by Drew Brown
The last zombie died under a thunderous strike from Carl’s axe, which was perfectly timed and administered, despite the weight of the weapon.
I’m not weak—but that guy was much stronger. I got the axe up in the air and let gravity help with the rest. Carl wielded it like most people would a stick.
I bet he worked out…
“Now then,” Andy said, “those offices over there should be locked up for t’night. An’ they should be empty.”
Hesitantly, James walked to the door Andy had pointed to, which was on the opposite side of the kitchen to the elevator. It was a large, metal-framed glass door that enclosed a series of offices. The young man scanned his eyes through the glass and tried the handle. It wouldn’t turn. “Yeah, it’s locked,” he said, “and it looks empty.”
“We’ll check for sure later. But we’ll clear t’restaurant first.”
“Where do those go?” Chris asked, pointing to two sets of metallic elevator doors that entered in the corner of the kitchen, further along to the left from where the freight elevator was positioned. There were no lights on the panels above them.
“Lifts for t’staff an’ as a backup for t’one we used. They’re not on t’emergency power circuit, though,” Andy said. He gave the doors a cursory look as he headed for the restaurant.
Budd let his eyes follow the direction Andy was moving. All along one edge of the kitchen was a stainless steel hotplate that had glass covers at its front and back. It was here that the prepared food was kept warm until the waiters delivered it to the tables. Ten feet beyond the counter was a long wall with thirty spring-loaded doors that could open in either direction. They led to the restaurant and could not be locked, but they did have small porthole windows at head height.
“I came up here earlier,” Budd said, lifting his Stetson and running his hand through his hair, wiping the sweat from his brow. “You know, back when these people were just dead, before they started getting up and walkin’ around. There were a lot of them.”
Which meant—and you don’t have to be a rocket scientist to realize this—that there would be a lot of them now. And, to be honest, I didn’t really want to tussle with them. Except, I guess, for that damned snooty maître d’…
The five men found a gap in the plate-warming counter, convening in the space between it and the doors. Andy shrugged his shoulders. “We can’t leave t’hotel, not in t’fog,” he said, pausing as James and Chris nodded their agreement to his statement, “an’ this floor has t’most available sources of food an’ light, as well as being easiest to defend. We just need to clear it first.”
Carl bent down and peered through the porthole of the nearest door. “Let’s do this,” he said, raising his axe so that it was ready to use.
He pushed the door open with his foot and jumped through the space.
33
Budd hesitated at the door, allowing the others to pass in front of him. The short delay at entering the Skyview Restaurant gave him some time to think once he was inside. The rest of his small band were fanning out across the room, spreading away from each other with every step, although Budd could see that Chris, with his fire extinguisher, was reluctant to separate too far as his improvised weapon was no use on its own. Budd hurried after him, the two of them arcing to the left, ultimately heading for the bar. He was grateful for the company; the restaurant was as heavily populated as he’d remembered.
It was hard enough for me not to run away. And I’m sure, if my legs could’ve thought of somewhere else to go, that I’d have had no chance at stoppin’ them. There were waiters and waitresses everywhere, except, of course, that isn’t how they saw themselves.
No, they weren’t really waiters at all. Not anymore. They were nothing so humble.
Now, they were Table Managers.
God bless political correctness…
Dressed in their black pants and waistcoats, white shirts and black bowties, the shambolic horde of living dead stumbled, groaned and knocked into tables and chairs, their arms outstretched and their mouths biting air as they turned to face the restaurant’s new arrivals. They were spread out across the warren of passageways between the tables, each one aiming for one member of the group or another. Budd counted seven moving directly for either Chris or himself and, looking around, he was sure they had got off lightly.
Carl, the first into the room and the furthest across it, had at least twice that number lurching towards him. The first to arrive was dispatched with a single blow from the big man’s axe, which sent the near-decapitated body crashing into a table to land in a heap of flailing limbs, broken wood, cutlery, a white table cloth, and a vase of flowers. Budd watched as the big man prepared another blow for a second zombie, this one a waitress, her mottled flesh on show beneath the hem of her black skirt.
Before the strike was made, Budd heard Chris’s fire extinguisher burst into life, and he focused on his own task. He stepped around Chris, avoiding the funneled blast of white powder, closing in on the thing trapped within its fog-like discharge. While the waiter-zombie tried in vain to push the powder away from its face, Budd leveled his axe for a horizontal blow, swinging it with all his might.
He found his target.
The zombie’s head, its mouth still open, parted from the neck and the body slumped down to its knees before toppling backwards, a fountain of blood gushing from the catastrophic wound.
“The batter’s on fire,” Budd said with a forced smirk.
I was glad the severed head rolled out of sight…
“Just keep it up,” Chris replied, turning to his left and firing off another prolonged spray of powder at the next waiter to approach them. For a second time, Budd dispatched the walking corpse, this time sinking the blade deep into the top of its head. It was a struggle to pry the weapon from the broken skull and the sucking brain-mass within.
“Be fucking careful with that. We’re in trouble without it.”
Budd cocked his Stetson and grinned. “And, today, trouble has taken on a whole new meaning.”
The next zombie stuttering towards them was still a good distance off, Budd guessed nearly ten seconds away, but he and Chris remained where they were, waiting for the thing to reach them. In the intervening time, Budd glanced around.
He was relieved to see that Andy, Carl and James were still standing, still fighting; unlike Budd and Chris, they were not content to wait for the action to come to them, instead roaming between the tables, seeking out each confrontation.
Already, half of the floor space was clear, perhaps a quarter of the waiter-zombies. Budd guessed he would probably only have to kill a few more of the things before the battle was over.
“I’m glad the all-action heroes are on our side,” Chris said as he brought the nozzle of his fire extinguisher up again. The nearest zombie was still a few yards away.
Budd suddenly retched with fear. The bile burned the back of his throat as it rose from his stomach. “Over there,” he yelled, as loud as he could.
The others turned to look at him, but the warning was too late.
One of the zombies on the far side of the restaurant had started to run, and was heading straight for James.
The waiter-beast pumped its arms, snarling and snapping its teeth. It launched itself through the air and crashed into James, who collapsed back onto a table beneath his attacker.
Andy and Carl abandoned what they were doing and rushed across the areas they’d cleared. They wove through the network of tables and chairs, desperate to help their fallen comrade.
His screams filled the restaurant, echoing beneath the room’s glass ceiling.
“Come on,” Budd instructed, waving for Chris to follow him. He jogged back around the outskirts of the room, passing the double doors from the entrance hall that housed the elevator bank, aiming to meet with the others.
At the back of my mind, I also planned how I’d retreat to the kitchen if events turned bad.
They didn’t look good…
The fast-moving zombie extricated its body from where it had landed on James. He was one of the male waiters, of average height and build, with short dark hair and a clean-shaven face. He jumped back to his feet with blood all around his mouth, dripping down his chin.
His lower jaw moved up and down.
He was chewing.
Andy stopped ten paces away. The beast raised his hands, holding them like claws. Blood dripped from his fingertips. He let out a hiss.
Sprawled out across the broken two-seater table behind the beast, James was still.
Carl reached Andy and halted by his side, his axe ready to swing.
The waiter-beast let out another snarl and then charged towards them, seemingly oblivious to the weapons it faced.
Budd was so caught up in the scene that he almost stopped, knowing that the outcome of the battle would shape his next move: either continue to clear the room, or flee back to the freight elevator.
Without hesitation, the waiter-beast rushed on, throwing himself against Andy and avoiding his hammer blow simply by coming on too quickly for the maintenance man to react. Andy crashed backwards under the force of the collision, the waiter-beast on top of him, snapping his teeth viciously.
Budd prepared to flee.
With Chris alongside him, the pair edged towards the swing-doors, but Carl sprung into action and kicked the beast in his side, toppling him from his position above Andy and sending him reeling to the ground.
As the waiter-beast started to rise up again, his white teeth shining bright from inside the bloody frame of his face, Carl unleashed a mighty blow that cut deep into the side of his head, splitting the jaw all the way to the ear. The waiter fell to the ground, wriggling around until Carl landed a second strike on the top of his head.
Finally, the fast-moving thing was still.
Carl leaned over and gave Andy a hand to his feet. The maintenance man offered his thanks as he retrieved his fallen hammer.
Budd looked at the remaining host of zombie waiters, all of which were the slower, unsteady type.
Slow or not: there were still a lot of them. Much more than I had the stomach for. The time had come to be someplace else…
Budd put his hand on Chris’s shoulder, gesturing over to James’s unmoving body. “You help the others,” he said, “and I’ll go fetch the doc.”
Before Chris had any chance to object, Budd was running to the nearest kitchen door. When it had swung closed behind him, he slowed his pace to a walk. He was in no hurry to return to the restaurant, not until it was much, much safer.
Coward? Me?
Yep.
And happy to be a living, breathing one at that, thank you very much. There was no point hurrying to get the doctor, not on James’s behalf—I had a fair idea from what I’d seen that it wasn’t gonna do him any good.
I, on the other hand, would benefit greatly from a nice stroll across the kitchen. It was good for my heart…
34
Budd knocked on the cargo lift’s outer door.
“Who’s there?”
“Doc, we need your help,” Budd said, panting a little to sound as though he’d hurried. “James is hurt.”
The latch disengaged and the outer door opened to reveal the doctor. Budd caught sight of Juliette knelt down at the back of the elevator, tending to the injured. He gave her a smile, which she returned, but her attention quickly returned to the wounded Chinese woman whose hair she was stroking.
De looked much paler than she had before.
The doctor stepped out and slid closed the concertina door. He flipped the lock and turned to Budd. “Other than the poor girl’s going into shock, I can’t explain why she’s deteriorating. Her injuries can’t be causing it,” he said quietly.
“Perhaps an infection? Maybe a slower version of what killed the others?”
The doctor shrugged his shoulders and sighed. “I’m sure it’s only shock,” he said, shaking his head. “We need to find her some blankets to keep her warm. Some first aid supplies would be useful as well.”
“There’ll be some in here,” Budd said, waving his arm around the kitchen, “but first you’d better come see James. I don’t think there’s much time.”
The doctor nodded his head, pushed his round spectacles further up his nose, and then followed Budd across the kitchen. They skirted the bodies of the incapacitated chefs, winding their way to the long hotplate and the swing-doors. The two of them moved at a slow jog, but, despite Budd’s foot-dragging, by the time he pushed into the restaurant, Andy, Carl and Chris were still engaging the last of the waiters, cutting them down with practiced ease. Budd glanced across at the fighting, relieved that it was on the far side of the room around the bar. He led the doctor the other way, keeping to the restaurant’s edge.
Within a few feet of where James laid among the remnants of the broken table, his arms at ninety degrees to his body and his head tilted back so that his face was obscured, Budd could see they were far too late. The young honeymooner had been dead almost from the time the fast-moving zombie had attacked him. His jugular was bitten open, the skin and muscle of his neck ripped apart to reveal glimpses of his spinal column through the gory mess. There was a large pool of blood around him.
“Sorry, Doc. I guess there was no need to bring you out here.”
“Don’t be foolish, I’m used to seeing death,” the doctor replied, but nevertheless his complexion lost some of its color. Removing a candleholder and empty vase from a nearby table, the doctor picked up a tablecloth and laid it over the top half of James’s body. Almost instantly, dark patches of blood showed through.
Chris walked up behind them. “He’s dead, then?”
“Yeah,” Budd said with a nod. “What are they doing?”
Chris looked to where Carl and Andy had finished clearing the bar section and had returned to the floor’s long dividing wall. They were standing in front of the two wooden double doors that led to the elevator bank. Andy was searching a ring of keys that he’d unhooked from his tool-belt. “They’re sealing it off for now. The wrench-monkey says it’ll be dark in there, so it’ll need to be done by flashlight.”
“Sounds like fun,” Budd said, grimacing.
“If no one else is injured, I should get back to my patients.”
“I’ll take you back, Doc,” Budd said.
Soon, someone would have to drag the copses someplace out of sight. It wasn’t a job I fancied…
“And I’ll try and find some first aid supplies.”
“Thank you.”
Budd accompanied the doctor back the kitchen, but Andy intercepted them, having locked the two wooden doors. Carl was resting on a chair to catch his breath.
“There was nothing that could be done? We never stopped to look,” the maintenance man said, gesturing over to the tablecloth-covered body.
“I’m afraid not,” the doctor answered.
“We’ve got to clear this mess before t’others can leave t’elevator. We can’t let t’women see this,” Andy said sadly. He looked out across the bodies he’d so efficiently put down, rubbing his neck with the palm of his hand. It left a smear of blood across his neck and collar.
There was no mistaking it; Andy’s expression was not that of a happy man. Only hours before, the bodies had been living, breathing people, probably some of them well known to him, but now they were smashed and lifeless.
I’m damn sure he wasn’t considering a conga line to celebrate his victory…
“Come and talk to me later,” the doctor said. “You look tired.”
I guess we were thinkin’ the same thing. That the man who’d appointed himself as our leader—and had done a pretty good job—was now very close to the edge.
So close, in fact, that he was probably balancing on it…
Andy shook his head. “Go tend to t’rest. We’ll get this sorted out.”
“Of course,” the doctor said, nodding his head and smiling kindly. “Budd’s offered to find some medical suppl
ies.”
“Good idea,” Andy said.
“Let’s get cracking, then,” Budd said, pleased to be away from the grim restaurant. He pushed open a door and walked into the kitchen. “By the way, Doc: what’s your name?”
“Reginald. Reginald Scholes. My wife’s name is Caroline.”
“Good to meet you, Reggie,” Budd said, a smile on his face. He stopped and extended his right hand.
The doctor looked apprehensively at the blood-caked flesh.
“All right, Doc, we’ll shake on it later. First, let’s find those supplies.”
35
Budd heard the concertina door of the freight elevator slide open, but he stayed where he was sitting, cross-legged, rummaging through the lower half of a cabinet. In the minutes since the doctor had returned to the lift, there had been many more people coming and going, setting to work on different tasks.
A few seconds later, he realized that footsteps were approaching him. He turned to see Juliette. “Hey, babe.”
“Have you found anything, Monsieur Ashby?”
“Not yet.”
“Is there not a sign with directions to the first-aid station?”
Wasting time? Me? As if…
Budd shrugged his shoulders. “I guess so.”
“I will help you look,” Juliette said, glancing around the kitchen. “There is a notice board over there.”
Budd rose from the floor and walked with Juliette to where she’d pointed. Precisely as Juliette had believed, there was a sign stating that the first-aid point was located inside the kitchen offices.
