by Brady, Eoin
“It’s a staff member,” Fin said. “I don’t even know the code to get in there.”
“Oh my heart. I thought it was about to stop,” Rebecca said, falling hard into her seat. “It’s just Ciara.”
Fin leaned back and let out a sigh of relief. “Do me a favour will you? Don’t mention that I nearly curried my trousers because of her. George, her and I have this ongoing thing where we try and scare each other after hours. I think she just won.” He sat up. “You know what, I might try and scare her.”
“Now really isn’t the time for messing,” Rebecca said and he agreed, feeling foolish for even suggesting it.
“She must be sleeping down there,” Fin said. “Not a bad spot when you think about it. Crisps and vending machine food, it’s all kept down there. It’s secure and who’s actually going to go into the basement of an empty hotel? I always did what I had to do down there before the staff left.”
“She’s braver than I am,” Rebecca said.
“That’s one more on the team. Come on, we’ll let her know she’s not alone.”
Knowing there was another familiar face around was nearly overwhelming. Fin took out his phone and rang her. Almost immediately one of the lights went on downstairs. He smiled. “Come on.”
Rebecca unlocked the office door and they entered the stairwell just off the lobby. Fire doors throughout the building were closed for insurance purposes. Nothing stirred in the dark. There were no windows, so he turned the lights on without fear of drawing attention from the outside. They went down. Fin stopped before he reached the last step.
“What’s the matter?”
“Her phone rang out.” Fin dialled again.
“The lines are jammed.” Rebecca went ahead and opened the heavy door into the basement. They heard Ciara’s ringtone and something else, it was indistinguishable alongside the chime. Fin hung up. It was much clearer now. Crying. No. She was weeping. Fin crouched down and grabbed the bannister. Strength left him. He could hardly breathe. Heart racing, trying to outpace his thoughts.
It was too late to stop Rebecca. The sound of her friend in pain evoked more worry than terror. It was a sinister disease, using its host’s humanity to lure more victims in. “Ciara.” The weeping grew more intense, almost excited, but not so loud to mask the quickening footsteps coming towards them.
Rebecca let the door go. Metal hinges at the top made it close slowly to stop it from banging. Her hand automatically reached for a lock but there was none.
“Run!” Fin took the stairs two at a time, stumbling and tripping in his haste. Rebecca outpaced him. Instead of the gentle shush the fire door made when it closed properly, the metal handle smacked against the wall, pushed violently open by Ciara.
Rebecca hesitated by the door to the lobby. To get through she would have to stop and pull it towards her, losing ground to Ciara. Fin could almost feel her bloodied hands reaching for him. Her breathless weeping was deafeningly close, ringing in his ear. If he faltered, even for a moment, she would have him.
Rebecca continued up the stairs. Fin knocked over a decorative table on the first floor landing. He stopped on the second floor, turned and watched Ciara trip. She could have avoided the obstruction, but she was too focused on him. When she fell, her arms did not go out to protect her. It looked as if she had just passed out, her brain switched off and her body dropped. Carpet softened the blow to her head. Dazed, she lay there for a moment, her eyes never leaving Fin’s. He did not run, desperately waiting to hear her speak.
“Ciara, stop, you’ve won, you’ve scared the shite out of me.” Her skin was pale, the flesh beneath darkening like no heat would ever return. He knew, despite every instinct, that she was gone. She was still in her work uniform. You never left.
“Ciara. Would you stop it, please.” His words were in vain.
Her lips moved, like a cat chirping when it has a bird in its sights. Still weeping, even though she was desperately short of breath. Each gasp she took, like a smoker’s wheeze, seemed hard fought for. What chilled him most was the lack of expression on her face. It was void of anything resembling human emotion.
Dried vomit and yellow bile covered her shirt. She lunged at him, giving him a clear view of her ruined palms, which left copper stains on the carpet. There was no apparent malice to her actions.
Fin ran on. He could no longer see Rebecca, but he could hear her panicked breathing and cursing from a few floors above. Hundreds of doors in the hotel, and each room required a keycard specifically coded for it. There were also the locked doors on the staff side of the building, the ones that required physical keys to open. Those were currently on the desk in the office, right next to his master keycard. It was difficult to focus on a route ahead with her weeping.
Every floor he passed, he knocked over tables to obstruct her, giving them precious moments. He climbed until there was nowhere else to go. The top floor contained the function room, suites and a fine dining restaurant. Rebecca did not stop to turn the lights on and if she did not have the time for that, then Fin knew he certainly did not. Ciara was right behind him. He nearly ran straight into Rebecca outside the stairwell. She stood still near the little snug where they drank on the night of the storm and watched the news of the infection break.
He was about to yell for her to run, but choked on the words when he saw the moonlit silhouette of a man standing by the window. Ciara crashed over a table on the third floor landing. The sound made the man turn, but his movements were too slow, especially in the face of Ciara’s unnatural anguish. He stumbled towards them. Infected.
In their panic, Rebecca went right and Fin turned left. There was no time for indecision, they had to commit to their paths. The man chased Rebecca into the function room, but that meant Ciara, having just made it to the top of the stairs, had only Fin to follow.
He sprinted for the restaurant. Just before his shoulder connected with the door, he wondered if was locked. His momentum sent the door flying into the cutlery table, sending knives and forks cascading everywhere. He stumbled and fell. Luckily the door swung back and knocked Ciara off her feet. Terrified of tripping over tables and chairs in the dark room, he had to move slowly. Countless nights wandering these halls over the course of his work meant he could walk the hotel with his eyes closed.
Ciara lacked that knowledge, but without fear, she was faster. She skidded on the cutlery and the noise stopped her until the door closed, leaving them in almost complete darkness. He had left the light in the wine fridge on the other night. Ciara made a beeline, struck the side of a four-seater table, careened off balance and disappeared from sight. Fin took one long breath and held it. There was enough light from the moon for her to make him out if she stopped to look.
Does she remember the layout? He weaved around several tables, careful not to make a sound. He pushed through the service doors into the kitchen. There were no motion sensors here, the only light coming from the emergency exit signs and the bulbs on the machines. There was not enough light to make out the edges of things. The door burst open behind him. If he lost focus he would not be able to orient in the darkness. He ran the length of the prep kitchen using his hand to feel his way. Fridge, freezer, coffee station, baking tray rack, oven. He turned into the bakery and dashed through the door into the staff room.
He had no clue how close she was. Falling to his knees, he crawled as far as he could beneath a large table. Feeling naked for the lack of anything to use as a weapon, he hesitated, wondering if he could bring himself to cause her harm. She’s just sick.
Hands clasped over his mouth to muffle the sound of his heavy breathing. The door closed slowly, but he could still hear the manic weeping in the kitchen.
“Help.” It sounded like Ciara.
Tears streamed down his face. Her weeping slowed but did not stop.
“Help.”
Fin wanted to scream. The staff room door closed with a quiet click. She wept and ran straight into something, knocking the air out of her in
fected lungs. If she can speak then she must remember the layout of the hotel. It dawned on him that he could hide beneath the table in relative safety during the night, but when morning came, she would find him.
“Fin!”
Ciara was still winded from the fall. Rebecca. He felt something against his leg and imagined a hand on his trousers, the sudden sensation made him jump. He hit his head on the chewing gum-covered underside of the table. His phone vibrated in his pocket. The screen light was blinding in the darkness. He put it under his sweater to hide the glow and pulled his head through the top.
Rebecca messaged him. ‘Are you okay?’
Fin kept his phone on vibrate, but it hollowed him out to think, had Rebecca’s message come through when it was set to loud, he would likely be in the process of dying right now. He had never passed out before, but he was pretty sure the lightheadedness he was experiencing was a warning. He turned the screen to standby and held it to his chest to muffle the light should she text again. She’s safe enough to text.
He turned the phone back on. ‘I’m in the staff room. Ciara’s in the kitchen. Are you okay? Where are you?’
‘In the function room bar. The shutters are down. Who was that man?’
‘I don’t know.’
Ciara knocked something over. She was hunting him. ‘Are you okay?’
‘Yes, the noise in the kitchen drew him away. He’s heading to you. Can you make it to the function room? Please don’t leave me here Fin.’
It never occurred to him to leave without her. He had not thought that far ahead yet. There was no lock on the staff room door, but there was another way out, through the bathrooms and out the other side of the kitchen.
‘I have an idea.’ The phone buzzed with every message he received. He feared Ciara was getting closer.
‘What?’
‘I’m going to put the volume on my phone up to the maximum. Then you call me. When it rings, I’ll use the distraction to sneak through to you. Be ready with the door. If she’s running after me and you don’t open in time…’
‘I’m ready. Just let me know and I’ll let you in. Let me know when to ring you.’
‘Don’t text me again, my phone is now off silent. Make it five minutes, starting now.’ Fin came out from beneath the table and approached the door. He wedged the side of his foot against it in case she tried to rush in. He slid his phone beneath a fridge. Ciara had wandered into the washup section.
Quietly, he went through the other door into utter darkness, suppressing the urge to lock himself in the bathroom and just stay there. He would have plenty of water, but without his phone he would have no way of contacting Rebecca, he would be trapped. Whether he wanted to or not, he was now committed to the plan.
At the end of the hallway he looked into the kitchen. Both of the infected were at the far end by the sink. The man was drawn by the sound of her weeping. Ciara tackled him to the ground. If she did the same to him, it would not matter if he got away, he would be infected, forced to hide in one of the many empty rooms and wait to turn. Could I kill myself? Is there a cure?
While they were distracted, Fin tiptoed to the dry food store. The hallway door slowly closed on well-oiled hinges, and hit the frame with a bang. Pots and pans clattered to the ground as Ciara rushed across the kitchen. Fin thought his own fear would give him away. He lay flat against the shelves, careful not to knock into anything. There was only one way in and out of the storeroom. No windows or lights, just the smell of spices and a touch of mould, likely from breakfast fruit that had hidden away beneath the shelves and festered. Ciara blocked the doorway. Her weeping was like standing next to a ringing church bell, every note struck, rang through him. Any longer and he would have been driven mad.
She stepped inside. He willed his heart to beat softer. He was convinced that she heard it hammering as loudly as he could. Had it been any earlier in the morning, the light would have betrayed him. The man walked in behind her, following her interest. All they had to do was to keep walking. Four feet. Three.
His phone rang. He flinched but neither Ciara or the man noticed. She knocked the stranger to the ground in her haste to reach the noise. Fin had to wait the infuriating seconds for him to stagger after her, before sneaking out, bent so low that he had to use his hands to balance. He only started breathing properly again when through the doors into the dining room. How long before the call goes to voicemail? Standing up straight, he ran through the restaurant, only remembering the spilled cutlery by the moonlight glinting off them.
At the top of the stairs, he thought about going down, getting the keys and leaving, imagined the safety of his house, but he could not leave Rebecca. He had no way of contacting her. She would be trapped alone, imagining him dead. There would be no way of letting her know without his phone. Cursing, he entered the function room.
Black metal shutters closed off the bar to prevent residents from taking a night cap without emptying their wallets first.
“It’s me, let me in.”
The lock turned on the other side but the door remained closed.
“Are you infected?”
Fin pushed the door, knocking Rebecca back. “Are you serious?” He locked it behind him.
Rebecca crawled as far away from him as she could in the tight space, covering her mouth with her sleeve.
She shushed him harshly to a whisper. “How do you know you’re not infected?”
“You were closer to that man than I was to her, are you infected?”
She answered with silence.
They sat on opposite ends of the bar and listened to the distant weeping of their friend. Fin felt pinned down by her stare – Rebecca watched him closely for signs of infection. She did not conceal the knife in her hand.
10
Silent Prayer
Despite the knife in Rebecca’s hand, he was glad of her company. Aside from the latch and lock on the door, one of the few benefits of their hiding place was that it had not been used for months. It was unlikely that the pathogen that caused the infection was behind the shutters – unless they brought it in with them.
His head lolled against his chest as he struggled to stay awake. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her gormless face. When he gave in, he found no comfort in sleep, regularly waking with a start, worried that Rebecca had succumbed to the disease. Heavy eyelids dipped slowly. The last thing he saw was her unwavering stare.
Before dawn, Fin was woken by a hand covering his mouth, muffling his frightened surprise. Rebecca pressed her lips close to his ear. She was shaking. “They’re here,” she said, in so soft a whisper that he barely heard it.
Fin got into a crouch, careful not to make a sound. He held his breath and looked through the shutters. The man wandered across the empty dance floor to the window overlooking the street. Fin wondered if it was the sound of the rain hitting the glass or the moonlight shadows that drew him there. Ciara followed him closely, watching everything he did. She stalked the room, agitated and uncomfortable standing still. She seemed more cognisant of her surroundings, like she was looking for them. Fin ducked out of sight.
Darkness dressed the infected with a primeval dread. By morning, the monstrous affectations of imagination were limited by light, and they became human again. Ciara wobbled when she walked. Her clothes were drenched, soiled and bloody. Noises from outside would cause her to weep. As the hours passed, she could barely manage a chesty wheeze. Seeing her in such a state and not being able to help was nearly worse than listening to her agonised weeping during the night, like a banshee keening her own death.
Fin kept sneaking glances at her, hoping to catch the eye of the person she once was. She just looked sick. He could so easily hear her voice and sarcastic jokes, but now her slack, expressionless face was like a funeral mask, a pale imitation.
Rebecca looked through the shutters. ‘Look at him,’ she mimed. Her breathing was more laboured. He could tell she was trying to keep her panic under control. Ciara attacked
the man multiple times over the course of the night. His wounds were not something a person should be able to walk with.
They were trapped. Ciara only wept when she was riled out of a stupor by the man bumping into something. When that happened, her weeping became incessant until she was sure there was nothing to hunt. At times they were distracted by rattling radiator pipes in the walls. Fin’s breath would catch whenever the refrigerator behind the bar knocked.
He held his hand against his forehead and did the same to Rebecca. Neither of them had a high temperature or showed any immediate signs of infection, but with two of those things in the room, it was only a matter of time.
Rebecca took out her phone and started typing a message. The brightness of the screen did not stand out as much as it did a few hours ago. She handed the phone to him. ‘Will I ring your phone and when they go after it, we try for the stairs?’
He wrote beneath it. ‘The keys are in the main office. If we get stuck in there with bars on the window, what will we do? There’s no food in there. No water taps. How many more people are in the building?’
She typed quickly and passed the phone back to him. ‘How am I supposed to know?’
‘Did you check the passover report I made before leaving?’
‘I was the only one here on the last day. There was a lot happening, people left. I don’t know if they all went. I thought they did. I did not see Ciara.’
‘We’ve food and drink here, let’s wait and see what they do,’ Fin typed.
Their conversation leached the phone’s battery and they did not have a charger in the bar. He put it on standby and gave it back. Neither of them wanted to stay there but they had no choice but to wait in silence for something to happen, for one of them to wander off. Fin knelt and studied their behaviour: their movements were erratic, and sound drew their attention, but beyond that he could not guess what they were thinking. The man pawed at the window when the rain came again but, aside from that, he just watched Ciara with as keen an interest as she watched him. Deep scratch marks traced down his face and a mouthful of flesh had been bitten away from his neck. He appeared indifferent.
