Dead Men (and Women) Walking Page 9

  "Hungry," she said in hoarse voice. "Starving." Slowly she looked up at Mack.

  "You...ate...?" He could barely catch his breath. His stomach twisted inside with the rancid smell of the vomit seeping into his nostrils.

  Her arm moved like lightning. The cue ball flew forward. Mack had little time to react. His hands rushed to cover his face as he dropped to the hard floor. A window behind shattered, the sharp sound screeched in his ears as large unbroken chunks dropped from the frame and hit the marble floor.

  This bitch was fucking crazy.

  She sauntered toward him, swinging her arms lazily at her side.

  Mack picked himself off the cold marble floor, black mirrored glass sparked the outside light into his eyes, forcing him to squint.

  Through blurred sight, he saw people outside, a large group. At least twenty, a few he recognized.

  They all stared at him, all frowning. Their eyes were dead, dull orbs. He bumped something, and the woman screamed in his ear. The shock punched him sideways, his hands automatically covered the side of his face.

  Crunching glass got his attention. They were coming in through the empty window frame. Some seemed not sure of their steps and moved slowly forward, while others were very sure. They grimaced as if they saw something so disgusting, it made their insides boil.

  Mack didn't want to admit it to himself, but he knew he was facing an army of the infected, yet, they'd gone past the virus and evolved into something more. Something hungry.

  A small group advanced first, as more gathered at the broken window; faces bloodlessly white, eyes bloodshot and some were blood-red from burst capillaries or shattered veins.

  The fastest amongst them wore a black as coal suit, his hair was neatly styled and he wore a nametag with his picture on the corner. This man was smiling.

  The woman hissed in Mack's face. Mack, his full attention on the man advancing, shoved her aside, knocking her to the floor.

  The black suited man was closing in, drawing nearer in slow even steps. He seemed to be studying Mack with intense curiosity; his eyes often squinting in thought or mistrust.

  The woman stood, her body bent at one side. Blood ran from the corner of her mouth. She lunged at Mack, her fingers ripped into his neck. She was strong and the struggle hard. Her fingernails dug under his skin, pulled at the loose flesh. Pain jolted through his body; his head jerked involuntary. She leaned in as if to bite him, but he managed to get his forearm between her face and his.

  Stretching, his hand grabbed a fist full of dirty, matted hair. He yanked her head back, raised his fist to end her now, when her eyes caught his attention. They weren't dead eyes like the others -- they held a sparkle only the living had. A certain sheen.

  He released her and she hit the floor hard. Instantly, the woman struggled to her feet. She stood fully erect within seconds. She smiled; her tongue rolled over her broken teeth.

  The front of her head exploded.

  A small object bounced off his cheek. The ripped forehead skin hung down over her eyes. The bloodstained skull was burned, the blood dried and brown; a fragment of bone lay on his shoe. Not a single drop of blood escaped from the hole.

  The woman stood, perfectly balanced until her body sagged and crumpled to the floor. Behind her stood the man wearing the black suit and clasped in his hand was a black bulky gun of a type Mack had never seen before.

  "She failed," the man said. He motioned, pointing the gun over his shoulder. "They all failed." He frowned as if suddenly in thought. "Many in fact. Too many, except you." His eyes locked on Mack. "Why not?"

  The army of the infected advanced, only a few steps behind the man in the suit. Mack back stepped. The dead stepped around the man as if he were a pillar or other obstacle.

  "They don't sense me," the man said as if he's just read Mack's mind. "Pheromones." He smiled. "We can control them."

  Switching his attention to the dead, Mack walked backward as fast as he could; keeping a safe distance between them and him. His back hit the cold metal elevator doors. Automatically his hands found the button.

  "Wasn't meant to get airborne," the man said. "Everything wants to live. It evolved, just like them. But on you, it worked. It worked beautifully." He shook his head slowly. "It's a pity they're hungry. There are many questions you could help answer."

  The elevator pinged and the doors swished open.

  "Stop them and I'll give you every answer you want." Mack stepped into the elevator. He stared at the man in the black suit. "Well?" He pushed the button marked R.

  "I'm sorry. Can't stop hunger, never could." He raised the gun.

  One of the dead broke into a run; it brushed past the black suited man in its haste. Almost at the elevator, the dead man lunged at Mack, he jumped, sailed though the air like a perfect football tackle and dived forward.

  The gun fired.

  The body jerked from the impact, and hit the floor, across the elevator's boundary. Dark blood, almost black overflowed his lips and rolled down his chin, dripping to the carpet creating a small puddle near Mack's feet. The elevator doors tried to shut, but the corpse blocked them. They closed against his waist and jerked open.

  The rest came fast now, as if suddenly realizing they could run. For them, the smell of his blood or pheromones or whatever would be strong to the hungry. To them it meant food. And dinner was trying to escape.

  The elevator pinged.

  Shit!

  Mack bent down and tried to push the body out. It was incredibly heavy and the doors tried to close a second time; striking his shoulders painfully, they jumped open again. Fuck it! He grabbed the body by the head and pulled it inside. The group lunged at him as the doors slid shut. This time they locked into place.

  He heard shots pound the door; luckily, not a single bullet punched through and the elevator slowly started to rise. His eyes went to the lighted floor numbers above the door. Soft elevator music played in the background.

  It stopped on the thirty-eighth floor. A few stops short of the roof. Mack moved to the back of the elevator, and watched as the doors open. His hands balled into fists.

  Mack had gone into survival mode. His brain switched from wanting to meet someone to help stop the loneliness, to a fight to get away, out of the city -- meet no one and be safe.

  He had the feeling he'd just stepped into a whole world of trouble...or the truth. Both of them sucked.

  The elevator doors slid open.

  No one stood waiting. Instead, the opened doors revealed a glass wall, behind which was what looked like a science lab back during his school days; Bunsen burners, steel sinks, three rows of tables, computers on ever one and cables connected to small cylinder objects.

  The elevator doors closed. Mack quickly pushed the door open button. He bent down grabbed the corpse and dragged it half out of the elevator as a doorstopper.

  The elevator next to his one was on the ninth floor and not moving. He figured it was safe to assume they weren't following.

  He looked down the hallway and seeing no one, he entered the lab. His ears strained for any sound and he walked as quietly as possible. Someone or something had pushed the elevator button. Otherwise why would it have stopped on this floor, and none others?

  The lab was cold; shivers ran up and down his spine as he slowly walked past each table. Computers were running formulas, thousands of numbers rolled up the screens. One computer had frozen with a message box on the screen, Disallowed request, it read. He moved the pointer to the OK button and clicked it. Numbers raced up the screen, mixed with Roman and Latin style letters. Mack had no idea what any of it meant.

  Damn it was cold in here.

  Something bumped the wall. A short gasp followed.

  He spun a hundred and eighty degrees and his eyes fell on a small closet he hadn't noticed before. Slowly he approached it.

  His hand fell on the cold small knob and twisted. He pulled the door open and a broom handle was thrust in his face. There was little strength behin
d the action. He caught it inches from his left eye and yanked it free of the hands wielding it.

  He stepped back. No light reached inside the closet. He could barely see a few white coats and a couple of suit jackets hanging on a rack. The closet was deeper than it appeared from the outside.

  "Whoever you are, come out. I won't hurt you." He stared in the shadowed closet. He thought he could see a shape crouched down, trying to hide. "I can see you, so come on. Hiding there isn't good. They are in the building now."

  The person whimpered at that comment.

  "I promise, I won't hurt you."

  The shape didn't move.

  "Fine. Have it your way. I'm out of here before those dead fuckers reach this floor." He turned. "They're hungry, you know?" Still no reaction. Screw it. He headed for the door again and stopped.

  Whoever it was, was just scared. He shouldn't be angry. Mack decided to try one more time.

  "Last chance," he said, keeping his voice even.

  The shape moved. "Are you leaving this place?" a quiet voice asked.

  "Gonna try."

  The shape stood up and stepped out of the closet. A kid stood in the light.

  "Jesus," Mack muttered.

  "Angie," the girl said. "I'm eight."

  "I'm Mack. Do you understand what's happened?" The girl nodded.

  "A virus was released," he started.

  "Not a virus," the girl butted in. She shook her head. "It was a serum," she pronounced it Sir-Umm. "Daddy said it would help hundreds of thousands of people." She scrunched up her face in thought, struggling to remember. "Daddy said it was a fountain of...something."

  Mack could see her struggling to remember. He was about to say it didn't matter, when she suddenly shouted, "Youth! Fountain of youth. It keeps everybody young forever."

  "Fountain of Youth, huh?" More like the fountain of the undead, he thought but did not say. "We should go," he said.

  The girl didn't move. Slowly, her head tilted and she stared at the floor.

  "Come on," he encouraged.

  "This is because of my daddy, isn't it?"

  Mack sighed. "Angie," he said softly. Uneasiness filled his chest. They were coming. He could feel it. It was like a sixth sense, an image in his head, slightly visible against his sight. He saw rising numbers and suddenly realized this was the first floor or main floor, everyone came here, so naturally the elevator stopped. It was part of the program. "I'm way past blaming anyone for this mess. I just want to get out of here and now. They're coming."

  She nodded and held out her hand. He took her small hand in his and held it firmly and headed for the elevator.

  The door banged against the dead guy. He glanced at the elevator next to his. Quickly rising white lights above the door grabbed his attention.

  "Oh fuck." He picked up the kid, surprised at how light she was and the fact she didn't seem to mind and fight against him. She knew the situation, knew what was going on.

  He ran along the hallway, hoping to God there was a stairway at the end of it. There was. He pushed open the door, hard and fast as the ping of the elevator announced their arrival. The stairwell door hit something on the other side, knocked it out of the way.

  Driven back, the man in the black suit lost his footing, missed the lower step and tumbled down. He bounced once on his back and hit the lower landing, headfirst. His neck twisted at a strange angle and the snap of bone was loud and sharp.

  "Daddy!" the girl cried out.

  "He was lost, sweetie," Mack said. He was relieved when she seemed to understand and hugged his neck tighter.

  He closed the door softly behind him. As it shut he caught a glimpse of them. At least fifteen piled out of the elevator and spread through the hallway. Most went into the lab. Mack heard crashing and shattering glass. He shook his head as the door finally shut, at least none of them were headed this way.

  He heard the pounding of feet on lower level stairs. That's why they didn't come this way...others were.

  "We can't go down," he said more to himself than the girl gripping his neck tightly. "Gonna have to loosen up a bit there, Angie-sweetie. I gotta breathe."

  "Please go," she begged, keeping the grip tight.

  It isn't that bad, Mack figured, he could handle the tight hold for now and turned to the steps rising up. He had no idea what he was going to do once he reached the roof but the sound of feet below killed any thoughts of later. Now was what was important and he raced up the facing flight and the next two.

  Mack was breathing hard when he reached the door to the roof. Angie's grip had tightened. "Loosen up," he ordered her. She did slightly and he pushed down the bar on the door.

  Everything looked so different from up here. Slowly he walked to the edge. On all sides he saw burning buildings off in the distance, destroyed houses and offices, windows smashed, cars overturned.

  Some of the truly dead lay on yards and in cars sweltering as they rotted. It wasn't so bad this high up, away from it all.

  The city gates were somewhere out there, yet all he could see was destruction. The virus had truly gone airborne. There was nothing as far as he could see. Gray billows of smoke rose to the sky in all directions.

  Memories flashed like images against the desolation of the city he had known his entire life: Him talking to a man in the black suit standing at his front door; a salesman: "It completely cleans the water system, attach it to the bottom of your tap and enjoy clean water...forever." He'd answered, "Forever is a long time." The salesman nodded. "And it's free."; his son in bed, pale faced; Helen crying, hugging her son, trying to awaken him from eternal sleep; Mack standing over the bed, helpless; Helen in the kitchen, yelling at him: "Do something!" A plate flying past his head, smashing against the kitchen door: "You worthless piece of shit!" Helen crying; Helen dead; the city in panic; riots, fires, death; the army called in -- police overwhelmed; martial law enacted and enforced; citizens dropping dead in yards, cars, streets; fleers shot on sight; a gate erected; thousands locked in the city; nights filled with gunfire; Mack staring at a blank television waiting for some kind of news. Nothing. Then one night all was silent and the next day he had walked.

  "Mack?"

  I love you, Helen.

  "Maaaccccckkk."

  The girl's voice destroyed the image of his memories, each like windows on a computer, suddenly closed as if someone had pressed the X button without his consent.

  "Maaackkk," she sang. "Come baacckkkk, Maaaaaack."

  He stared at the scenery, not completely sure the images had gone yet. The girl's singing forced him to the here and now. It wasn't easy, not with his breath being chocked from him...

  What?

  Mack gagged, snapped back to reality. Angie had her arms tightly around the back of his neck and her knee against his Adam's apple and the little eight-year-old girl pulled hard. He strained against her weight; Angie was practically hanging off his neck, her face twisted with the exertion. Her young muscles burning every ounce of strength they possessed.

  Mack's vision blurred.

  Angie's twisted face smiled.

  Angie...closet...Mack...streets...Angie...no...food...Mack hungry...Angie the same. Angie...Angie...Angie. How the fuck was she still alive?

  Her eyes sparkled with eight years old innocence. They sparkled, absolutely fucking sparkled with...hunger, as she opened her mouth.

  Fear gripped Mack like never before. He watched her lean toward him, but her knees blocked any advance. His energy seeped into oblivion with each passing second. He tried to push her off him, but her interlocked fingers held firm.

  The dead were coming and it didn't matter, he was about to join them. It hadn't taken long to search the floor and make their way up her here. Like before, he saw...steps, boots, sneakers and dress shoes.

  Mack's vision blotched at the side like ink blots on paper that spread out in a large mess. His legs trembled, knees buckled and like a dead weight, he dropped to the gravel-coated rooftop.

  T
he jolt knocked Angie's knee from his neck. Air, tasting like smoke and burnt meat, exploded into his lungs. He grabbed her skinny arms and raised them over his head. Angie shrieked. The innocent girl routine -- almost worked.

  Roughly, he shoved her away from him. The rooftop edge had a tiny barrier, a two bar railing, her feet tripped against it and she fell screaming. Her arms flapped, looking, begging for something to grip. Mack stepped away.

  He looked to the door. There was no time to go down and nowhere to hide. At the side of the door, he spied a fire hose of the type used for the top floors of a building that the fire brigade couldn't reach within seconds.

  Mack rushed to it. In his head, he saw the rooftop door viewed from the bottom of the steps inside.

  Christ, he had no time for thought. No time to change his mind, think of another way. In movies, under controlled conditions, this stunt always worked. He prayed it was the same in reality.

  Grabbing the nozzle, he yanked a yard of hose free. It piled at his feet.

  The door burst open.

  He ran to the edge at the same time wrapping it around his waist. There was no time to secure the thick hose, Mack had to hold and hope.

  The undead, mouths covered in blood, and one wearing a black suit jacket a size or two too small, stared at the hose a moment then looked up at Mack. They smiled.

  He jumped.

  Breakneck speed.

  Air rushed around him. Windows flashed by at incredible speed. He fell for only a couple of seconds before the hose stopped with a forceful jolt and shot him toward a blackened window.

  He braced for the impact.

  He struck it hard, and bounced off.

  Suddenly he was falling again. Then jolted to a stop. He looked up and figured the hose reel had come free. It had to be caught against the railing. He looked down. He was five or six floors from the ground. A little to the left was a car; next to it lay Angie's crumpled body.

  Mack put his feet against the window and pushed away, praying the hose reel would hold. If he got enough of a swing, there might just be enough force to break the window. Big time pain was headed his way.