reminded of Becky and I wonder if somewhere a mother is staring at a similar photo of a little girl that never was able to grow up. A little girl who was never returned to her.
Happy Mofers Day”, it tells me. Today is my Mother’s Day. Today is the day I do what all mothers know they would do for their children. Happy Mofers Day.
Staring at the paper, I remember an inscription of a blood-baptized angel with sad pale eyes and crumbling stone wings.
Stand not before me and weep. Let not your wails of mourning fill the air around me. For from this life’s suffering I am free. Soon, all will join me and we will rejoice in our victory.
Clutching the card to my chest, I stand, stepping away from the door and letting what will be, will be.
Please Lord, don’t let my daughter see me die today.
Chapter 18
I explode through the door, almost falling from the ice on the cement. Mr. Peyton is standing by our car with the rest of the group. Mrs. Ginjer stands when seeing me and she knows that something is wrong. She knows that three went in, but only I am coming out. Her fear-filled posture turns the rest towards me with slow, hesitant movements.
The Risen Series | Book 3 | Remnants Page 14