“I assume we lost them,” said Billy. “They move quite slowly. The distance we put between us might have thrown them off.”
Christopher nodded. “Good,” he said. His tone of voice didn’t sound relieved.
Billy leaned back until his butt rested against concrete and then slid to the ground. He felt a nip of pain as his rear end landed in the cold, wet snow, but he could take the discomfort so long as he didn’t have to stand any longer.
They were silent a long time. Billy watched the forest, listened to the odd and unvarying din that came from the other side of the wall, and tried to wrap his brain around what was happening. Christopher sat next to him, head back and eyes closed, chest slowly rising and falling. Billy measured the boy, the story he’d told him, and the subsequent vision that brought him the song now playing softly in his head. He couldn’t see any logical connection between any of it or come to an explanation for the sights they’d seen. Sure, he had observed these types of monstrosities on film before – his oldest brother Andrew had been something of a scary movie connoisseur – but to meet them in real life, stumbling around and actually pursuing them? If it wasn’t for his travel companion and the fact he wasn’t alone in his visions he might begin to question his sanity. He had to find answers. Fast.
“Christopher?” he whispered.
The boy’s eyes shot open. “Yeah?”
“We need to talk.”
Christopher kicked off the wall and faced him. He appeared uneasy.
“About what?”
“I want you to tell me again about the people who killed your family.”
“I told you,” replied Christopher, his lip trembling, “they weren’t people.”
“Fine. For the sake of argument, we will call them monsters.”
Christopher nodded. “Uh-huh. That’s what they were.”
“These monsters, they were not like the things chasing us now, were they?”
He shook his head. “No.”
“How were they different?”
“They were all fucked-up looking. You know, twisted.”
“In what way?”
“Their faces. Their bodies. Everything. They looked like…big diseased monkeys, I guess.”
“Like the woman in the store?”
Christopher’s reply was a long, slow nod.
“Good,” said Billy, patting him on the shoulder. “They were fast, as well? And strong, again like the woman?”
Another nod.
“All right then,” he said, slapping his thigh. “That is that. These creatures are slow and unintelligent. I think we will be a lot better off for it.”
Christopher muttered something underneath his breath.
“What was that?” Billy asked.
“Zombies,” said Christopher.
“Zombies, what?”
“They’re zombies, Mr. Mathis. The things we’ve seen the last few days.”
It was Billy’s turn to nod. “I know that, son. As hard as it is for me to accept, I know.”
“So what’re we gonna do about it?”
Billy slapped the wall with his gloved palm. “We find our way into the city,” he said. “There will be shelter there, a safe place.”
“How do you know?”
He cocked his head. There was Marcy’s beautiful singing again, quieter, playing inside his eardrum.
“A little birdie told me,” he replied, “but we have to get going. There is not much time.”
“Why not?”
“The song is starting to fade. She is getting weaker.”
“Huh? Who? What’re you talking about?”
Billy rolled his eyes. “It does not matter,” he said. “All that does is that we see what is over this wall. Do you feel up to looking over? I can give you a boost.”
“Sure.”
They stood up. Billy stretched his cramped back before cupping his hands for Christopher to step in. He lifted the kid up. He could see Christopher’s eyes widen as he gripped the concrete ledge and glanced over.
“What is it?” he asked. “Are there people over there?”
Christopher shook his head.
“What is making that sound, then? Is it a device of some kind?”
“Mr. Mathis,” said Christopher, gazing down on him, white as a ghost. “I think you better see for yourself.”
Billy lowered him to the ground. He then faced the wall, took a deep breath, bent at the knees, and jumped. His fingers latched onto the lip and his muscles burned as he performed a chin-up. It had been so long since he’d exerted himself in this way, but he could still pull it off. For the first time possibly ever he had something about his prison routine to feel thankful for.
That thankfulness evaporated the minute he peered over the wall. On the other side was a chain-link fence, about twenty feet away from them, and behind that an alley. At least fifty of the meandering, decaying undead loped around back there, unconscious of anything, even each other. They walked in circles as if stuck in a loop they couldn’t escape. Or perhaps they were waiting for something to pull them out, something like fresh meat. The sound he heard was the chorus of their moans.
The alley was situated at the rear of two large buildings. Billy scooted up higher, trying to see through the gap between them. Eventually he could, and what he saw there wasn’t any more promising. There were still more of them, wandering without a care. They passed from one side of the wall to the other and then disappeared. Billy tried his best to remember color patterns, to try and form an approximation of their numbers. He couldn’t. They all looked the same to him, all scarred, weathered, and dirty. Only the ones missing an appendage or two stuck out. He could only guess there were hundreds, perhaps thousands, within the city proper.
“Damn,” he muttered.
At the sound of his voice the beings in the alley turned to him. He swore he saw a light appear in their eyes as their mouths dropped open, one after the other, and approached the fence. They pushed into it, causing the chain links to buckle. It looked like they had become a single organism, living, breathing, swelling with hunger. Billy had seen enough. He dropped off the wall.
“See what I mean?” Christopher said.
“Yes.”
“So how’ll we get in? Should we turn back?”
Billy muttered and knocked his sheathed knuckles against the wall. “No,” he said. “There is no turning back. We need to be in there. There has to be a way.”
He scanned the length of the wall. It ran for as far as he could see, presumably ending at the road. He took a step back and looked up. He could see nothing but the buildings behind the wall. He had to get a clearer sightline.
“Wait here,” he said to Christopher, and then braced a hand on the riverbank and plunged into the shallows of the Monongahela. Freezing water sopped his pant legs and flowed into his boots. The cold stung but at least it deadened the pain in his feet a bit. He trudged out until the water came up to his knees and surveyed the cityscape. The answer came to him almost instantly.
“I have it!” he shouted.
“What? Where?” asked Christopher.
“Come here. Let me show you.”
“In the water? Are you serious? It’s friggin’ cold in there!”
“And it will be even colder tonight, when we have no fire and no food. Do you want to go through another evening like that or are you going to get over here and look at what I have to show you?”
Appearing incongruous with his oversized woolen cap pulled down over his brow Christopher followed his lead. He stepped one foot into the river at a time, scrunching his face and yelping as the water rushed against him. Eventually he made it out to where Billy stood. The older man gripped him around his shoulder.
“So w-w-where i-i-is it?” Christopher asked, shivering.
Billy pointed to the horizon. “Do you see those smokestacks way down there, the ones closest to the river?”
Christopher nodded.
“Do you know what that is?”
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“No.”
“That, son, is a water treatment plant.”
“So?”
“That is our way in.”
Christopher’s shoulders slumped. “Great.”
It took them another hour of wading through the flowing, icy water to reach their destination. The treatment plant was a giant construction, forged from concrete and steel and surrounded by barbed wire fences. They climbed atop a pair of huge white pipes that dropped into the water from the rear of the structure. The pipes led to the cliff face the plant sat upon and disappeared into the ground. They approached a domed lid that jutted from one of them. PROPERTY OF ALCOSAN was stamped on it.
Billy gripped the wheel on top of the lid and twisted. It was old and rusted but it turned. Eventually the seam cracked open with a hiss. He threw it back on its hinges. A cloud of mist and stink rose from the hole. The scent was so strong it burned his nose and made him dizzy. He had to drop to his numbed knees to keep from falling back into the river.
“No way,” said Christopher. He held his coat over his nose. “I ain’t going in there.”
“Okay,” Billy replied. “You may stay here then.”
Christopher stamped his foot. It echoed off the metal with a hollow twang. The boy winced. “There’s gotta be a better way, Mister Mathis!” he pleaded.
“I really am sorry, son,” said Billy, “but this is the only safe way.”
“It smells like shit!”
“I know. However, we must deal with it.”
“You don’t even know what’s in there.”
He shrugged. “Most likely old sewage and water. These pipes are only large enough to crawl through. The possibility that something made a home in there besides rats is remote, at best.”
Once more Christopher’s shoulders slumped.
Billy pulled his jacket over his nose and leaned over the circular opening. The stench assaulted his nostrils through the layers of thick fabric. He glanced up at Christopher and threw his legs over the lip. When he lowered himself into the pipe his feet slipped in the stagnant sewage covering the bottom. He dropped to his knees in the darkness and gagged. It was unbearable. I cannot do this, his mind screamed. His throat constricted and his eyes watered. He was about to give up and climb out when the song in his head became louder. It constricted his eardrums and sent spikes of pleasure into his brain. All other sensations flittered away. Nothing seemed to exist but the darkness of the tunnel before him and Marcy’s disembodied voice. He plunged his hands into the sludge and crawled.
“What’s going on, Mister M?” called Christopher from above. “It’s really dark in there.”
Billy paused and craned his neck. “Come on down, Christopher,” he replied. “I know the way.”
He heard Christopher drop into the muck, followed by his sickened gags. The boy whimpered. “Do not worry,” said Billy. “You will get used to it.”
“I…don’t…think so,” Christopher gasped.
“Trust me, you will. Just follow me.”
“How…do you know…where to go?”
“It is all in the song,” he replied.
The singing grew louder the deeper into the culvert they crawled. It became as loud and clear as the finest car stereo he’d ever heard. Her voice massaged his thoughts with its gentle melody.
Rich relations may give you, crust of bread and such.
Billy kept his head down as they crept past various outlets and openings. Rats scurried through the pipe, trampling over his hands. Their tiny, sharp claws punctured through his gloves. Christopher was in a constant state of shrieking unrest behind him. Billy ignored it all and kept moving. The more he surged onward, the stronger the singing. He was a man possessed, keeping his arms and legs pumping and her voice strong in his ears was all that mattered.
The pipes narrowed, forcing him to inch forward on his belly. With his face so close to the sewage it permeated every ounce of his being. It felt as if he was becoming one with the natural state of decay that enveloped everything in time. For a moment depression crushed him, told him the journey wasn’t worth it. As if answering this sadness, Marcy’s breathless crooning lifted in volume once more. He gritted his teeth and went on.
Finally the conduit came to an end. It opened into a vaulted underground chamber filled with standing water. The smell was tolerable in there, and he unlocked his brain. He gripped the rim of the cylinder and lowered himself in, then helped Christopher do the same. The boy’s face looked a pale shade of green. His teeth gritted, his body trembled. Their eyes locked.
“What now?” Christopher asked, standing shin-deep in the pool.
“Now we figure out where exactly we are.”
He glanced around. There were drainage pipes much like the one they’d exited protruding from the walls on either side of them and a ladder directly across from where they stood.
Billy approached the ladder. To the right of it was a sign covered with sludge. He wiped the black gunk away. Grant Street, it said. Weak beams of light shone down on him from the manhole cover. The singing in his head hiccupped and then came back, strong as ever.
“This is good,” he said, turning to the boy. “We can go up here.”
He grabbed the ladder and gave it a good tug to test its strength. It didn’t move. He then ushered Christopher over and proceeded to climb the rungs. They were slick but sturdy. The boy panted as he followed suit. At the apex he wrapped his arm around the top rung, braced his other elbow over his head, and gently pressed upward on the manhole cover. It was heavy but he got it to move. The corroded ridge scraped against the metal rim that held it in place. Billy winced, thinking the sound would surely announce their arrival to the creatures outside. After a few minutes of waiting brought no reply he shoved the heavy disc up far enough to peer through the gap.
He looked around. They were all alone, smack-dab in the middle of an abandoned street. Warehouses lined both sides of the road. The sun had come out again. It gleamed off the melting snow, threatening to blind him. He shoved the cover aside, pulled himself out of the hole, and helped Christopher do the same.
Once out they snuck quietly as they could down the road, staying close to the buildings. Christopher jumped occasionally when strange sounds were heard, but Billy was too lost in reverie to be surprised by anything. Every fire-blasted brick wall, every overturned automobile, every collapsed edifice, reminded him of what he’d seen in his vision. It was all true. All of it.
That being the case, he knew exactly where to go.
Marcy’s voice grew still louder. They snuck past a street where the undead roamed and ran around the next bend and entered a parallel alley. When they reached the end Billy stopped short. His eyes opened wide, believing and disbelieving at the same time. Christopher ran into him from behind.
“What is it?” asked the boy.
“Beautiful,” Billy said. His eyes remained fixed on the building above them, and the constant flicker of the beacon that shone from one of its upper windows. Just like rest of the city it was as he remembered it. The Omni, he thought. We actually arrived. Without thinking, he took a step forward…
…and was yanked back by his collar. He stumbled and nearly fell. His jacket tore on a garbage can he came close to knocking over. Out of instinct he wheeled towards Christopher, rage burning behind his eyelids and hands balled into fists.
The look on the kid’s face disarmed him. His eyes were bulging and something other than the cold made him quiver. “What is it?” Billy asked. Christopher pointed at the mouth of the alley. Billy followed his finger.
The Omni was indeed in the distance, across the street and down a ways. But standing between them and their destination, with dead eyes and decayed flesh, were hundreds of the rootless undead. They meandered like the dead things they were, arms limp, heads down, backs hunched. He could see no way around. In order to get to the hotel they would have to pass through them.
The beacon flashed above their heads, taunting him.
; “This is not good,” Billy whispered.
Christopher screamed.
Billy wheeled around in time to see Christopher kicking at a dead woman, half of whose face was a mess of dripping red devastation. The boy shoved her against the wall. She bounced off and came at him again. Billy rushed forward, grabbed the woman, and hurled her further into the alley. . She weighed virtually nothing, and when she stopped rolling she came to rest at the feet of four more beasts. Behind those was another countless mass. The creatures had followed them. There was no turning back now. Their only way out was straight ahead.
“Damn,” Billy muttered.
Grabbing Christopher by the arm, he yanked the boy out of the alley and into the street. The ruckus had gathered the attention of the others. Countless pairs of lifeless eyes gazed at them while stiff, corroding bodies lurched and shuffled.
Billy knelt beside the boy and forced him to look in his eyes. “Are you with me, Christopher?” he asked.
Christopher nodded.
“Okay. Listen closely.” He had to raise his voice to be heard over the growing moans and hisses. “We are going to make a run for it. Take hold of my coat and do not let go. These creatures are weak. As long as we keep from being cornered we should be fine.”
Christopher nodded again, this time crying a little.
“There is nothing to be afraid of,” he said. “It will be just like hockey. Close your eyes and check them if they get too close. Do you think you can do that?”
He didn’t wait for a reply. The horde was almost on top of them. He waited for Christopher to grab hold of his jacket and then Billy lowered his shoulder and drove into the human wall. Two of the creatures bounced off to either side, creating an opening that was swiftly closed by two more. These he rammed as well, and then two more, until he found a slight crease. He raced through, dragging his partner behind him, zigzagging through the throng of death. It felt like he was moving quickly but they seemed to gain no ground on their objective.
Still more of the undead closed in. Billy squeezed his eyelids shut and rammed into them, as well. He and Christopher became human pinballs, bouncing from one barrier of dead flesh to the next. His heart raced and fear washed out his thoughts. I will not give in, his brain proclaimed.
Dead Of Winter (The Rift Book II) Page 20
