by Radke, K. E.
Phoebe rushed past him and launched herself on the ghoul’s back obscuring his next shot. Her legs tightened around the cannibal’s waist while she clawed over the familiar planes of a face, and nails plunged into the orderly’s eye sockets.
Pus and blood squirted through her fingers as she gouged deeper into the socket. The orderly shrieked an ear-splitting noise and tore into Phoebe’s arms with her nails. Flesh peeled back on Phoebe’s arm, but she held tight only feeling a stinging sensation.
Lincoln waited for an opening to blow the giant’s head off as she twisted and tried to untangle Phoebe’s limbs from around her head. The orderly faltered trying to stand and smashed against a wall, Phoebe took the brunt of it, causing her to loosen her grip.
In one swift movement the massive woman grabbed one of Phoebe’s arms and snapped it in half. Bone splintered, violently ripping through her skin. Half her forearm dangled limply as blood spilled from the new wound. Phoebe stared at it curiously, not a hint of pain crossed her face as she lost her grip and the orderly threw her like a ragdoll down the hall. Upon impact, she made a dent in the sheetrock before she crumbled to the floor.
A bullet flew at the giant’s head and missed when she bent down to graze her fingers over the floor. The flesh eater’s hand found Wyatt’s head and Lincoln shot her several times in the back to distract her from bashing Wyatt’s head in.
She swiftly rose to her feet enraged, and lifted Wyatt by clutching the front of his shirt. He groaned as his head lolled off to the side.
Lining up his shot, Lincoln was shoved aggressively into the wall. He slid to the ground trying to keep his vision clear from the impact to his head. Surprised by her strength, he watched Phoebe yank off her flailing arm and catapult herself into the air landing on the orderly’s back again. Wrapping the crook of her elbow around the ghoul’s neck, she tried to choke the huge parasite while stabbing her in the skull with the splintered bone. Red liquid sprung into the air with each blow as Phoebe pierced through the skin.
The massive woman struggled to keep her balance and dropped Wyatt to gain her footing. One hand easily ripped away the arm around her neck before her giant boot rolled over Wyatt’s ankle and she fell backward trapping Phoebe beneath her.
In a furious rage the orderly headbutted Phoebe with the back of her head repeatedly. Blood spurted from Phoebe’s nose as she felt the urge to keep fighting fade from her limbs. Every hit took a memory from her, until her very existence only had one priority—food.
Lincoln’s vision blurred as he stumbled to his feet and struggled to get into a good position to stop the giant. The orderly’s hair was soaked in blood as her head forcefully collided with Phoebe’s skull, turning it into a pureed mess of blood, brains and bone.
A furious grunt from Lincoln gave the giant pause. Without eyes, the orderly’s nostrils flared searching for the person who made the sound. From behind someone croaked and he spun around shooting the culprit before it could reach him.
Gunfire mixed with a painful chilling scream that sent a shiver down Lincoln’s spine. The massive woman’s face exploded into smithereens as another shot rang out spraying the walls with gore. Wyatt crawled on hands and knees to his wife and bent over her broken body not sure where to look.
Flesh, blood, and tissue were all mashed together. Phoebe’s face was no longer distinguishable. Wyatt only identified her by the clothes she wore. A torn, cracked sound ripped from his lungs as he pulled at the hair on his head gazing down at his wife.
Lincoln appeared across from him a few moments later, his lips were moving but the incessant ringing in Wyatt’s ears made him deaf. Hot tears ran down his face, as Lincoln’s mouth kept moving until he became distracted by something down the corridor.
On his feet, Lincoln took three shots before yelling at Wyatt, “Did she bite you? You need to get up!” He didn’t bother waiting for an answer, too distracted by keeping them alive.
More cannibals rounded the corner and Lincoln could feel the perspiration beading on his forehead as Wyatt sobbed loudly over Phoebe’s ruined face with his eyes closed unable to look at the crushed mess. Internally flinching at disturbing the man while grieving, Lincoln pulled Wyatt to his feet only to watch the man fall over in pain. Quickly shoving aside clothing, he examined Wyatt’s body, but he didn’t find any wounds until Wyatt reached for his ankle signaling something was wrong with it.
He fumbled with Wyatt’s pant leg and stared at the swollen ankle. Panic dove straight down into his gut and spread like a plague. Wyatt was medically injured and the odds of getting him safely back to Melanie were declining every second they were in the city.
He would not be responsible for two little girls’ lives.
Groans and croaks bellowed down the hallway and Lincoln kneeled trying to help Wyatt up, but the man kept batting his hands away.
Lincoln raised his voice in frustration, “Cut that shit out! You don’t have time to grieve. You don’t have time to say goodbye. This new world will kill us both if you just sit there on your ass! Get the fuck up!”
Wyatt pulled on Phoebe’s shirt laying his forehead on her chest.
Not giving him a choice Lincoln yanked Wyatt up and started to drag him, but his hand was still grasping Phoebe’s shirt.
Lincoln yanked his hand off her and said, “We cannot take Phoebe. She’s gone. Listen to me Wyatt. Melanie still needs you. So pull it together for just a few minutes for Melanie. You cannot shut down.”
A long exhale came out of Wyatt and he allowed Lincoln to drag him into the room unable to walk away from his wife. He closed his eyes, incapable of holding back tears as his fingers finally released Phoebe’s shirt and he silently said goodbye to his wife. Limp fingers trailed over her body until he could no longer touch her, and she disappeared from view.
Safely in the room, Lincoln glanced at Noah’s limp, unconscious body on the floor. He threw the deadbolt in place and fell against the door for support, slipping down to the floor.
Bodies threw themselves at the barrier Lincoln hid behind and his heart pounded in his chest. Placing all his weight against the door, Lincoln let the paranoia and panic he’d been fighting consume him. Everything he couldn’t think about while he was trying to survive just moments before.
Each thump against the door drove his mind deeper into the abyss until the ringing in his ears faded and Wyatt’s sobbing took its place. Lincoln shut his eyes and guarded the door because his sanity depended on it—and hoped Noah would eventually wake up.
FIVE
F or the next few hours Lincoln sat against the door with the AK in his hand waiting for the door to be ripped from its hinges. Random thumps beyond the door kept him company along with Wyatt’s sobbing. He wondered if the ghouls were still riled up or if they were sticking around because they could smell fresh meat through the door.
In the last several hours, thoughts of his exposure to the virus ran rampant through his mind. He’d managed to kick the naked, old man’s body as far as his legs would let him without leaving the door. Staring at the diseased old man he debated to cover his nose and mouth with his shirt, but remembered the old lady in the tub had swiped her tongue up and down his arm.
Every few minutes he checked his fingers for discoloration. Tension rolled through his body and kept him rigid against the door until Wyatt’s sniffling ceased. The quiet room wrapped around Lincoln suffocating him, so he finally inched away from the door eager to check on Wyatt and Noah—to make sure he was actually guarding the door for a reason—or if it was time to move on.
Noah was a straight shot from the doorway and Lincoln kneeled over him to feel for a pulse. It beat strongly against his fingers and he debated on waking him up because he could have a concussion. Lincoln left the man alone considering he had no idea how to check.
Wyatt had crawled sniffling to a hidden corner of the room behind the bed. A private spot to grieve and Lincoln didn’t want to disturb him, but he also didn’t want to be caught off guard with teeth sink
ing into his skin if he somehow missed a bite wound. He peered around the bed and found Wyatt in the fetal position. Lincoln didn’t have to get close. He could hear the deep breathing of a man fast asleep.
He took a moment to stretch and pulled the old man’s dead body in the bathroom and washed his hands. Closing the door to the bathroom, the rotting stench still permeated the room. The smell didn’t stop his stomach from growling and demanding sustenance. The thought terrified him, until he realized it’d been over twelve hours since he last ate. Time might not permit him to eat later, so he rummaged through his pack and found an MRE.
Settling in his spot against the door he ate, the smell of food finally stirring Noah.
Slowly moving his limbs, Noah had a burst of energy and sat up unaware of his surroundings. A Kimber 1911 appeared and aimed at Lincoln, the only moving object in the room. Their eyes locked as Lincoln stuffed food into his mouth.
Noah slowly lowered the gun, his heart trying to punch its way through his chest. “What the fuck happened?” Noah groaned realizing he wasn’t in danger. His fingers skimmed over the large bump protruding from his noggin.
Lincoln chewed slowly with a serious expression. “Remember that giant woman at the end of the hallway that we hid from?” Lincoln asked in a hushed voice stirring his food.
“Yeah, what about her?”
“She found you,” Lincoln chuckled a little shoving more food in his mouth.
Noah’s eyes darted around the room until they focused on Lincoln again. Counting two people he asked alarmed, “Did she fucking eat Wyatt?”
“No. He’s—,” Lincoln cleared his throat uncomfortable with the topic.
“Did Phoebe... ,” Noah opened and closed his mouth like he was chewing instead of asking the direct question.
Lincoln shook his head and choked on the food in his mouth.
“Did you shoot Phoebe?” Noah whispered, his voice barely audible.
“Phoebe died saving Wyatt,” Lincoln told him with his eyes lowered on the MRE.
Noah’s eyes widened in understanding and then he winked saying loudly, “She sure did.” He leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially, “Is that what we’re supposed to tell people?”
Lincoln rolled his eyes and sighed, “What people? It’s you, me and him.”
“I have to say . . . that’s a good way to die. Go out a hero. How do you find someone else after that? You’re a widow so it’s bound to come up . . . how did your wife die? She sacrificed herself to save my life.” Noah pretended to have a whole conversation with himself.
“Let me get this straight. After everything we’ve been through today, you’re worried about Wyatt’s love life?”
“Since you brought it up—I’m really worried about your love life—and the way you let that old lady go at it on your arm... ,” Noah’s voice trailed off in a teasing tone.
Lincoln growled in a huskier tone than normal, “I should have dumped you in the hall.”
“I’m just saying, how far would it have gone if we hadn’t showed up?”
“Shut. Up.”
Noah’s lips quirked into a smug smirk and finally changed the subject. “What’s the plan?”
“There’s a problem.” Lincoln wiped his mouth on his sleeve before revealing, “Wyatt’s ankle is swollen, and he can’t walk on it.”
“Fuck. How’d that happen?”
“The giant fell on it, or stepped on it or broke it in half.”
“With her bare hands? You saw her break his ankle with her bare hands?” Noah asked incredulously and leaned against the bed lifting his eyebrows.
“I saw her break Phoebe’s arm in half. These raging cannibals are after something different. They don’t want a human shish kabob. The few I’ve seen are always bashing someone’s head in like a squirrel trying to crack a nut.”
“Can you find me some medicine for my headache please? You’re making it worse.”
Lincoln rolled a water bottle and medicine across the floor, “You should eat. We have two stops, the hospital and an electronics store.”
“Don’t they have supplies here? It’s full of old people. Emergencies have to happen sooner or later.”
“They have basic first aid. Not what we need to fix Wyatt.”
“How do you know?”
“Because this is where my mother lives,” Lincoln confessed in a calm voice.
Noah shut his mouth and let the new information sink in. Instead of suggesting they check on his mother, Lincoln lifted a water bottle to his mouth and sipped on it. He scratched his chin uneasily and focused his energy on finding an MRE for Noah.
“Maybe it’s easier if you guys just leave me here,” Wyatt’s voice was low and nasally.
“And if we die and you’re waiting for us to come back for you?” Lincoln asked, and stared at the corner Wyatt was hiding in.
“We can set a timeline, if you’re not back by a certain day, I’ll head out on my own,” Wyatt said, the melancholy tone suggested he’d sit in the corner of the room until he died and joined his wife.
“And if we get held up and you leave without us?” Lincoln countered, bored with the argument. He’d gone through the pros and cons while Noah was unconscious. There’s a reason why the first rule of survival is never go alone—too many variables to consider. Survival depends on a group staying together. If someone stays behind, they’re not meant to wait, it’s to die.
The words weren’t said aloud but it was obvious Lincoln had already decided Wyatt wouldn’t be left behind.
“How the hell are you going to bring me with you?” Wyatt snapped forcefully.
“Wheelchair,” Lincoln answered easily. “We’ll find one somewhere around here. If we go by a superstore I’ll try and find you a Rascal,” Lincoln offered. Noah spit out the water he was drinking and burst out laughing.
Consecutive thumps on the door reminded Noah why they had to be so quiet. No one said a word until the banging stopped. Noah took the time to eat. Wyatt never bothered coming out of his corner, and no one asked him to. When Noah finished eating, Lincoln stood up and stretched.
“What’s the plan?” Noah asked using the wall to help him up.
“Now that your hands are free, I’m going to go find a wheelchair. You two stay here. I’ll knock four times rapidly so you’ll know it’s me. Wyatt if you’re hungry, now would be a good time to eat,” Lincoln said softly keeping his voice to a minimum.
“Are you going to visit your mom?” Wyatt pierced the room with the unasked question. Lincoln froze, his eyes fleeing to the only person who could see his reaction, but Noah’s eyes were on the floor.
Lincoln squirmed at the question and strapped his pack to his back answering calmly, “I wasn’t planning on it.”
“Isn’t that why we’re here?” Wyatt countered, anger seeping into his voice. Tension filled the room with the accusation.
Lincoln fixated on the little corner Wyatt hid in and firmly said, “No, we’re here because we got trapped in the pile of abandoned cars up the road and needed a break from running. Phoebe collapsed, and we didn’t have a choice after that. The closest building was a retirement home, which I happen to visit at least twice a month to check on my mother. So, yeah, when I drive to the city I tend to take the same highway I always take and I didn’t do it any different this time around. Do. Not. Blame. Phoebe’s. Death. On. Me.” Lincoln’s last words rumbled with fury and offense.
Noah stood as still as a statue with wide eyes in the silence that came afterward mouthing should we tell him?
Lincoln gave an imperceptible shake of his head. As far as Lincoln was concerned Phoebe died saving her husband even if death had already marked her. Wyatt had ignored the obvious symptoms and the last thing Lincoln wanted was an argument with a grieving man.
Clearing his throat Noah announced, “I’m going with Lincoln.” He strapped on his pack and picked up his AK, pulling the strap over his head. A hand felt for the machete to make sure it was in place. “You can’t
go alone. And Wyatt—no offense buddy—he doesn’t want me here. So let’s find the wheelchair and come back for him. We’ll leave the door unlocked. Unless they’ve learned how to use a doorknob?” Noah asked getting his gear.
No one objected to Noah’s announcement. Magazines were refilled, and extras were stuffed in pockets. They both attached suppressors to their guns and Lincoln swung the AK strap over his shoulder.
Everything was double checked before Lincoln gave a nod of approval and said, “As soon as you open the door, I’ll shoot anything beyond it. Then we can slip out, each taking one side of the hall.”
“The only problem with that is you’re closer to the door,” Noah pointed out with his Kimber 1911 in hand. “I’m ready when you are,” he said trying to hold a smirk back.
Not arguing, Lincoln twisted the doorknob quietly and kept his boot wedged at the bottom of the door just in case something was leaning on it. He glanced over his shoulder and waited for Noah’s signal.
Noah took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a few seconds. He made the sign of the cross and nodded at Lincoln. The door swung open and Lincoln flattened himself against the wall behind the door to give Noah a clear view of the hallway.
Noah fired at a flesh eater lingering outside the door. Its head exploded, and the body—only covered by a flimsy hospital gown—fell backward. The momentum from the fall lifted the hospital gown up and Noah turned his head completely disgusted at the wrinkly amount of skin covered in black veins.
“By the look on your face I’d say I took the right job,” Lincoln chuckled lowly.
Noah treaded forward with a small limp mumbling to himself, “One down, and the rest of the undead world to go.”
Another head popped out from the right. Noah stopped short and took the machete out of its sheath. He swung down and sliced through the sunken gray face. Blood beaded along the cut through the upper left side of its head and then began to slide down as gravity took hold. The body crumpled to the ground like a deflated lawn decoration. Noah kicked it out of his way as he exited the room cautiously.
