Welcome to Necropolis

by Bryan Killian

  Mariano shot two more zombies twenty feet from the bus. He pulled shells from his pocket and reloaded while walking. Dayton stayed close to his side mumbling. Mariano didn’t understand most of what Dayton was saying but it comforted him anyways. He saw a zombie a second too late. The runner cleared the picket fence with ease plowing into the last boy. The zombie, who appeared to have been an athletic woman before the event, tore into the boy’s neck with her teeth pulling away with a mouth full of bloody flesh. The boy screamed in terror for a short moment then stopped struggling. The zombie ripped the boy’s neck open, further removing more warm flesh. Mariano pulled the remaining boys back telling them not to look and to follow closely. He didn’t waste a shot knowing the zombie wouldn’t leave its meal.

  Mariano pushed the front doors of the bus open and quickly scanned the interior for any stowaways. He waved the boys inside. All four climbed aboard quickly, led by Dayton. The last boy, a thirty-five year old man, stopped and hugged Mariano.

  “Thank you.” The man said burying his head into Mariano’s chest.

  “Its cool dude. Lets go.” Mariano said trying to break his embrace.

  “I’m Mariano, what’s your name?”

  The man released his grip stepping back holding out his hand.

  “I’m Charles.” He said with a big smile.

  “Pleased to meet you Charles. Now can we go?” Mariano said giving Charles a friendly nudge into the front entrance of the bus.

  The bus started. Mariano mentally uncrossed his fingers and breathed a small sigh of relief.

  “Keep down and stay away from the windows, guys.” Mariano yelled as the bus rumbled forward pushing two parked cars easily out of the way.

  Mariano drove to the end of the block knowing the cross street would lead to a main arterial and eventually out of the city. He turned the corner and accelerated. The early morning sun was brutal forcing Mariano to pull down the visor. He caught a glimpse of Dayton sitting a few seats back watching him intently in the buses interior mirror. He smiled, looking further back seeing the remaining three boys talking. Mariano returned his attention to the road ahead as he turned south. Dark clouds gathered in the distance. Storms coming.

  Thirty-Six

  The sky south of the Convention Center threatened rain. Bodies, debris, and roaming zombies crowded the Center’s parking lot and main lawn. The prior nights events devastated the camp driving the remaining survivors inside the Center. Nearly two hundred scrambled inside before the main doors closed. Survivors left outside fought, fled and hid from the hordes of undead. Men, women and children were slaughtered in minutes. Most were stripped of their flesh consumed by the hungry abominations. A few survivors put up valiant fights only to die and return a short time later.

  During the night, several zombies remained at the front doors, scratching, pushing and banging. The sounds of the undead unnerved survivors causing them to move away from the doors. Gates gained control over his remaining armed sentries and ordered them to secure all ground level entrances. Luckily for them the Center’s doors were sturdy and the few windows they did find were small and high off the ground. Gates banked heavily on luck to keep the zombies out hoping they wouldn’t somehow start to work together.

  The main floor of the theater became a small city with citizens living in the aisles and in its seats. Sleeping bags, suitcases, and various other belongings were strewn about. Some survivors possessed only the clothes on their backs having been surprised by the zombies attack the night before. Throughout the night the survivors banded together and began talking about their plight while Gates and his staff busied themselves securing the Center.

  A medium sized conference room continued functioning as a care center and deathwatch room. An armed sentry stood watch over fifteen critically wounded with orders to terminate when they expired. A small and inexperienced staff made the best of a bad situation doing all they could to help the wounded. Their main obstacle was the lack of proper supplies. They had very little in the way of medical supplies spare the small first aid kits found around the Center.

  Frightened, and completely shut off from the outside world, the survivors frustrations mounted. Back on the main floor, the conversation took many different turns as the survivors discussed the integrity of the Center, Gates leadership, the lack of arms, and finally, the lack of food. Fingers were pointed in all directions and discussions became shouting matches. Their fate, as one man so elegantly described it, was in the hands of a former military officer who couldn’t lead them to safety if the map was fucking tattooed on his hand. A calming voice hushed the group speaking with reason and dignity after a third argument erupted. The voice came from the back of the main floor standing in the shadows.

  “This is not the time to argue and fight amongst ourselves. This is the time to come together, give thanks for our survival, and formulate a reasonable plan to survive this cataclysmic event.” Reverend Clark Littleton stood in the shadows using his deep soothing voice to gain the groups attention.

  Reverend Littleton survived the event by carefully weighing his options and timing his travels through the city. In the past he had participated in the emergency drill held at the Convention Center and began his journey early after the first reports were broadcast. A man of faith, Reverend Littleton attributed the events to the decline in religious values and the waning regard for the old ways throughout the country as well as the rest of the world. He knew in his day, a defining religious event would occur that would test his beliefs, he just never guessed the dead would return and walk the face of the earth. The classic horror movies amused him as a boy and he had even enjoyed the new breed of horror movies depicting zombies but to live in the movie, even his faith was a little shaken. He stood now before the group of survivors knowing he had to lead them spiritually.

  The survivors listened carefully to Reverend Littleton asking few questions. No fingers were pointed and no arguments erupted. The Reverend spoke his piece and ended his speech with a simple request. “I have spoken as if I know what I am doing. The truth is, none of us has ever been through such an event. I am a man of faith and I realize not all of you share in the same beliefs. What we do share is the instinct to survive and start anew. I ask that you trust my judgment and allow me to lead you to a peaceful future where we can put this all behind us.” The Reverend knew his words were sinking in and that he would lead the survivors through the event. He also knew Gates posed a serious threat to his plans for leading the survivors to the Promised Land, wherever that may be. Still, the fifty or so people listening to him had given him their undivided attention and didn’t question him. He continued speaking with the flare of a motivational speaker.

  ***

  The top floor of the Center gave Yonkey a good view of the southwest portion of the city, what remained of it. After the explosion in the parking lot, Yonkey found himself lying on his back in the main hall of the Center. It was Gates who helped him to his feet and dusted him off. It took over an hour for his hearing to return to normal. Gates sent him to the top floor where there was a small door-leading out to a small observation balcony. From the balcony he watched the dead walking near the building. He could also see the devastation left behind by the attack as he searched the grounds with a pair of binoculars finding what he was looking for.

  The antenna for the short wave radio Henry O’Grady owned, sat in the middle of the grassy area next to a small green tent appearing undamaged. He scanned the immediate area realizing it would take at least three armed men to retrieve the radio, its antenna and a power source. Yonkey left the observation balcony making his way down to Gates’ office with the news.

  Thirty-Seven

  The top of the warehouse was bitterly cold. Leanne sat wedged between an air conditioning unit and large roof vent in an effort to escape the breeze blowing out of the south. She shivered throughout the night causing her body to ache. She was ill prepared to spend the night out in the elements having only a short sleeve polo shir
t and thin sweatshirt. Below her feet, in a warehouse full of zombies, wonderful warm jackets, gloves, boots and even sleeping bags sat. She tried thinking of something else while still shivering. She considered re-entering the store through the office window she escaped from but knew she didn’t have a weapon or a good light source.

  The sun began to rise and Leanne was thankful for the increasing warmth and light. She emerged from her crawl space and jogged in place for a moment in an effort to warm up. Her head pounded from lack of food, sleep and most of all caffeine. One last good coffee God and you can take me. She jogged to the south end of the roof and looked at the storm clouds gathering in the distance. She knew the storm would arrive soon. The wind picked up chilling her to the bone. She jogged back the middle of the roof. As she warmed up with the help of the sun and exercise she started to formulate an escape plan. She was sure she had seen keys in the ignition of one of the remaining trucks. She also knew she was relying on her memory to get her out of this jam.

  Most of the zombies wandered off in the night in search of the living. The street looked clear but the interior of the store worried Leanne. She had two paths to the truck. The side ladder leading to the ground, where Willie and Nicholas died, or the ledge leading back to the open office window and the store floor. Leanne had no intention of placing herself in a dark store that surely had zombies roaming the aisles. The ladder appeared to be the best choice. She walked the entire perimeter of the roof evaluating the ground below. There were still straggling zombies but she figured she could elude them. The only problem that stuck out in her mind was Runners. She wasn’t a fast runner by any stretch of the imagination, but the thought of freezing to death on the roof didn’t appeal all that much either. She backed away from the edge, did a set of jumping jacks and stretched her legs and her back. She blew hot air into her hands walking to the ladder.

  She grasped the first rung, instantly withdrawing from the extremely cold metal. “Fuck me. Why do I have to do this?” Just as she spoke the words aloud she thought of her family and friends. Leanne spent the night focusing on trying to stay warm. Now her mind betrayed her allowing thoughts of her family to cloud her vision. She slumped down crying for them. Her mother and father lived in Oregon and her only sister was back east attending college. Are they all right? ARE THEY ALIVE? The questions bombarded her brain as tears flowed.

  “You are stronger than this!” Leanne spoke the words over and over until the last tear fell to the tarred surface of the warehouses roof. She stood studying the ladder and her path of travel before warming her hands and starting her decent. The last ten feet of the ladder lay behind a locked metal cover. She had to drop the remaining distance meaning there would be no turning back. She held the ladder tight, listening for any movement near by. She looked in both directions letting one hand go in order to stretch out as far as she could to see around the corner. It didn’t work. She remained on the ladder for what seemed an eternity. In reality, she held on for little over three minutes before making the drop to the ground.

  What little remained of Willie, Nicholas, and the shithead she kicked off the roof was spread out near the foot of the ladder. Leanne spied Willie’s skull just before she dropped the last ten feet. She could tell it was his because half his face remained with his tell tale long hair. His eyes were missing and the bottom half of his jaw lay next to the skull. Blood pooled where she landed, leaving the pavement sticky. The smell of blood and excrement filled the air. She held her nose walking quickly towards the loading docks doing all she could to not vomit. Don’t draw attention Leanne. She paused for a moment turning and looking at the remains on the ground. Sitting in a pile of indiscernible human leftovers sat a small handgun. It gleamed at her, like a treasure found in a survival horror video game.

  The gun was covered with bits of bloody cloth and a small piece of what may have been a toe. Leanne picked the gun up with the tips of her fingers and wiped it off with the outside of her shirt. Once satisfied the gun was clean she studied it for a moment. She had no clue what type of pistol she held but did know it wasn’t a revolver. She slowly pulled the slide back seeing a bullet in the chamber. Having no idea how to release the clip she held the pistol firmly out in front of her and began a slow cautious walk to the loading docks.

  Leanne reached the corner and with a quick look behind her she realized she wasn’t alone. Multiple zombies had been just out of sight when she was on the roof but now they were front and center. Most were over a hundred yards away yet her pulse quickened. She turned back to the corner and peered towards the truck. Her breath caught in her throat. The truck was clear of zombies just minutes ago but now had two walking in her direction. One of the zombies, a heavy set black man in a ripped sports jersey, it may have been green at one time but now it was stained with blood and dirt, began sprinting in Leanne’s direction. She backed up quickly and began to raise the pistol. The pull on the trigger was light and the gun fired prematurely sending a hollow point round through the zombies left kneecap. The bullet destroyed the zombie’s knee and it tumbled to the ground. The second zombie wasn’t a runner but still moved with a good pace. Leanne continued to back away as she held the pistol out straight. She stopped and braced the pistol with both hands raising it when she noticed the slide was locked open. She examined the pistol closely realizing she had fired the one and only bullet it held. The zombie closed the distance quickly. She had no strategy for surviving the attack so she threw the pistol as hard as she could at the zombie’s head. The butt of the pistol connected with the zombie’s forehead. It stopped, twitched slightly and dropped face first to the ground.

  Leanne gave both the zombies a wide berth as she moved to the truck. The dark blue crew cab, she couldn’t ascertain the make nor did she care, sat loaded with bottled water and other supplies. The rear of the truck dipped under the weight of the load lifting the front even higher. The truck was backed down the sloping dock and thankfully was unlocked. She pulled the drivers side door open. The cab of the truck was so high she had trouble climbing in. She reached up grabbing the steering wheel seeing the keys dangling from the ignition. She smiled. Finally, something has gone my way. The cab of the truck was cold and smelled awful. Leanne couldn’t put her finger on the smell, pushing the thought out of her mind as she pulled her door closed.

  Outside, Leanne saw zombies moving towards the truck. The zombie she had shot through the knee was pulling itself along the ground while others walked towards her. She pushed the power lock button activating them with a loud thump. She turned the key and was giddy when the engine started almost immediately. She placed the truck in drive, released the parking brake and floored the motor. The rear door on the passenger side slammed shut instantly drawing Leanne’s attention. The truck slowed as she twisted in her seat to look at the door. She didn’t notice the door had been sitting slightly ajar.

  The cold hand ripped at the left side of her face from the back seat. The smell, which she couldn’t quite place earlier, was drifting from the tattered remains of Leo Gavin. His body had been torn to shreds, almost. The head as well as the left arm and parts of his legs were still intact. Enough of Leo remained, allowing him to fight off the zombies and keep them interested in the bodies of Willie and Nicholas. With a stroke of luck he was able to drag himself to the truck. At first he hid under the truck not having the strength to pull himself inside. When a small child, what remained of it, attacked him again he found the strength to pull himself into the rear seat of the truck. He expired in the back seat as the child ate his left foot. Now he sat in the back seat tearing flesh from Leanne’s face.

  Her screams were useless. There was no one alive within a mile of her location. Leo tore a hole in her cheek and was grabbing at her again. She punched the accelerator swerving around a sharp corner throwing Leo across the back seat. Within a second he was crawling over the front seat and thrusting his remaining arm at her. In front of her were multiple zombies, drawn to the movement and sound of the truck. She cont
inued accelerating. She shoved her right hand into Leo’s face attempting to hold him off. Two of her fingers slipped into his mouth and were severed. She drew back her deformed hand screaming loudly as Leo pounced on her. His teeth dug into her neck tearing away a large piece of flesh. The truck traveled out of control colliding with a parked car. Leanne and the remains of Leo Gavin ejected through the windshield.

  Leanne stared up at the cloudy sky, gasping for her last breaths. Blood rushed from her broken neck and she felt cold. Her mind continued to fire. Why can’t I get warm? She began to embrace the idea of death and hoped it would be warm. A raindrop fell on her head as fleeting thoughts escaped her. Is my family safe? Will this hurt…

  Thirty-Eight

  The bullet leaves the gun, propelled by hellfire born of gun power. It strikes the woven material of a cheap knock-off AC/DC T-shirt boring through the material finding the mark. The flesh beneath the T-shirt blossoms a brilliant red flower as the hollow point bullet mushrooms into a wedge of destruction tearing through muscle, veins, and finally coming to rest in a vital organ. The force of the bullet sends the body staggering backwards finally coming to rest on its knees. The gunshot is deafening. It repeats, repeats, and repeats.

  Ty’s eyes pop wide open his pupils constricting against the light in the small interior office. Sweat beads on his forehead and he gasps for air. Having only been in the Bixter Building a few hours, Ty found it hard to turn the lights off. He instructed the others to remain in the interior offices away from the window. He didn’t care about the lights just as long as they were away from the windows. His chest hurt and his right hand throbbed. The hand he used to kill Sammy Stevens.