More glass breaking, followed by agitated grunts, let Tom know they were working their way into the bookstore. He glanced up and saw two of them already in the store, stepping across the glass, stumbling on jumbled books. His heart raced as he continued digging through the drawers.
There was a sudden pounding of footsteps from behind him. “She’s getting through the door!”
He turned to see Rachael making the corner below the stairs, Jack right behind her. The demented heard the noise, and let out loud, angry screams. Everything was happening too fast.
Turning back to the desk, he began ripping out drawers and spilling their contents, until finally at the back of a drawer he came across the familiar green of a torn Sellier and Bellot box. Both Rachael and Jack let out ear piercing screams when they saw what was barreling their way. Tom jammed his hand into the box, grabbing two shells. He could sense them nearly on top of him. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end and the pounding of his heart thumped against his chest. He cracked open the breach, rammed in two shells, and in a single fluid motion, slammed the gun closed, and brought the weapon to bear.
The distorted face at the end of Tom's barrels nearly filled his vision. Snot was streaming out of both nostrils, smearing across his cheeks. His eyes had the same look of the other demented, red rimmed and filled with hatred. Tom immediately pulled the trigger, making the face disappear.
In the background, another one was working to get up off of a mess of books that had tripped him up. Rather than give him the opportunity to rise, Tom pulled the second trigger, flattening him back on the books, legs and arms splayed out.
Quickly loading two more rounds, Tom jammed a remaining handful of ammo into his pockets. “Come on!” He yelled while rushing around the desk toward the front of the store.
Another demented was climbing through the broken window, ripping his own leg wide open on a shard of glass. Oblivious to the wound, he crawled through the window, and got back to his feet. Tom pulled the trigger on the shotgun, sending the thing crashing back through the open window.
Loud screaming caused Tom to slow and turn. The elderly woman had made it downstairs, had a hold of Jack’s shirt, and was reaching out with her other hand. Rachael had a grasp on both of Jack's arms, pulling, trying to get him away from the crazed woman. As Tom raised the shotgun to take aim, Rachael lost her grip, and Jack was pulled into the old woman’s clutches.
With unimaginable strength, the old woman slammed Jack to the ground, jumping on top of him. Ripping at his neck with her hands, she chomped down on his face with her open mouth, turning his screams into grotesque gurgles. Dark blood ran out onto the hardwood floor, forming an ever increasing crimson pool.
Simultaneously Tom and Rachael yelled, “NOOO,” but it was too late.
Tom had barely known the little guy, but a life should never be snuffed out so soon, and this was surely not the way to go. Using his shoe, he shoved the old woman off of Jack. Rolling onto her back, blood covering her face, she looked up at Tom, growling with rage. Blood and spit flew out of her mouth. Tom pointed the shotgun at her head and ended her life.
Looking down, he wondered how the movies could get it so wrong. In the movies death was clean, a little bullet hole with some blood oozing out. This was disgusting. Chunks of meat, bone, brains, and who knows what else were scattered all over the floor. A mixture of blood and other liquids flowed and bubbled inside the wounds. There was also what could not be captured on film - smell. The acrid, metallic smell of blood, combined with the stench of urine and feces, nearly made Tom retch.
Rachael knelt down next to Jack, trying to check his wounds.
Looking into the small boy’s staring, glazed over eyes, Tom knew it was over, he had gone somewhere better than here. “He’s gone.” He said, reaching down and placing a hand on her shoulder.
Flinching, she whipped her head around and glared at Tom, “We promised him!”
“Not now.”
“Promised…” Her head dipped and she began sobbing.
A variety of sounds were filtering in from the street. None of them sounded good, spurring Tom to reload the shotgun. Checking his pockets, he found three shells remaining, plus the two already loaded. This could not go on much longer. He had hoped for more time to flesh out a full plan, but they were going to have to make due on the fly. Taking his hand off her shoulder, he said, “Come on, let’s get to the car.”
Hesitating, she wiped her nose with the back of her hand, then slowly rose. Her eyes were wet and swollen. Looking at Tom, she only nodded.
They shared an angry, determined look, fully under the realization that this had instantly turned into a cold, hard world.
Chapter 3: Survival
Looking in the rear view mirror, Tom could see several of the demented still chasing after their car in a futile attempt to reach them. He felt a sense of relief to be away from the mayhem of the bookstore; however the streets were not much different. Everything was happening too fast.
Nearly reading his mind, Rachael turned toward him and asked, “Where can we go?”
“We’re about eight blocks from the convention center. If we can get there we have a chance.”
“What’s there?”
Tom had to concentrate on the road, dodging wreckage, and avoiding the demented still running the streets, so rather than go into details on his line of work and specifics of the convention he simply replied, “Everything.”
The streets were a disaster. Each block seemed to be the same - cars wrecked into each other, buildings, and street posts. There were fewer people than Tom would have thought, many lay along the streets and sidewalks, unmoving in pools of blood. The gore was nearly overwhelming. Most of the bodies were ripped into, innards spilling out, as if shredded by animals.
The only living he saw were of the demented variety, and they all had the same single minded rage. Whatever was happening to them, it was causing them to know only hate toward the living. Many were too busy either pounding on business doors, or tearing into wrecked cars to even notice them drive by, but occasionally a few would pick up on movement. Seeing the motion of the car, a single minded intensity would overcome them. They chased after the car like it was the only ride off a sinking island.
Tom wondered if they would have been better off never stopping at the bookstore. Earlier, he thought if they had time to hunker down things would blow over a bit, but it was clear now, things were not getting better.
Snapping Tom out of his thoughts, Rachael screamed, “Look out!”
Directly in front of them stood a small girl wearing a dirty pink dress. She held a tan teddy bear by one leg, his head and one arm scraping the pavement. Staring down at her feet, she rocked slowly side to side. The car tires squealed as Tom slammed on the breaks, stopping just in front of her.
“What is she doing?” Rachael said, while leaning right up against the front window, squinting in hopes of getting a better view.
Nearly there, one of the twin glass spires of the convention center could be seen just ahead. Tom looked in the mirrors and out the side windows, trying to decide what to do. He did not see any of the demented around, and decided to take a chance, hoping they could try to make up for what happened to Jack.
Stepping out of the car and glancing behind them, Tom could see no demented in sight. Turning back to the girl, he hoped she would be gone, just an aberration, but there she stood, exactly as before. “Hello?” Nothing. Inside he knew something was amiss, but he also knew he could never live with himself if he got in the car and just drove away.
Stepping toward her, nearly within reach, Tom watched her slowly lift her head. His heart began racing when he looked into her red rimmed eyes, the eyes of the demented. Even focusing right on him, there was no rush to snuff him out of this world, instead she just stood looking at him, or maybe through him. Lifting her teddy bear toward him she opened her mouth to say something, but only unintelligible gibberish spilled out. She stood staring, as if wa
iting for a reply.
Tom suddenly realized that with all the sirens and background noise, the demented could be right on top of him and he would never know it until it was too late. With sudden dread, he spun around. He will never know if it was instinct or blind luck, but about a block behind them, several demented were racing their way. The wreckage is all that slowed them. With single minded focus, they climbed and tripped over the cars, rather than dodging through them.
Tom glanced back at the girl, who was still staring in his direction, then he turned, and ran for his open car door. He was terrified to see the demented nearly to their car. They were surprisingly fast in open space. Just as he was closing his door, they reached the back of the car, and began pounding on the windows, trying to gain access. Apparently, unable to remember the function of a door handle, they continued to slam their open hands into the glass. Bloody hands smeared the windows with crimson streaks. Turning to avoid the little girl, Tom stomped on the gas, speeding away from her, and the demented.
In the rear view mirror, he saw them running right past the little girl, completely oblivious to her existence. “They ignored her.” He said.
Turning in her seat to see for herself, Rachael said, “The groups don’t attack each other either.”
Tom simply nodded in agreement, not sure what it all meant.
Not wanting to enter the dark confines of the parking garage, Tom drove right through Holladay Plaza, coming to a stop next to one of the glass entrances. The twin glass spires of the convention center towered over them. Having been here over the last few days, he knew exactly where they needed to go. Tom grabbed the shotgun off the back seat as they both exited the car.
Reaching the front entrance, they discovered someone had already broken the glass out, solving one of the problems Tom worried about.
“Looks like someone had the same idea.” Rachael said.
Tom looked down at the ground, and shook his head. “No…this was someone coming out. Most of the glass is out here and see the blood over there.” He pointed a few feet, away where the cement was dotted with small crimson circles. “Let’s watch ourselves, the center would have been closed this morning, but I’m sure some kind of crew gets here early. Watch my right on each entryway.” Holding the shotgun tight to his shoulder, he stepped through the void.
Tom immediately swept his shotgun to the left, and then scanned back to center, trusting that Rachael checked to the right. Checking to make sure your partner was checking is what got people killed.
Light spilled in from the many windows facing the plaza out front. High on the wall in the lobby still hung the white banner with large red text reading, “Survival and Preparedness: How Much is Enough?” When Tom first got to the convention, this seemed like a difficult question, and now even more so. He did know, what he currently had, was not enough.
As they worked their way back toward the stairs there were pockets of darkness, keeping them on edge. The stairs and exhibit entrances were well lit from the glass spire above, however it looked like the exhibit rooms were shrouded in darkness.
Tom stopped before the large entrance to one of the exhibits, and craned his head listening. “Hear that?” A scraping noise could be heard from somewhere in the darkness.
“What is that?” She said in a whisper.
“Not sure, sounds like scraping metal.”
Rachael took a step back, clearly terrified. “I can’t go in there.” Her eyes started to tear up.
Stepping away from the dark entrance, he said, “These exhibits are full of survival equipment, all we have to do is get to the back of this exhibit. In the back there’s a service corridor that leads to a smaller exhibit.” Tom grasped her shoulder to make sure she was focused on him. “That is where the top weapons manufacturers have been showing off their stuff. “
Rachael slowly shook her head, saying nothing.
“We need these…we need lots of things, and they’re all here.”
Wiping her nose with the back of her hand she nodded her head.
The only warning Tom had was a sudden intake of breath from Rachael, and widening of her eyes, then it hit him. There was not enough time to raise the shotgun, but he at least got his left forearm up to afford some space between himself and his attacker. The momentum knocked Tom to the floor, sending the shotgun skittering out of his grasp.
The demented’s face was only inches from his own, the stench of this morning’s bitter coffee clung to his hot breath. Bloody teeth gnashed in front of Tom, trying to rip at his face. Straining with his forearm, Tom tried to throw his attacker off, but he had no leverage. Rachael came in hard with a kick to the side of the demented’s face. This gained just enough separation for Tom to shove with his forearm, sending the demented rolling to the side.
Turning for the shotgun, Tom was glad to see Rachael had already grabbed it off the floor, and was raising it to her shoulder. Not wanting to be a part of the blast, he began rolling toward her feet. Just as he came around, he saw the demented on all fours, rushing across the carpet, and then came a loud boom. In her rush to get a shot off, she clipped the demented's left side, shredding his shoulder and entire arm. Oblivious to the pain, he rose up on his knees and continued toward them. With one final boom, center mass, he flopped down and lay still.
He was a bloody mess now, but they could tell from his utility belt and uniform, that he was one of the security personnel for the convention center. Tom pulled the flashlight and sidearm from his belt. The large flashlight was a bit dim, in need of fresh batteries, but would make traversing the dark exhibit halls much easier. He was happy to see that security guy’s sidearm was a standard issue Glock G17, a fine weapon that used the highly accessible 9mm round. He checked the magazine, and chambered a round.
Turning back to Rachael, he saw that she was fumbling with the shotgun, trying to open the breach. “Here let me help.” He showed her how to slide the release, and then he loaded two fresh rounds. Handing her the final round from his pocket, he said “We better move, that shot will draw attention. Follow me, stay tight, and watch our backs.”
By crossing the forearm of his flashlight hand under is extended pistol arm, in the Harries Hold, he was able to focus the beam in the direction of potential targets. This was Tom’s preferred hold with a large flashlight, since it also offered stability for his shooting hand.
The enormous exhibit room had natural light coming in from various openings, but much of the interior between booths was still shrouded in shadows. Hugging the interior wall, they worked their way toward the back of the room, nearly a football field away. Shadows seemed to jump and shift with the movement of the flashlight. Adding to the paranoia was the constant scraping noise that was getting louder as they neared the back.
Reaching the back, he could see the large opening to the service corridor, light spilling out. He clicked his flashlight off, and wedged it in his belt. “Lights are on…could be good…could be bad...” He whispered.
Rachael looked much more comfortable now. Maybe it was the new confidence with the shotgun or maybe she was just relieved to have made it through the dark exhibit. Tom on the other hand, was too aware of their situation to be confident. More than likely a place this big had more than one security guard, as well as support staff that did the early morning work. Some may have left through the broken entrance, but if the scraping noise was any indication, there were others in here with them.
He directed Rachael to stand a few feet off the wall and train her shotgun through the entryway to cover him. Standing about ten feet off the wall, Tom slowly began making a wide arc, side stepping toward and through the center of the entryway. This way he could slowly gain more and more angle on the entryway to the right, while not overexposing himself. He had always referred to the technique as slicing the pie, where each new angle is a slice.
Stepping fully into the service corridor he saw nothing but empty space in either direction. “Clear.” He whispered.
Rachael low
ered the shotgun and joined him in the corridor. “That sound is coming from down there.” She said, while pointing toward the end of the long corridor.
“Yeah, that’s where we need to go”
Rachael swallowed hard, nodding her head, clearly not excited.
In the wide corridor they walked side by side, weapons aimed downrange to avoid potential surprises. They both slowed as they neared an unmarked door.
Tom took a step toward the door. “Definitely coming from in there.”
“Where does the door go?”
“I’ve only been in the convention center a few times, and it was always the exhibit rooms.” Tom looked toward the ceiling, as if there was a map there that only he could see. “I’m fairly certain this back side has the loading ramps for getting everything in and out. Probably I.T. and security as well…seems like they always throw those guys back away from the public.”
“Let’s leave it.”
Tom shook his head. “Someone’s in there…I don’t want them behind us.”
Rachael looked worried, but nodded her agreement.
Reaching out, Tom tested the door handle, and found it moved freely. The scraping noise stopped, causing him to freeze. He looked back at Rachael quizzically, shrugging his shoulders, and then with a sudden BOOM something slammed up against the door. Startled, Tom jumped away from the door, and Rachael let out a loud scream. Loud booms echoed down the long corridor as someone pounded relentlessly on the other side of the door.
If opened, the door swung inward, so Tom decided it would remain closed for as long as something was on the other side. Over the loud pounding, several angry screams could be heard from back down the hall. “The noise is drawing more of them.” Tom said. Looking down the corridor, he saw another door about twenty feet farther along the wall.
Another scream out of Rachael caused him to look back. Several of the demented were just coming around the corner at the far end. This looked like the early morning support staff that Tom feared still wandered the building. One was dressed in the blue overalls of a janitor. A couple others at the front were dressed in jeans and bright yellow vests. These looked to be some of the loading dock staff. Both Tom and Rachael watched in horror as several more rounded the corner, their hate filled screams funneling down the corridor.
The Demented Z (Book 1):The Demented Page 3
