by M. D. Massey
“Totally. I'll just stick with Victoria. I really like your name.”
Try not to sound like an apple polisher!
Finally, they came to a door with a small window centered about two-thirds of the way to the top. A low light filtered through the glass, indicating daylight ahead. He turned off his flashlight as he peered into the tram unloading zone near the topmost observation area.
He took so long that Victoria tapped him on his back.
“What's wrong?” she said in a soft voice.
He turned around and put his finger over his lips, pointed to the window, and sat down heavily on the topmost step. Victoria took her turn.
A zombie park ranger blocked their way.
She slumped down next to him.
He was fast becoming an emotional mess. The whole climb up he clung desperately to the flashlight, unusually afraid of the crush of pure blackness around them. He kept thinking about the gun in his face. His misstep with Victoria made him feel distinctly alone. He thought reaching the top would be a relief but instead he felt lower than ever. This new problem, along with his lack of weapon to dispatch it, weighed heavily on him. He felt a tear slide down his face and tried to wipe it away quickly. He didn't know if Victoria had been looking at his face, but the motion was unmistakable. The sniffle didn't help. She took his hand and they sat in silence for a few minutes. Her touch gave him strength, though he couldn't explain what exactly he felt at that moment. Protective of her? Was she protecting him? Were they helping each other cope?
“You want to know something funny? I left my gun downstairs. I put it in my backpack last night because I didn't want to sleep with it tucked into my pants. I figured it would keep waking me up as I rolled around on the hard floor. Everything happened so fast with the police request, I didn't think about grabbing my pistol again. I thought I was going to be the hero and protect you and Grandma, but I'm turning out to be anything but.”
She squeezed his hand and let go.
“Do you want to know something funnier?” she asked. “I never got my replacement shoes from our fast-talking teacher. I was hoping she'd find sneakers to go with my cocktail dress!” She pointed down to her dress pumps with the heels broken off. “I tried walking the steps in bare feet, but the metal grating made it unbearable. I'm surprised you didn't hear me yelping while I was trying it out.”
They both had a quiet laugh, breaking the tension.
“OK,” she continued, “we can't go back down without trying to get in there. I don't think I could climb these stairs again. I say we think of a plan to deal with this guy, so we can do what we came here to do for the police.”
“I agree, but what? Once that thing sees us, it's going to pursue us forever.”
They discussed their limited options and settled on what appeared to be the only viable plan.
Liam took up a position next to the door while Victoria opened it and yelled loudly at the dead park ranger. The man kept his feet but stumbled down the steep stairs of the tram loading area. He came through the door moving fast; Victoria crouched behind the door and held it open. Liam, standing behind the door and above Victoria, saw the ranger arrive. It really didn't take much of a push to keep his momentum moving toward the steep staircase beyond. He tumbled face-first down the flight while he and Victoria continued through the door and slammed it shut. It took about thirty seconds for the ranger to regain his footing, climb back up the stairs, and wail at his missed meal through the small window.
“Well,” Victoria said triumphantly, “we did it. We successfully switched places with a dead man.” They laughed harder than the joke deserved, letting go of some of their pent-up anxiety.
“At least we aren't in his grave!” he added, to more snickers.
They could now see the apex of the Arch with all its windows for the observation ports. They could not see the companion tram-unloading area over the top and down toward the beginning of the other leg.
“I wonder if there are more undead on the other side?”
“All we can do is move forward and deal with things as they come. You ready to reach the top of this bitch?”
He mentally beat his head, realizing he probably shouldn't have used that word in front of a girl, but Victoria didn't seem to mind.
“I'm not one for cussing, but yes, let's climb this female dog!”
Together they went over the top.
* * *
4
There were no more zombies on the other side. They assumed the ranger had attacked someone in the observation area, and the injured party or parties dragged themselves to the steps going down the north leg, leaving the ranger to wander around in this confined space until fresh meat showed up.
“My god, there is a lot of blood up here,” Victoria said while stepping around blotches of blood stained into the carpet.
His stomach turned at the sight; remembering Angie's cat didn't help. Or the foot. But he was able to, as his father would say, “keep his proverbial lunch down,” for which he was very grateful while in the presence of Victoria.
“Let's stay away from that tram station for now; it could be slippery.”
He agreed but added, “We have to go down one of the sides. We know at least one zombie is waiting for us in the south leg. I wonder if there are any in the north leg?”
“We'll save that as a delightful surprise for when we're done up here.”
They moved to the topmost section of the monument; a marker informed them they were 630 feet above the ground.
The interior of the observation area is about the width of a typical subway car or municipal bus. The floor has the same curvature as the top section of the Arch as seen from outside, but the windows are slanted at about 45-degree angles away from the interior and sit on a low shelf, so when you look out the narrow portal, you're practically lying on your belly. Small children often lay down on the windows, usually with a concerned parent holding their legs as if the glass was about to blow out. He always found that a riot.
The slanted windows gave them a glorious view of the entire Arch grounds, as well as magnificent views in all directions with the exception of directly north or south, as those were blocked by the legs of the structure itself. To the west was the sprawl of downtown St. Louis. To the east were the river and numerous bridges linking Missouri with Illinois. One massive bridge to the north was new and modern-looking with twin piers rising high above, providing anchor points for hundreds of bundles of suspension cables. Always thinking of his books, he remembered a similar bridge from one of his zombie stories. The name Steubenville stuck out. Many heroes died blowing it up. He shuddered at having to do such a thing and wondered if he would ever have to resort to such desperation.
They got their bearings and focused their attention on the western half of the park, nearest the city. There were people on the riverfront side, but the captain had said the infected were coming almost entirely from the city side. Looking down, they both realized how hard it was to see individual people.
“Binoculars would have been helpful.”
Victoria responded, “And a catered lunch would have really made this climb worthwhile.”
She gave him a big smile as she pulled out the radio and called down. He was relieved when a man answered and not the fast-talking woman who sent them.
“This is Victoria and Liam. We're in position up in the Arch.”
After ensuring she wasn't still on the air, she said to him, “I'm not sure what the protocol is, do I say 'over' when I'm done?”
He shrugged.
The radio crackled, “This is Arch base. We want you to report if you see large groups of ... crazies. Over.”
Oh, I see plenty of those.
They looked out again. The muzzle flashes on the exterior lines of defense made it easy to see that outline. Everyone seemed to be holding the plague at bay. He was happy to see a lone tank moving back and forth along a frontage street, using its mass to crush the undead in front of it. Three Ma
rine vehicles were parked between buildings. They sent round after round down the long streets whenever small threads of plague victims appeared, evaporating them.
“No, sir. We don't see any large groups. Over,” she let go of the button to wait for a reply.
“Roger that. Please report in if anything changes. Out.”
“So how long do wait up here?” she said while placing the radio on one of the window frames.
He had no answer. He wouldn’t complain if he could spend all day up here with her—until he remembered Grandma was still downstairs, alone.
They settled in and waited. Each took turns moving to different windows to try to see if anything happened that would be of interest to the police below. It wasn't long before they made their first call.
“Hello, Arch base. This is Arch—” Victoria keyed off the mic. “What are we calling ourselves?”
“Arch summit?”
“This is Arch summit. There's a big mess of zombies to the north, pushing the line up that way. It looks pretty serious.”
“Zombies? Good a term as any. Thank you, Arch summit. Understood. Out.”
They watched a small group of men and women move through the crowd to a point on the northern line. Neither could see what happened in any great detail, but soon the line returned to where it had been and appeared stable.
“It's like white blood cells going to fight a virus,” Victoria said. “We're in charge of sending the white blood cells where they're needed. They attack and push back the deadly virus.”
He appreciated her analogy but looking down on the entire scene he thought she had it backward. Infected were stumbling down roadways as far as he could see. The little clump of cells below—mankind—was resisting the endless white blood cells being sent by the zombie host now controlling the rest of the city. It made him feel the futility of the thin ring of defense upon which they depended for their survival.
We should run.
He thought about it seriously. Blowing up a bridge wouldn't be so bad if it killed all of them. By comparison, all he could do was run for his life. For now, his job was to hold the line. Give the police the time needed to get them all out.
A little later, they noticed a single barge floating free in the river. They watched it collide with the pylons of several upstream bridges, pausing on each leg as it scraped by until it resumed meandering downriver. At the point closest to them on the water, they could see directly into the sunken hold. Even from such distance, the mass of infected inside was easily recognizable, all moving without purpose in their open-topped prison. The boat avoided the last two bridges out of downtown and was soon drawn away by the current.
“Well, that's one way to get rid of them,” he said.
Hours went by without anything else of interest happening until Liam noticed movement on some of the streets.
“Victoria? Do you see this?” Liam’s stomach was a fist of tension while she walked over to his window.
When she saw it, Victoria struggled to key the radio and make her call.
* * *
5
“Hello, Arch base. Come in. This is Arch summit.” Victoria’s voice was shaky and fast.
It required a few repeated calls, but someone finally answered. A woman—it wasn't clear if it was Jenkins—requested Victoria's report.
“We're seeing a huge mass of people on the north side moving toward the south. We think they're living people. They're shooting into our line. We can see flashes of guns, aimed at each other. I say again; these are people shooting other people—not zombies.”
“Holy crap. Hold on a second. Over.”
Looking down, the renegades had come in near the water of the riverfront, where the cordon was thin. They headed directly for the Arch. For them.
As if learning the fact at the same time, the radio crackled, “We see 'em. They're here. Looks like several gangs and other criminals. No Boy Scouts out there. You guys better come down. Out.”
“That's it?” Liam didn't know what to expect of their mission. Did they give the police the information fast enough to make a difference?
They took a last look down. The cordon held firm most of the way around the park, but in the north, it took confusing twists and turns. It was destabilizing. He had read this scenario a hundred times in his books.
“OK, Victoria, which side are we going to go down? Do we choose door A and go back the way we came, with a raging sick ranger to deal with? Do we choose door B and go down the blood-filled stairwell with an unknown number of zombies below? Oh, and as a special bonus, we can come out at the base of the north side where even now a gun-toting crowd of criminals is closing in.”
“Can I choose door C and jump out a window, please?”
“They gave me a parachute, so, yeah.” He gave her a big smile.
She was also smiling. “It's good to see we both still have our sense of humor intact, despite the insanity down there.”
“All that shooting has me scared sh—, uh, to death, but yeah, I just want to get back to Grandma now. I have to get her out.”
“You think they'll make it into the Arch museum? What about all the police?”
“I think the police will fight hard to protect their families but look at the swarm of attackers. There's just too many. And if the northern line falls, we'll have bigger problems than armed gangs.” He watched the buckling lines and imagined two white blood cells fighting each other as the deadly virus paced nearby with a menacing grin.
The host is committing suicide.
“Do you think we could open the door, let the ranger back up into the observation area, and give him the slip as we run back down and shut the door?” Victoria asked.
“It's worth a try. I like that better than exploring the north leg, waiting for a sick person or persons to jump us the whole way down.”
They made their way to the south leg’s unloading zone only to find their friend was no longer at the door. It had been several hours since they left him; he moved on. That meant he was somewhere on the 1,076 steps below.
“Want to change your answer now?”
He thought about it and decided he'd rather face the one zombie he knew was down these steps than an unknown number in the other leg. “Let's go down this way and deal with him when we find him. We'll just have to move slow.”
“Do you want a drink of water?”
“Do I ever! You found some?” he said excitedly.
“No, I was just asking,” Victoria smiled as she joked. He couldn't help but laugh, too, although he made like he was going to punch her in the arm for saying something so mean.
He started down the dark staircase with the flashlight. Despite multiple layers of danger around him, he felt infinitely better than his walk up the steps earlier. He had his friend back.
Victoria, with the radio, trailed behind.
11
Antibodies
Liam was stoked to be on good terms with Victoria again, but on the way down neither made a peep. The steep stairwell in the narrow space of the upper Arch was bad enough to do in the dark, but knowing a dead man was walking somewhere below sent his fear factor right out the window. If there were windows ...
Victoria tried to stay as close as possible; her quiet footfalls echoed his from the step behind. She kept a hand on his shoulder, so they would not get separated. His initial optimism as they started the descent had worn off, though he was overjoyed he wasn't doing it alone. He thought he might go insane if he had to try.
And if the light went out?
He looked down at the flashlight, as if to will it to stay on. It was bright and steady. The walk down was nearly as taxing on their legs as the climb up had been, though it was a different kind of pain. Adding to their suffering, they’d had no food or water since the start of the day's adventure.
The staircase wound itself around the machinery of the mechanical tram sharing the space. Rather than one continuous set of stairs, it was broken up with dozens and dozens o
f landings, so it could bend with the curvature of the structure. They expected to find the missing zombie on each landing as they went down. And each vacant landing heightened their anxiety. Was he on the next one? Was he still in the stairwell at all? Was he attacking Grandma at this very moment? Liam's imagination ran wild.
He tried to balance the prudence of a cautious descent with the pressure of escaping the Arch before the whole structure was overrun with the armed attackers swarming below. He wondered whether the mindless infected were worse than the men and women preying on their vulnerable peers.
About twenty minutes later, they reached the machine shop where they'd started. His stress level was off the charts because the ranger had to be somewhere close. They couldn't have missed him on the stairs. The same door was open that led up the hallway into the main waiting area. The zombie must have gone through there because it couldn't have been hiding anywhere else.
“How did that thing get past us? Do you think he was hiding?” He didn't figure that was a behavior of a normal zombie, but then, what was the normal behavior of a dead person? Seeing a real-life zombie made him realize “normal” and “zombie” could never be used together.
“No, he couldn't—”
They jumped when screaming began. Someone had found him.
But when they entered the main waiting area, they discovered it wasn't a zombie causing all the commotion; it was the criminals. They had already breached the north entrance by breaking all the glass doors and were now yelling and screaming back and forth with the police officers nearby.
He scanned the room and did see the ranger, after all, just making his way to some of the elderly and infirm people on the right side of the room, nearest the candy store. Well away from the police or the looters. Well away from help. While it was a matter of life or death for those closest to the crazed ranger, the zombie was a sideshow relative to the shouting battle in the rest of the cavernous room.
