Zombie Road VI: Highway to Heartache

by David A. Simpson

  More hands grabbed at his legs and he rolled away, more of the spider creatures shuffled out of the dark. More came scuttling through the holes in the walls. He was being swarmed, all of them following the sounds of his guns. They bobbed and weaved in their ungainly gaits and their heads were hidden, sometimes by two or three upper torsos sewn together. Some of them even had their heads banded as one. A three faced monster that saw in all directions.

  A small one made from toddlers stumbled into him and tried to bite through his leathers with their rotting milk teeth. He kicked it aside and sent more bullets into another six-legged monstrosity tottering towards him. It had been created from powerfully built men, bulging muscles now sagging and flappy, but still huge and tall and hungry. Hands the size of his head reached for him as he leaped over another baby spider thing. He was missing head shots more often than he was hitting them, it wasn’t easy running and dodging and firing at stumbling targets. He couldn’t fight them with blades, too many arms reaching for him. Too many fingers ripping at his face trying to pull him close. Jessie ran for the outside wall and sent bullets through one of the painted over windows, sending a tumble of glass to the street below.

  The high-rise had balconies. Starting the next story up, where office space gave way to condo’s and apartments, they circled the building and were on every level all the way to the top. He holstered his guns, shouldered through the remaining jags of glass and jumped, hands reaching for the bottom of the railing above. He caught it and dangled, watched as the giant thing with half its bodies still reaching for him overbalanced and plunged downward to land with a ripping splat as it was impaled by a parking meter. Part of it still struggled to move, to get up and go after the tantalizing smell of fresh blood. More of them tried to get to him, hands and arms tearing at each other, battling to get to the front, to reach out and pull him back in. Jessie hung forty feet above the sidewalk and watched them in revolting fascination, seeing them clearly in the light. They groaned and grabbed at the air in front of him, arms sewn together with strong fishing line. Some faces were spray painted, some had Halloween masks stitched in place. Garish clowns or rubber faced demons. He heard gasps and shushing noises above him and focused back on why he was here, dangling from a balcony with multi limbed creatures want to rip into him.

  Scarlet.

  A chair bounced off the railing, nearly hitting him. More debris came flying at him; a heavy planter, a barstool, a tiffany lamp. It was coming from the balconies above. Dirty, grim faces contorted in rage and fear were throwing anything and everything at him, trying to dislodge him. Jessie held on with one hand, pulled a Glock with the other and sent lead at them, spraying all the balconies he could see from his angle. Screams and shouts. Some in fear and surprise, some in pain when the bullets hit home. He emptied the mag, holstered it and pulled himself up, tossing a leg over the railing and finally standing on solid ground again.

  “Give her back!” he roared up at them. “Give her back and we’ll leave! If you hurt her, I’ll kill you all!”

  “You’ll never find her. You cheated!” someone yelled back “You’ve got guns!”

  Jessie’s fingers flew as he dropped mags, reloaded and sent a single round through the floor of the balcony where he thought the voice came from. His grim snarl turned into a grim smile when he heard the smack of lead puncturing flesh and a grunt of pain. He hopped up on the railing and leaped for the next balcony some ten feet above and pulled himself up. The flying debris coming at him had stopped, the people were running back inside in a panic. No one had ever made it past the zombie spiders. No one had ever tried to jump from balcony to balcony. They weren’t prepared. He was cheating. They didn’t know what to do.

  Jessie kicked in the sliding glass door and stomped in to the apartment. He was angry before. Now he was livid. He could tell it wasn’t lived in, it had that closed up, musty smell. He ran for the door, out into the hall and saw the stairwell door swinging shut at the far end. Jessie sprinted for it and heard the clamor of a hundred feet running upwards. They were panicking, fleeing in fear and all he had to do was follow. They would take him to their hideout. To their leader. To Scarlet. He calmed himself. All he had to do was follow, not try to kill them all. He could do that later.

  His mind raced as he darted up after them, trying to put the crazy pieces together. They thought this was a game, they had accused him of cheating. He hadn’t heard a single shot fired at him so it was probably safe to assume they didn’t have guns. They had built those Frankenzombies as a deterrent. To keep people out. The whole block had been completely surrounded by the undead, drawn to the last of the living in the city so there must be warring factions. Groups battling over limited resources. This high-rise building against one of others within the block, connected by skywalks or the below ground parking garages.

  They were splitting off, he heard doors slamming above him. Some kept going higher, some escaped to different floors. He saw a blood trail going up the stairs on the next floor and came up behind a man limping and bleeding badly. One of his bullets had found a home.

  “Where is she?” he growled as he grabbed him from behind and slammed him against the railing, bending him over it backward.

  He was dressed in a suit and tie, business attire, but had no weapons. Not even a sharp stick. They thought they were safe. He was filthy and reeked of body odor, urine, splashed on cologne and greasy hair. They had raided every apartment, had taken the finest things and the finest clothes, but it was apparent by the smell that they didn’t have water to spare. None to wash with or bathe in. Jessie’s nose caught it all and he tried to breathe through his mouth. From the scents, they must filter their urine and use it to wash. Maybe even drink. He nearly gagged from being so close and didn’t know which was worse: the smell of filth or the smell of too much after shave trying to mask it.

  The man tried to struggle but Jessies grip was iron. His fingers found the bullet hole. He slipped a thumb in and ground it against the broken bone. The scream was shrill, filled the stairwell and ended with a gasping sob.

  “Where is she?” he asked again, his jagged face inches from the mans, his mouth a snarl, his eyes penetrating and burning with rage.

  “Top floor.” The man nearly yelled. “Top floor! Please…”

  His breath was fetid and smelled of piss, too. They brushed their teeth with it. Jessie almost snapped his back and sent him tumbling over the rail but relinquished his grip. Pulled his thumb out of the hole.

  “Just go up the stairs. All the way to the top.” the man panted against the pain. “Just follow the stairs. She’s in the hub. In the Throne Room.”

  Jessie let him go and took off. It was a long way to the top, another twenty or thirty floors. He paced himself, slowing down his sprint. That would only exhaust him and once he got there, he’d still have to find her. Still have to fight his way through the mob of filthy, stinking condo dwellers. He should have asked the man about weapons. About guns. They probably had at least one or two, surely somebody in the building had a few in their apartment before the fall. He wasn’t worried, he had four pistols, two more reloads for each, his blades and knuckle dusters. It was enough to wade through this sorry lot of city dwelling freaks.

  Jessie climbed.

  The August heat was oppressive in the closed off space and the reek of dirty humans filled his nose. His leathers were hot, he was sweating and breathing hard by the time he reached the twentieth. He hadn’t caught up with anyone else, yet. He was enhanced, he was running up the stairs and he knew he was faster than them. The man he’d questioned had seemed frail and underfed. He paused to catch his breath, to slow his breathing, on the thirtieth floor landing. They had all disappeared, a few on each floor until he was alone. Cockroaches scurrying away from the light. It was darker here, they had painted over the windows for the last few floors. Maybe to keep the heat out if this was where they lived. Without air conditioning, he supposed every little bit helped.

  He made himself s
top and get his head right. He wouldn’t be any good to her if he burst through the door like a raging bull that couldn’t even breathe. He willed his thumping heart to slow, his breathing to ease. He wiped at his sweat slicked forehead, pushed the dripping hair out of his eyes and looked upward. One more floor. Had the guy told him the truth? It had made sense but now he was starting to second guess. He could barely see in the gloom, dim light from below only silhouetted the dark shadows and black spaces. Jessie pulled his guns and started his uphill climb again.

  A gate slammed shut behind him and he whirled, pistols up, but there was nothing to shoot. A steel roll up door, a security shutter from one of the shops, had slid across the landing he had just left, blocking off his downward escape. He didn’t waste time grabbing and shaking it. They wouldn’t bother closing it if they didn’t have a way of locking it. He ran up the last flight, sprinted with all his speed, trying to get past the trap they were springing.

  He lowered a shoulder and slammed into the door, expecting it to be locked, and nearly lost his balance when it flew open and banged against the wall. The room was filled with light streaming through the windows that nearly blinding. The door bounced and slammed shut and he heard the steel bars of more roll up shutters slide into place behind him. He was in a large cage built from conduit and steel and before him was a large open room that had the walls knocked out in most of the areas. There was a dry swimming pool and a couple of empty hot tubs. It was the gym and recreation area for the luxury apartments. The spa and retreat for the most discerning with exquisite tastes. Or it had been at one time. Now it was a strange throne room of sorts: the hub the smelly man had called it. Jessie’s nostrils flared in disgust and anger. He should have tossed the man in the suit over the rail. Like a fool, he had run right into a trap. He still couldn’t wrap his head around what this was all about. Who the hell had time to think up all the stupid things they had done with the building? Why hadn’t they devoted all that effort into finding a way out instead of turning it into a video game with mazes and traps and monsters and boss fights?

  There were a hundred people, maybe more, staring at him from the “throne room”. They were all in suits or dresses. Neckties and necklaces. Thousand-dollar shoes on unwashed feet. White collars nearly black from grimy necks. Vests and walking sticks. Diamond studs in ears clogged with wax. They looked like well-dressed homeless or refugees from some third world war zone. He recognized a few of the faces from the balconies and they weren’t out of breath. They were here waiting on him. They hadn’t taken the stairs all the way up, they had some sort of elevator system. They were on both sides of the pool, all turned toward him and staring. At the far end, seated on a red velvet throne that looked like a modified easy chair, a clean-shaven man sat cross legged in a power suit. The pool was empty, bone dry, and at the deep end was a small cage surrounded by the hungry dead. Scarlet stood in the center of it, rotting arms stretching toward her from all sides, thrusting against the bars, dirty fingers scant millimeters away. Front, back and all sides. Filthy, gore crusted hands reached for her, for the blood trickling from her nose and down her lips.

  Dripping from her chin.

  She smiled as he approached the bars of his own cage, so close but so far away. A dirty hand found a grip on her when she moved, tried to pull her closer and she managed to twist away, to avoid the searching fingers from the other side. She centered herself in the cage again and remained out of their clutches. She watched him calmly, her eyes finding his and giving him peace.

  They thought they had her trapped.

  They thought they held all the cards.

  They didn’t know who they were dealing with.

  She could smash all of their undead heads with her bare fists. She would surprise all the watchers around the pool: she would kill the mob, spring out of the deep end and start tossing them in. All Jessie had to do was open his bars and help her. He wondered why she was waiting, none of the people were armed and she usually didn’t have much patience. Jessie holstered his guns, a little unnerved at the silence of the room, at the quiet stares from the well dressed but unwashed group gathered for the show. There was a shift in the undead as one lunged for her again and he saw.

  He saw why she hadn’t killed everybody in the room and was sitting on the throne cleaning her nails waiting for him to arrive. Her feet were shackled to the floor. Her hands were in a prisoner’s belt, handcuffed to a thick leather strap around her waist. She couldn’t fight back. All she could do is stand stock still, barely out of their reach, barely out of their pulling and tugging grasp. Out of their hungry teeth. He could see remnants of clothes, bits of flesh and bones on the floor. Others who had stood in the cage. Others who stood in the same spot as Scarlet for hours, maybe days. They had stood until they couldn’t. Until they fell from exhaustion or leaned a little too far one way or the other. Until grasping hands finally found a grip and pulled with inhuman strength. Dead black eyes stared as blood encrusted fingernails and foul broken teeth had torn into them. Currency had changed hands to cheers or groans from the watchers of the spectacle. Winners and losers of the betting pool.

  Jessie tried to keep cool. Tried to channel some of her aloofness. He scanned the room, saw how the cage was raised and lowered with a block and tackle. How the latches holding the floor in place were already released. He saw the man standing by, the lifting chains gripped tightly in hand, ready to do as he was told. A piece of rope attached to his belt was looped through the chain so even if Jessie could kill him, the cage would be raised as he fell. He thought of a hundred different scenarios, played them all out in a flash. They all ended up with Scarlet being torn apart before he could break his way through the bars and he didn’t have enough ammo to kill everyone. In the end he closed his eyes, closed his chakras then simply stood in silence, waiting to see what they wanted.

  They stared at him as he quietly assessed the room and evaluated then discarded plans to kill them all. The only noise was the strange, whispered cries from the dehydrated vocal cords of the undead. All eyes were on him, the boy with the hair curling around his collar, his leathers battle scarred and well worn, the metal plates dented and tooth marked. Zombie blood and gore spattered his gnarled face, covered his hands and arms. Low slung guns hung from his hips and his eyes blazed at them, a shining, blue light from the shadows of the cage. He didn’t look afraid. He didn’t look trapped. He had made it through all their defenses except this last one and most of them knew that was because of the girl, not because he couldn’t. The stories had been true. The radio hadn’t lied. The Road Angel was just as deadly as they said.

  Jessie waited. His eyes darted, his mind formed and rejected idea after idea but on the outside, he was an unmoving pillar. A statue with the patience of stone. His hands hung loose by his side, his breathing was slow, his demeanor was calm.

  Jessie waited.

  “Well played, hero.” the man on the throne finally said and started a slow clap. “Even if you did have a cheat code, even if you didn’t play fair by using your guns or going out of bounds, you still made it to the hub of the fortress. Well played.”

  Jessie watched.

  Others joined in with a rhythmic, slow clapping. Three times then they stopped.

  The man stood and spread his arms, encompassing his unwashed masses. “Am I not right? Up,up, down, down, left, right, left? We’ve all used cheat codes, you’re just the first to do it here. I’ll let it pass.”

  Jessies fingers itched to put a bullet through his purple suit wearing smarmy face. The people here were young, most under thirty. He wondered if the office floors below had been some kind of game developer before the world fell. Before this bunch all went crazy and started creating real life video games. If this guy started calling Scarlet a damsel in distress or Princess Peach, he might not be able to control the urge to pull and blast.

  “But I digress.” he said. “You’re probably wondering why I called you here.”

  Jessie waited.

&
nbsp; When the Road Angel didn’t show interest, didn’t ask questions, the man was flustered for a moment before he continued.

  “I see you’re the tall, dark and handsome type. The silent type.” he said, “Except you’re not all that tall, not particularly dark and certainly not very handsome.”

  He beamed at the people for a moment as they dutifully snickered and laughed before he held up his hands again to continue.

  “Well, you see, it’s very simple, really.” he said. “I need you, intrepid hero, to go on a quest. I need you to vanquish a foe, collect the loot and return here for your prize, which would be your lovely Princess, of course.”

  He gestured extravagantly to Scarlet who stood still and small with dirty, clutching fingers grasping at her, raking against her leather. Her blonde and black hair had a streak of blood where she’d been hit with something heavy. There was an angry dark bruise around her throat where they’d choked her with the catch pole but her eyes were a calm, icy green. A small smile played on her lips. She believed all would be well.

  Jessie held his simmering rage in check. He stood silent and still, armor dented and covered in blood. Guns hung low and menacing. His face impassive. The zombies whispered their hunger and struggled to reach the flesh and amid all that, he heard a slight clink of chains. A lightning fast blast of speed that barely registered, a blurred movement of her shackled hand and the quiet snapping of bones. Jessie looked closer at the reaching hands, noticed many of them had broken fingers that hung uselessly. One by one, when the opportunity arose, she was rendering them unable to grip. To pull. Scarlet smiled.

  Jessie waited.

  “I’m going to free you now.” the man said a little peevishly, losing his air of cultured nonchalance for a moment.