Chicago Undead (Book 2): Deep Freeze

by Shawn Weaver

  The station’s snow-covered roof was still and pristine. My gaze drifted down to the woman who had been my only companion since I came here. Her frozen state gave me comfort and whenever I sat at the window, I could convince myself that I was not alone.

  Dropping the spoon onto my lap, I looked to where the woman’s head should have been. Her hat of snow was no longer there. In its place was a chunky hole with the interior of her neck exposed. Scattered around her in a wide arc, frozen chunks of skin, bone, and blood spotted the snow.

  Frozen to the curb, the woman had not fallen over. Her shoulders and lap were covered in piles of red specks of flesh the size of raindrops. Then I noticed that the ground around her was beaten down by many shoe impressions. Not the sloppy dragging impressions of the dead, but clear solid boot prints made with purpose.

  I followed the trail leading away from my friend, a clear path down the sidewalk and across the street towards the barbershop. Panic raced through me. There were still people out there.

  I had no idea when they had passed through. It had to have been while I slept. Then my mind clicked to the Dodge Ram I had seen yesterday. In my frightened state, I had passed over the fact that the road had been empty for weeks.

  I hoped that the truck would still be there and I could have some sort of human contact. I didn’t bother to gather my things. I just ran down the stairs. Pulling the chair from under the knob, I tossed it behind me, and ripped the door open. Stepping onto the sidewalk, I called out, “Hello.”

  The sound of my own voice surprised me. Being alone for so long, I had only heard myself in my head. Taking it in, I felt that all the terror was finally at an end.

  No answer came. I scanned the road, seeing the boot prints cut down the street. Hurrying, I followed the prints down the sidewalk. Reaching the end of the street, I moved to the alleyway and saw that a large area of snow had been beaten down. Another set of boot prints joined the other two coming in from the alley. There were at least three people here, somewhere.

  They had moved off in different directions. One back down the alley, and the next across the street towards the construction area. The other had to have gone back the way I had come.

  From the construction area, I heard a crash of plastic hitting the hard ground, then the slosh of liquid, followed by an unabashed row of curse words from behind the truck.

  Without thinking, I ran towards the sound. As I crossed the street, I could see a bald man behind the eight-foot sections of fencing and mounds of gravel, wearing a filthy parka with a fur lined hood. He was kicking the side of the small truck. In his hand, he held a length of green garden hose to siphon gas out of the tank. By his feet lay a five-gallon red gas container. Its ice-cold contents puddled across the bumpy frozen ground.

  “Hello,” I said, grabbing the fence.

  I looked through the crosshatch of wire. Surprised to hear my voice, the bald man looked up, eyes growing wide. With a curse on the tip of his tongue, I saw his look turn. Not from one glad to see another human being, but one that I had seen leering at me many times on the train and the mall, even in the halls of school, as if I was a piece of meat to be used, not loved.

  His sneer became a smile, though his eyes hardened and his eyebrows rose. Without a word, he took a step towards me. In earlier times, I would have yelled rape and run toward a crowd. But there was no one to help me now. My fight or flight instinct rose, and I chose flight.

  Running back across the street, I saw another man appear at the far end of the alleyway. Changing direction, I ran for the corner.

  Heart pounding, I barely heard the man down the alley yell, “Get her!”

  The thought ran through my mind to flee across the tracks and hide among the houses. But it was too cold to stay out of doors for too long. And my tracks would just lead them to me.

  I made my way down the sidewalk. Reaching the barbershop, I ran in the open door. Grabbing the chair, I slammed it under the knob and flipped the lock. Not taking any chances, I rushed up the stairs. Reaching the last step, I heard a crash as someone kicked the backdoor open. I ran into my apartment, knowing that I could barricade myself in.

  Then from nowhere, a hard backhand rocked my jaw, sending me into darkness as I struck my head against the wall.

  Chapter Seven

  My jaw hurt like hell and I could feel a goose egg just behind my left ear. My eyelids felt like lead weights and I eased them opened them to see a fire raging in the stockpot. Piled high with wood, the flames leapt up, forming a dark crescent of scorched ceiling. It would not be long until the ceiling caught fire.

  The three men stood around the fire, filling the empty space within the kitchen. One man ripped page after page out of the paperback and fed it to the flames. In the breeze generated by the fire, chunks of blackened paper floated up and swirled around them.

  The other two helped themselves to my stockpile of food. At their feet, five cans lay, as empty as I felt.

  A pain lanced through my head from the goose egg. I probably had a concussion. Feeling warm all over, I began to sweat. I was not sure if I was bleeding. I didn’t dare move and show that I was awake.

  Barely opening my eyes, I watched them. Knowing there was safety in numbers, part of my brain wanted to trust these men. But my mother’s voice kept whispering in my ear, telling me not to trust anyone.

  Another empty can hit the floor and my trusty spoon was tossed onto my nest, which had been pushed into a corner. I saw the can roll to a stop against his mud-encrusted boot. That was the last of my chili.

  Belching loudly, he kicked the can across the room, and then unsuccessfully tried to reach an itch in the middle of his back. He rubbed his unwashed back against the stove to satisfy the aggravating itch.

  Dressed in mud stained overalls, the bearded man spat, “Finish getting the gas.”

  “What about the girl?” The bald man glanced my way. I could feel his eyes undressing me.

  “Don’t worry about her.” A wide, gap-toothed grin spread across the bearded man’s face. “There’ll be time for that later.”

  Chuckling at the thought of a good time, the bald man walked into the living room. Grabbing the knob, he pulled the door open a little, and paused. He stood for a long moment before swinging the door open all of the way. Then, not bothering to close the door, he stepped into the hall and stomped down the stairs, each step echoing in my head, telling me to run.

  The barbershop’s front door opened and closed with a bang. Through the window, I heard him whistle as he walked down the sidewalk. It was as if the world had never changed for him. Everything was the usual chaos.

  I could see my escape route just a few feet away. With the two other men in the apartment, I doubted that I could get far before they caught me and began their day of games with me as the prize.

  The bearded man tossed the rest of my paperback into the fire. A cloud of embers burst into the air, pricking his skin with bits of hot ash. Pages of the book curled against the heat and turned black.

  “Keep an eye on her,” he said to the remaining thug, a young man not much older than I was. “I’ve gotta take a crap.”

  With a face covered in pimples, and long greasy brown hair hanging in strands to his shoulders, the boy looked at me shyly. His watery eyes watched me as he sniffed, wiping his nose with the back of a grimy hand.

  The bearded man stepped into the small bathroom just off the kitchen and closed the door. The lock was turned, followed by the sound of a buckle hitting the ceramic tiled floor as he took a seat on the porcelain throne that hadn’t worked for months.

  It did not take long for Mr. Pimple Face to get bored watching me. Still hungry, he stepped to the counter. Grabbing a small can of cocktail wieners, he struggled to pry the lid off.

  With his attention controlled by his stomach, the boy could not see me. Now was my chance. When I sat up, the world swam for a moment. Lack of water and the damned goose egg were going to be a problem.

  Taking a tentative s
tep, I moved across the couch. The boy was still too intent on opening the can. Lifting off the seat, I took one-step for the door. The bearded man’s laughing voice bounced off the bathroom door. He told the boy, “Don’t breathe too hard. The fumes will knock you out.”

  The boy gave a stressed laugh in reply. From the corner of his eye, he caught sight of the empty couch. Snapping his head my way, he saw me stepping for the open door. Dropping the can of wieners, he moved for the living room as chunks of meat and ice spilled across the tiles.

  I swung the door at him as he rushed at me. The edge caught him in the face. Letting out a squawk, he grabbed his nose as it erupted like a crushed tomato.

  Making my way into the hallway, I reached the stairs, having to grab the wall to stop myself from falling. I bolted down the first step, down the second and third. Before I reached the fourth, the boy grabbed a handful of my hair. With a sharp yank, he pulled me backwards up the stairs. Feet thrashing, I tried to fight back. My feet slipped on the steps and I slammed against the wall.

  Wrapping my fingers around his wrist, I tried to pry him away, but my hand slipped. I reached back again, my nails scraping along the side of his face. A nail made contact with his eye. I pushed hard, digging in. Not sure if I popped his eye out or not, wetness crossed my fingers. With a scream, he let go of my hair and I crashed to the floor.

  Landing on my rump, I felt the hard shape of the razor in my back pocket. They had not searched me! I pulled the razor out and flipped the blade free. Getting to my feet, I held the sharp blade out as the boy tried to grab me.

  I lashed out at his hand and metal met flesh. The blade cut deep into the meat between his thumb and index finger. I made another swipe, aiming for his face. Grabbing his injured hand, he jerked back.

  The boy rushed at me, grabbing for my throat, but I stepped against the wall. Momentum pulled him forward and he missed the first step, tumbling head over heels. On his second revolution, he struck the back of his head against the edge of a step. Finally coming to a stop at the bottom, he hit the door hard, his head twisting at an impossible angle.

  The leader of the group called out from the bathroom. That sent me into motion. Keeping against the wall, I hurried down the stairs, my razor held out in case the boy tried to get up. Not sure that he was dead, I wasn’t going to check. I stepped around him and slipped into the barbershop.

  The bearded man yelled when he came out of the bathroom and saw neither of us in the apartment. As his boots pounded across the floor towards the stairs, I moved for the back door and pushed my way through as it hung at an angle on broken hinges.

  There were only two directions to go. But one led towards the construction area and the bald man stealing gas. So I ran the opposite way. Reaching the end of the alley, I heard the bearded man rip the door off its remaining hinge.

  As I rounded the corner out of the alley, he caught sight of me. The bearded man yelled to alert his partner in crime. Not waiting for a response, he started after me.

  I turned on the next street and saw the pick-up truck that I had overlooked the day before.

  Pulling the door open, I jumped in, and grabbed for the ignition, hoping they’d left the keys inside. My fingers found nothing. I look across the seat for a weapon of some sort. There was nothing, except for a crumpled map and old candy wrappers.

  Striking the steering wheel with the palm of my hand, I shouted, “Damn it.”

  Through the streaks of snow that covered the windshield, I saw the bearded man stop at the corner. Breathing hard, he scanned the intersection. He looked my way and I froze, but he did not see me through the snow-covered windshield.

  Taking a few steps towards the truck, he stopped and waved his hands to the right. “Go that way,” he yelled at the bald man who had just come from the construction area.

  In the rearview mirror, I saw him jog towards me. As ordered, he changed direction. I breathed a sigh of relief as he vanished from my line of sight. Looking forward, I still dared not move. The bearded man looked over the area again. I could see my tracks in the snow. To my luck, he overlooked them. Taking a few steps backwards, he finally turned and ran through the intersection, disappearing behind the next building.

  I counted heartbeats. Reaching twenty, I felt confident that they were not going to reappear. Slowly I opened the door. The hinges squeaked loudly as rust snapped and sprinkled onto the snow.

  Stepping out, I peered in the truck bed, but didn’t see any weapons. Instead, there were bags and piles of junk useful to the men.

  I heard, “Gotcha,” and spun on my heels to see the bearded man standing on the corner. My heart skipped a beat as my stomach twisted. My brain screamed, “Run!” and I obeyed.

  Cutting across the street, I rushed toward the only open building I knew. As I reached the convenience store, the bearded man started to run after me.

  I swung the door open and ran in. The bell rang as I fell, sprawling on the hard tiled floor. A few cans from my previous excursions hindered my movements. Pushing them out of my way, I scrambled to my feet and ran towards the storeroom. I tried to block the path behind me by grabbing everything I could and knocking it to the floor.

  The bearded man barreled through the door, sending the bell flying as it snapped from its post. I grabbed the knob to the storeroom door. Pushing into the darkness, I let the door shut behind me. Without benefit of a flashlight, I ran in the direction that I remembered the exit being. But I stop halfway, thinking that the bald man could be behind that door.

  Turning, I tripped on a box, falling against the wall. The hard bricks and mortar scraped my skin. Reaching the door to the tunnels, I grabbed the brace. As I pulled it off, the bearded man rushed blindly in. For a moment, he’s framed by the light coming from the front of the store. As the door started to shut, I swung the 2x4 and connected with his shoulder.

  Cursing in pain, he fell into the boxes I had been going through. The door to the tunnel struck my back as the construction worker began pounding at the commotion. The door forced me against the wall as he came through. Even in the dark, the bearded man’s stench was a clear beacon calling, “Dinner.”

  The construction worker let out a hungry moan and fell on the bearded man. Teeth seeking flesh, it clawed at him, looking for purchase.

  Squealing like a stuck pig, the bearded man tried to fight. The dead man’s fetid odor coated him, and zombie teeth ripped through his parka, seeking meat.

  The door bounced against me when the bearded man kicked his legs trying to free himself. Though I was frightened, I needed to get out. Making my way around the door, I kept a hand on it until I felt the empty space of the stairwell.

  The storeroom door opened again. This time the bald man came in, eyes shocked at the view in front of him.

  Sensing new prey, the construction worker lifted off the bearded man. His face coated in blood, he growled and bared his teeth.

  Unnoticed, I froze in the doorway, the dark of the tunnel pressing against my back.

  Jaw dropping open in a silent scream, the bald man stepped back. As the door started to close, the construction worker rushed forward. Now forgotten, the bearded man lay bleeding out at my feet.

  The storeroom door closed and behind it, they crashed together into the aisles, knocking shelves across the floor.

  Chapter Eight

  I needed to get out of here. The way I had come was out of the question and I didn’t want to go down into the tunnels. My only choice was the exit on the other side of the room. The inky blackness gave me no choice but to follow the wall. Feeling for bricks on the other side of the door, I slid my way across. A loud crash resonated through the storeroom door as the bald man was thrown against it. He sounded like an injured dog in the construction worker’s continued attack.

  The bearded man’s leg jerked, sweeping my feet. My stomach twisted. Back stepping, I rocked on the threshold and grabbed the jamb, not wanting to fall.

  I didn’t need to see him to know the infection had ta
ken over, bringing him back to whatever damned consciousness existed within his mind.

  I backed down the first step, the boards groaning under my weight. The bearded man gave a pitiful moan and rolled over. His odor assaulted my nostrils, making them crinkle in disgust.

  His hand lashed out, clamping onto my pant leg. Letting out a yelp, I kicked his hand away. My sneaker connected with the hard cartilage of his nose when he pulled himself towards me. I felt his torn flesh shift as my shoe dug in.

  In my jump back, I stumbled, losing balance. Hands flailing for the jamb, I missed the second step and tried to grab the wall to stop my descent. Missing the third step, I hit the forth and fell backwards the rest of the way down. Mortar scraped exposed skin while I bounced against the rough bricks. Striking my back on the hard wood, I heard a crack and hoped it was only a step and not my spine.

  I lay on the tunnel floor, dazed for a moment, trying to catch my breath. At the top of the stairs, the bearded man pulled himself through the tunnel doorway. Echoing through the storeroom door, I heard the bald man’s screams turn into a pitiful, mewing gurgle.

  Covered in grit, I stood, using the wall. Looking up the stairs, I heard the man moving closer. His damaged body progressed slowly.

  There were two ways to go down here. The left led deeper into the underground. The right led to the construction area. I knew that I might dig myself out through the partially collapsed ceiling.

  Groaning, the bearded man pulled himself forward, one-step at a time. Eventually his body weight could not resist gravity and he slid down the stairs like a snake.

  Jumping out of the way, I bounced off the wall and he crumpled in a heap. Not waiting to see if the dead man would rise, I started towards the construction area.

  The tunnel’s inky darkness receded, and I no longer had to brush the wall. Loose stones appeared under my feet and a slight glow lit the walls near the cave-in.