In the hallway, the first creature slammed against the door. It ran its hands blindly along the door, missing the doorknob entirely. Then, in frustration, it pounded on the door with its open hands.
Behind the door, the pounding only increased Steve’s panic. He stared at the map, trying to calm the dizziness so that he could focus on the maze of numbers.
Meanwhile, the second creature had reached the door and it, too, was clawing at it. The third approached slowly.
Rattling among the keys, Steve’s fingers were shaking so vigorously that he couldn’t hold the key ring still in order to decipher the numbers.
Outside, one of the creatures, through its random clutching, was able to take hold of the knob and pushed in and out, not yet turning it.
Steve’s eyes bulged with terror as he saw the moving knob. He threw himself against the door, still trying to read the numbers on the keys. The knob turned slowly, and there was pressure from the other side, even against Steve’s weight. He managed to slam the door shut despite the creature’s insistent pushing. Frustrated in his attempt to read the small numbers on the key ring, Steve threw it down and grabbed his gun.
During Steve’s battle with the zombies in the administrative wing, others were falling over one another as they tried to move down the up escalator. They scrambled to their feet and moved toward the department store entrance.
In the concourse, many of the creatures were moving toward the gate, and already there were a dozen or so clinging and shoving at the metal grid.
“OK,” Peter reported. “They’re coming . . .” Through the crowd he could see several other creatures lurching down the stationary steps. He readied his walkie-talkie, pulling the antenna out full.
“Go on up,” he told Roger. “Stay outa sight, but lemme know when it’s clear enough.”
Roger, clutching his walkie-talkie, disappeared among the aisles. As if he were running across a minefield in Nam, he crouched, going deeper into the store. Peter tried to hold the attention of the creatures at the gate.
“Right here, babies,” he taunted. “This is where it’s at . . . you dumb-ass suckers. You dumb . . . you are dumb!”
Panting, Roger reached the back elevator, and as the doors closed, he breathed a sigh of relief and pushed the button for the balcony level. The doors glided open, and he moved through the second-floor aisles with the stealth of a panther.
“I think we can move the wagon,” he said into his walkie-talkie to Peter.
“Clear?” came the crackling reply.
“Not altogether, but they’re spread out pretty good . . . enough to move the wagon.”
Just as Peter was about to reply, a few creatures slammed against the first-floor gate, but it held securely. Peter stared at the ghouls for a moment as he lowered his talk unit. Slowly, a confused and upset look on his face, he backed away into the depth of the store. He was an odd sight: an armed and obviously well-worn soldier walking through aisles of the latest in cosmetics, accessories and jewelry.
Upstairs, Roger peered out from behind a counter and saw that the second-floor gate was clear. On the balcony, he noted, several creatures still wandered around aimlessly, but most of them had already moved down the steps and escalators.
Peter was still visible to the zombies at the first-floor entrance. He clipped his talk unit onto his belt and then ducked and disappeared among the aisles.
He ran, crouching out of sight, until he rounded a far wall and came up into the elevator and entered the car. Breathing heavily, and leaning against a side wall for support, he pushed “2” and watched as the doors glided shut. He felt the gears engage and the car move upward.
The doorknob to the maintenance room rotated again, and the door pushed against Steve’s weight. His feet slid on the linoleum floor, and this time he could not get the door closed.
Biting his lip so that he drew blood, he made the sign of the cross and backed suddenly into the room, holding his rifle high. The door flew open with a great slam against the interior wall, and the three zombies advanced into the office.
With a sense of calm that amazed even himself, Stephen took careful aim at the leader and fired.
Just as the elevator doors opened on the balcony level, Peter heard the sound of Steve’s shot. For a moment he hesitated, as if to get his bearings, and then he ran toward the entrance arch. Roger was at work at one of the side locks on the gate. The gunfire caused him also to stop as he was unlocking the mechanism. He looked at Peter questioningly, the hand with the key poised in the air.
The zombies on the balcony heard the sound as well, and they walked around in confusion, attracted by the noise.
“What the hell is that?” thundered Peter as he walked up behind Roger.
“Fuzz maybe?”
“Or maybe Flyboy,” he said gruffly. “Where’s it comin’ from?”
“Can’t tell,” Roger said quietly, returning to his work. He had forgotten about Steve and Fran after he’d left them, and now he felt as if he might have deserted them. They certainly weren’t equipped to deal with this horror show, and he felt somewhat responsible for their being here.
“Come on,” Peter said impatiently. “Open up.”
“Maybe we should see what’s happenin’ . . .” Roger said, feeling guilty. Peter ignored his plaintive tone.
“Open up. I can get the wagon over. If it is Flyboy, let’s get him on our side.”
Roger moved toward the second lock, confused by Peter’s seemingly disjointed answer. Another shot was heard.
Peter set his weapon on the floor.
“You just cover me good, you hear?” he warned.
Roger moved to the third and final lock as Peter stood and grabbed onto the handle of the cart.
To Steve’s extreme surprise, the body of a zombie fell to the floor, dead. Its head had been shot clean through. Nearby lay the corpse of the first creature to break into the office, also a surprise to Steve, who was so petrified he was barely conscious of what he was doing.
As the third staggered into the room, Steve was ready for him. He held the rifle out in front, and as the creature walked toward the gun, Steve held his hands on the trigger.
But the creature was too quick for him. Before Steve knew it, the zombie had lunged suddenly and its hands grabbed the gun barrel. Steve fired, but the blast tore through the creature’s chest, not slowing him in the least. Steve struggled to raise the barrel, but the motion of the zombie made it impossible to aim accurately. The gun fired again, this time grazing the zombie’s neck. The ghoul was covered with dripping blood and pus. Its appearance was so distasteful to Steve that he had a hard time looking at him so as to take proper aim. With a sudden burst of energy, the creature was able to wrench the gun free. Then, it started its slow deliberate approach toward Steve. It had tossed the rifle across the room, where it slammed to the floor by one of the desks.
The zombie backed Steve against the wall, right next to the key cabinet. With his eyes glued to the zombie’s face, which seemed extremely animated, almost as if it really knew what was going on, Steve reached around on top of the key cabinet, trying to find some weapon. He almost wept with joy as he felt some tools in the cabinet and came up with a hammer. The zombie was just about to reach him when he pulled the hammer out and upset the cabinet. The zombie fumbled with the cabinet at its feet, but it did not fall.
With a sudden burst of energy, Steve raised the hammer in order to smash the creature’s head, but he missed and the zombie grabbed at his arm, trying to bite it with its gaping hole of a mouth.
Steve was able to wrench free, and the force of his movement caused the two bodies to fall to the floor. Now the creature was clutching at the man’s legs, its teeth bared like an animal’s. Steve kicked desperately and managed to land a blow squarely in the creature’s face. The zombie came on after him again, and from his crawling position, Steve was able to bring up the hammer against the creature’s jaw. The creature fell back enough for Steve to crawl across the
floor away from it. But, the ghoul followed persistently. Steve reached the desk, where he grabbed up his rifle. Rolling on the floor, he fired several shots into the creature. A gushing red hole appeared on its forehead and between the eyes. Finally, it rolled to the floor, writhing in agony, destroyed.
With a rumble, the second-floor gate rolled up and Peter ran out of the store with his cart full of merchandise.
The action caught the attention of several of the creatures that were still wandering around the balcony. They turned slowly in the direction of the disturbance.
Just as he rounded the corner, Peter almost collided with one creature. The momentum of the run across the floor almost caused the cart to fall over. Luckily, Peter managed to right it and get past, running as fast as he could toward the opening of the administrative corridor.
Roger did not let the gate roll up too high this time. He stabilized the metal grid well within reach; then he stood his post with Peter’s rifle. Several creatures approached from the opposite direction. Roger fired at the closest one. It fell with a thud. He raised the rifle to fire at the others, but they were too far away for him to be accurate and he didn’t want to waste any bullets. Even with all the supplies they had garnered, he knew that all the bullets would be needed sooner or later.
Concurrently, Stephen stepped over the corpses in the office and grabbed up the maintenance manual again. He rushed into the corridor, hoping that he wouldn’t meet any more unwelcome guests. To his utter dismay, three more creatures moved toward him up the hallway. At first he froze, then he started backing toward the fire stair, his rifle poised.
Peter was charging along, with the supplies shaking on top of the cart like jelly. Just as he was about to reach the mouth of the corridor, a zombie stepped out of the hallway right in his path. Peter slammed the cart squarely into the creature’s legs. The zombie fell into the cart, on top of the supplies. The big man slammed the load against a wall at the mouth of the corridor. Before the zombie was able to get its balance, the big trooper reached down and grabbed the creature by its jacket lapels. It was almost comical—a big bouncer ejecting the unruly patron from a bar. With all his might, Peter flung the dead thing out against the balcony railing. The creature flipped over the rail at its waist but did not fall off the balcony. Its arms and legs were flailing as Peter came up quickly behind it and flipped it over the rail. It plummeted to the ground silently, and made a loud thud when it landed.
At the second-level store entrance, Roger fired again at a zombie that was drawing dangerously near. Other creatures throughout the area were again attracted to the entrance and converged as if it were a giveaway being conducted during the normal working hours.
As Peter wheeled the cart into the mouth of the corridor, he saw Steve at the other end of the hall being boxed in by the three converging zombies.
“Hold it, Flyboy!” he screamed.
Steve froze at the sound, which seemed familiar. He could barely see Peter, since his line of vision was blocked by the advancing ghouls, who were barely thirty feet away from him now and steadily closing in.
“Don’t go in the stairway!” Peter instructed, a note of panic in his voice.
Stephen was confused. The creatures were advancing, and Peter was giving him conflicting advice.
“Don’t open that door, baby. You’ll lead them right up with you.”
Steve was on the verge of panic. The zombies were merely ten feet away. He was trapped!
“Run for it!” came Peter’s strident command. “Run this way!”
The zombies drew closer and closer. Steve could feel the heat of their foul breath.
“Come on, man,” Peter coached. “Run this way. You can run right through ’em. We gotta lead ’em away from here!”
With one deep breath, Steve sized up the corridor. It would be a squeeze, but there was room to run past the creatures.
“Come on, Flyboy. You can make it. Come on!” Peter cried.
With a sudden jerky move, Steve broke into a run. He passed the first zombie easily. The second made a grab as he passed but Steve kept his footing even though he slammed against the wall of the corridor, practically crushing his shoulder. A sharp pain shot through his right side. He kept moving forward. He knew to stop would mean certain death.
The third zombie loomed in his path. Like a charging bull, Steve lowered his head and slammed into the ghoul’s chest. The creature fell back, flying against the wall. Steve fell as well, and tumbled toward the mouth of the passageway. He regained his footing as the creatures, now standing once again, turned to pursue him.
“Now . . . hit for the department store . . . go!” Peter told him as he ran to the end of the hall where the big trooper waited.
In unison, the two men ran across the balcony. They slammed into two other zombies, which clutched and grabbed at them without success.
Steve followed Peter to where Roger was firing at still another creature that was getting too close. It fell right under the balcony entrance arch of the big store. Other zombies approached, but Steve and Peter dove into the arch in time, and the three men managed to lower the gate without a problem.
The zombies converged on the area as they had before, still clawing, clutching and shoving the metal cage, but they were unable to enter. It held them out securely.
The three men moved away, each giving silent thanks for their close escape. As they backed away, the only sound was of their heavy exhausted breathing.
“Downstairs again,” Peter said after a moment’s rest. “Same trick.”
They moved through the aisles of the store and crashed down the escalator.
“What do we do?” Steve sputtered when they reached the first floor and ran toward the lower gate, wheezing with exhaustion.
“Let ’em know we’re here,” Roger said. He started to shout: “Whooooo hooooooo . . . over here . . . Yeeee ahhhhhhhhhh!”
Steve started to laugh, out of relief and also at the ludicrousness of the situation. Peter smiled at him for the first time.
“You did all right this time, Flyboy. How ’bout it?” he said with genuine feeling.
Steve laughed some more. It was nervous at first, but soon it built into a real wholehearted belly laugh.
“Whooooooooooooooopeeeeeeee . . .” he let out long and loudly.
The new kid on the block had been accepted, and he felt just like a child again. They all hugged each other with the joy of their victory. And a temporary victory was better than none at all.
7
After a few minutes of whooping it up with the other men, the reality of the situation hit Stephen squarely in the jaw. His body wavered for a second and he felt sick and weak in the knees. But it was also a good feeling, a feeling that he could do anything he wanted to, as long as he put his mind to it. His family had always been a cerebral one, and he had never been taught the pure joy that comes from physical accomplishment. Now, as he stood sweating and panting with the two troopers, a strange calmness overcame him.
But the pleasant feeling was short-lived. The three men continued to shout at the creatures through the cage, and the repulsive beasts were already gathering at the gate. The zombies had lost all of the individuality they had when they were human, but Steve noticed that they were of many shapes, sizes and ages, some with the horrible wounds that had caused their deaths.
There was a middle-aged gray-haired man in a business suit; a housewife, possibly in her forties, in an apron; a well-dressed young woman, once attractive with long blond hair, in a skirt and sweater, probably an office worker. There were some children, about ten to thirteen, who looked like they’d just come home from school; a construction worker with a beard; a young black man with an Afro and wire-rimmed glasses; and a grandmother-type with a gray bun at the back of her neck. A few more men in nondescript work clothes hung around the gate, but it didn’t much matter what any of them had been in their former lives, they were all horrible and partially decomposed now, and their strength had nothing to
do with their appearance. The youngest were most repulsive, as many had died of violent causes and not of old age.
Peter had warned Steve not to soften when a child or older woman approached him. They were all deadly.
Out on the concourse, a few zombies wandered aimlessly, but most of them turned toward the direction of the first-floor department store arch, where the men were doing their best to stir up a racket.
On the upstairs balcony, the creatures that had collected there were again moving toward the stationary steps and the escalators.
The three creatures that Steve had battled with in the administrative corridor moved toward the open mall. Two walked out on the balcony, but the third turned into an open office. They seemed as stiff-legged and awkward as wind-up dolls. The last one staggered back out, spun around and headed down the hall toward the fire stair.
Fran, who had been waiting nearly an hour for Steve’s return, heard the faint whooping of the men as she moved toward the stairway door, which was still open. She couldn’t imagine what the sound was for. It seemed like a celebration of some sort, and then the horrid thought crossed her mind, What if they had cracked under the pressure? Or what if Steve were dead and Peter and Roger were happy? She stopped herself from those silly thoughts. Sitting up here alone was making her crazy. She was starting to imagine the wildest things. She wished Steve would hurry back.
She stepped out into the landing and looked down into the vast murkiness of the fire stair. Suddenly the shouting stopped. The silence was worse, and she felt desperate with fear. The trembling began, and she moved back into the storage room, and then back onto the landing. She didn’t know where to turn. Where the hell were Steve, Roger and Peter? Who did they think she was, leaving her here all alone? She wasn’t a child, she could be of some use, but all they wanted to do was play soldier and leave her up in this godforsaken room with a bunch of cartons.
Dawn of the Dead Page 11
