by Stevie Kopas
“From the demons!”
Michelle dropped her face into her palm, shaking her head. “Definitely pity.”
She brought her foot up and slammed it down onto the empty Cognac bottle, shattering it. The woman jumped back, startled and frightened by the sudden movement, her grin disappeared. Michelle bent down and retrieved the biggest piece from the pile of broken glass, turning it over in her hand and inspecting it.
“What are you doing?” The woman asked, bringing her knees into her chest, trying to make herself smaller.
“Freeman didn’t save you from shit,” Michelle said. “You might not want to admit it to yourself, but you know what’s going on here. And it’s a lot easier to just close your eyes and open your legs than to be out there, isn’t it?” Michelle, glass shard in hand, pointed at the far wall. “I get it, I really do. Not everyone’s meant for this world. I know that from experience, trust me, but this is just goddamn pathetic.” She stepped forward, holding out the piece of glass.
The blonde stared at it before snatching it from Michelle’s hand. Her bottom lip quivered and her eyes welled up with tears as she stared down at it. She looked back up at Michelle, tears rolling down her dirty cheeks.
Michelle nodded.
The woman gripped the glass shard in one hand and pressed the sharp end into her other wrist, dragging it down hard, ensuring that she went in deep. The blood pooled around the wound, pouring from it. The blonde took a deep breath, her hands shaking. She dropped the shard and leaned back, her head hitting the wall with a light thud. She turned her face toward Michelle, who lit another cigarette and eyed the growing pool of blood beside the woman.
“Thank you,” the woman whispered. She closed her eyes and waited for the slow but welcome death.
Michelle said nothing. She heard Drake talking to Freeman out in the main lobby and wondered how many fucks anyone would give about the blonde woman’s suicide.
I’m going with zero, she thought and dropped her cigarette to the floor, stepping on it.
The voices in the main lobby had ceased, and as she turned to leave, she spotted a small, yet adorable brown jacket, forgotten beside the desk. She bent to retrieve it and held it up. It wouldn’t fit over her chest, that was for sure. But the blonde didn’t need it.
Not anymore.
VI
Catherine tended to the trauma on Veronica’s left hand. She disinfected the instruments as best she could before closing the wounds. Between her efforts to staunch the bleeding and wrapping the hand, used the remaining bandages in the building. Considering Drake and his men had little in the way of medical supplies to begin with, after the incident in the office, there was much more of a need now for Catherine to venture out with King. Catherine couldn’t let the hand get infected, and there was no way she’d be able to treat it with the poor excuse for medical instruments they had at the dealership. Drake knew that by injuring Catherine’s friend in such a manner, it would provide the motivation for the doctor to continue making necessary trips to the nearby medical center.
Veronica lay on her side in a haze. Catherine had also depleted the last of Drake’s Lortab supply, which she had to practically beg of him, in order to dull the pain Veronica felt from the beating and the forced amputation.
Catherine looked up to the high windows in the office again; dusk had fallen quickly. The events of one day felt like seven. Now that she knew just how much time had passed, Catherine accepted that this was, in fact, her new hell.
She noticed a crumpled shirt at her feet and retrieved it, immediately recognizing it as the one Veronica habitually wore around her waist. She placed it into the girl’s good hand and squeezed. Catherine stroked Veronica’s dark hair, terrified to leave her alone, terrified of returning to the hospital. She hadn’t been back since that first day, when she’d abandoned her patients. The place had been pure chaos and devastation; she’d barely escaped with her own life. Sure, things had probably calmed down and cleared out at the medical center over the last few months, but she wasn’t entirely sure what shape the place would be in once she got there, or what useful supplies might even be left.
A hard knock sounded on the glass behind her. Startled, Catherine turned to find Michelle in the doorway.
“King’s ready.” Michelle slurred her words slightly.
Michelle leaned against the door frame, her mane of curls sloppily gathered in a low ponytail. Her eyes were glossy and her cheeks were red.
“Drunk already?” Catherine shook her head, feeling pity for the woman.
“Take this.” Michelle tossed a light jacket at Catherine’s feet. “It’s from one of the broads in there.” She gestured toward the closed door of an adjacent room. “She doesn’t need it.”
Catherine scooped up the jacket and wrapped it around her frame, zipping it up. It was a bit snug, but would help shield her from the biting winter air. She muttered no thanks, instead, she brushed passed Michelle, shouldering her aside.
“Don’t be so ungrateful.” Michelle said.
Catherine stopped in her tracks and slowly turned, casting a look of disgust Michelle’s way. “Ungrateful?” Catherine asked, moving closer to Michelle.
Michelle smiled.
“If it wasn’t for her—“ Catherine pointed at Veronica through the glass, “—I would rip your fucking throat out.”
Michelle’s smile didn’t waver. “Good luck out there.”
Catherine glared at her a moment longer before turning on her heels and marching down the hall.
King stood beside Drake at the rear entrance, the one the women were dragged through that morning. Eyeing the holstered pistol at his hip as well as the semi-automatic weapon in his hands, Catherine looked to Drake.
“I need a weapon.”
“Not a chance in hell.” Drake laughed.
“When was the last time you dropped by the hospital?” She raised an eyebrow at him when he remained silent. “The place was crawling with those things. I know how many patients were there, and I’m pretty sure none of them made it out alive. That means they’re more than likely on the prowl for a hot meal. And you want me to walk back into that dead zone unarmed?”
Drake smirked. “You don’t need no weapon, King here is a great shot, my best. Why you think I’m sending you with him?”
“You said so yourself, Drake.” She lowered her eyes, disgusted with the words she was about to utter. “I learned my lesson.”
Drake chuckled, pulling the same knife from his pocket that he’d used on Veronica. “Catch.”
He tossed it to Catherine and she caught it in both hands. She looked down at the knife in revulsion but set her emotion aside and placed the folded blade in her jacket pocket.
“Don’t try anything cute, and take care of it. I want my knife back,” Drake told her.
She looked back toward the office turned holding cell, Michelle still looming in the doorway.
“You keep your people away from Veronica while I’m gone,” Catherine warned, choosing to use the word people over men. Michelle was undoubtedly a part of Drake’s group. Despite the lump of fear that she forced herself to swallow, Catherine spoke up again after receiving no response from the giant man before her. “I mean it, Drake. Keep them away from her.”
Drake unleashed a hearty guffaw and patted her on the head, like a dog. He sauntered away in Michelle’s direction. Catherine cringed at the thought of the two of them together; a true concoction of evil.
“Let’s hit the road.” King pushed the door open and the two exited into the crisp night, heading down the cement steps and toward a silver pick-up truck. King fished a key fob from his pocket and the car started before they were even near it. Catherine jumped, the remote start of the truck catching her off guard. “I always wanted a truck like this,” King remarked. “Never could afford one.”
Catherine ignored him and climbed inside the truck, welcoming the warmth from the heater with her fingertips, holding them up to the vents.
King slipped into the dri
ver’s seat and shifted the truck into drive, heading for the back of the lot. “Handle the gate.” He handed Catherine a small set of keys.
She exited the vehicle and headed for the lock. Shivering, she fumbled with the padlock for a moment before hearing a familiar click. She pulled the lock free and moved the gate aside, allowing room for King to pull through before locking the gate back up.
King held a hand out expectantly when Catherine hoisted herself back into the vehicle. She tossed the keys back into his hands and buckled herself in.
They cautiously navigated the pitch-black streets as they headed away from the lot, avoiding long-forgotten car wrecks, abandoned vehicles, and miscellaneous trash. The hospital was only a few miles away, but with the condition of the roads, the roaming dead, and the lack of streetlights, it was a far more troublesome drive than either of them would have preferred.
They rounded a corner, heading deeper into the city. Catherine’s palms began to sweat; staying on the outskirts of Haven and close to the shore had proven to be dangerous enough. Now she was on her way back to the center of Haven, in the dark, on a fool’s errand.
The truck barely made it a block before a loud explosion interrupted the silence in the cab.
“What the actual fuck?” King slammed on the brakes, his eyes wide. He threw the truck in reverse and fishtailed it back onto the previous street. Smoke billowed in the distance. “Somebody just done somethin’ real stupid.” He slammed his foot down on the accelerator and raced back toward the dealership.
As the truck grew closer, they could see it was in fact the dealership that was burning. Flames licked up the front entrance and every eater in the neighborhood was stumbling toward the glowing structure.
Catherine covered her mouth in horror. “Oh, my God, Veronica.”
***
Veronica lay still on the desk, listening to the voices of Catherine and the others down the hall that seemed so far away. Michelle stood in the doorway, swaying in her inebriation. She continued to feign a drugged-up condition, hoping Michelle would lose interest and leave. Veronica just wanted to be alone.
Drake joined Michelle at the door, whispering something to her. It caused the curly-haired madwoman to cackle. Drake disappeared as soon as he’d arrived and Michelle entered the room.
“Looks like it’s just you and me, Nancy Drew.” Michelle tucked a lock of Veronica’s dark hair behind her ear. She pulled up a chair and had a seat. “You stick with me, play your cards right, and I’ll make sure these assholes don’t lay another finger on you. Not Catherine. She can’t protect you.” Michelle’s eyes fell on Veronica’s bandaged hand. “Clearly.”
It took every ounce of control Veronica had to keep her face still, to not respond.
“I didn’t think we’d ever end up like this, ya know?” Michelle leaned back, pulling a cigarette from behind her ear and lighting it. Smoke snaked from her lips. “You and me, pal. Got ourselves a new group, don’t have to worry about those nasty things outside anymore. I used to get mad, how everybody fawned all over you back at the tower. But I really enjoyed our time alone at the tower; I gave you your first drink. You are just a kid. I know that now. You don’t deserve any of this shit.” She looked away, deep in thought, smoking her cigarette. “Everybody seems to have to learn the hard way.” She pointed at Veronica’s hand. “That’s not your fault. That was Catherine, just like the rest of them, too damn stupid, always learning the hard way. You’re like me, you’re tough.”
Veronica, her good hand balled up inside of Samson’s shirt, clenched her fist. She was nothing like Michelle.
“I don’t do the things I do because I like to.” She paused, considering her statement. “Okay, maybe I do. But I wouldn’t have to do them if everybody wasn’t so fucking stupid.” She shook her head in exasperation. “The man at the liquor store, he was stupid. Desmond, he wouldn’t keep his mouth shut. Francis, why couldn’t he just sit the fuck back down?” Michelle’s eyes were wide now. “Juliette, that nosy bitch. Stupid, stupid, stupid!” Veronica’s nails dug into her palm as Michelle spoke each name. Michelle dropped her cigarette to the floor and stomped it out, leaning forward, her face only inches from Veronica’s. “Ben.”
Veronica had had enough. Before Michelle could continue Veronica snapped her head forward, colliding with Michelle’s. The blow to the head caught Michelle off-guard and she sailed backwards in the chair, toppling over. Veronica leapt from the desk onto Michelle, ignoring the pain searing through her left hand as she stretched out Samson’s button-down. She straddled Michelle, her knees on both arms, and wrapped the shirt around her neck.
Michelle struggled beneath the teen, wriggling her body to get her arms free. Veronica leaned forward, pulling the shirt tighter, digging her left elbow into Michelle’s chest to gain leverage. Michelle finally freed one of her arms and grabbed hold of Veronica’s injured hand. She squeezed hard where the girl’s fingers should have been. Veronica let out a painful wail and rolled off, clutching her hand.
The men in the lobby were now alerted to the struggle.
Michelle, gasping for sweet air, lunged for Veronica. She shoved her back against the wall with a scream, both hands gripped around her neck. Veronica punched at the side of Michelle’s head repeatedly, bringing a knee up into the woman’s gut, but the grip on Veronica’s neck only strengthened.
“Damn, was I wrong. Stupid, just like the rest of them!” Michelle screamed into Veronica’s face, spittle flying.
“Goddamnit, I can’t get any peace and quiet around here!” Drake roared across the lobby in response to the women fighting. “I’m done with this shit!”
As Drake charged his way across the expanse toward the commotion, Freeman, following him, caught movement out of the corner of his eye.
“Drake, who the fuck is that?”
Drake looked toward the front entrance where Freeman was pointing.
It was hard to spot on the backdrop of writhing eaters just beyond the safety of the front door. But there stood a stranger, shrouded in darkness, holding something in each hand.
The stranger tapped hard on the glass, waving both hands, as if to show the men inside what he was holding.
“Why the hell haven’t those sons-a-bitches eaten him already? Freeman, get your ass out there and handle this! I have enough to deal with!”
Freeman started toward the door, weapon at the ready. His confusion was replaced with panic, and he froze in place when the man set down the contents of his hands, lighting the ends of both fuses before disappearing back into the crowd of hungry, wailing dead.
“Oh, shit.” Was all Freeman could mumble before the explosion ripped through the front of the building.
VII
Gary and Andrew exited the marina with silent footsteps. They snaked their way through rows of abandoned cars in the dark parking lot.
“Just a short distance this way, come on,” Gary called over his shoulder to Andrew, who was beginning to slow again. It concerned Gary that he might not see the end of their mission through.
The pair crossed the road, working their way up a small street, entering an office complex just a block from the strip of car dealerships. They rounded the corner of a small building and Gary ran smack-dab into a lone eater. Gary squawked as he hit the pavement, the eater tumbling with him. The dead thing hissed on top of him, its putrid mouth snapping.
Andrew reared his arm back, ready to crack the dead man in the head with his baseball bat, but the world tipped over onto its side and his vision swayed and blurred. His ears rang and he dropped the bat at his feet, bringing both hands up to the sides of his head and crying out in pain.
Gary writhed beneath the eater, who now dug his disgusting claws into his sides. He let out a painful wail as he finally flung the man to the side. He scrambled away and pulled his knife from his belt. The eater lunged back at him and Gary plunged the blade deep into his forehead, stopping him mid-attack. He brought his foot up and kicked the motionless body back, freeing the k
nife. He rested his hands on his knees, catching his breath.
Andrew groaned on the ground behind him. Gary turned, his knife up, ready to bring a swift death to his turned friend.
“I’m not… I’m not dead yet.” Andrew croaked.
Gary sighed with relief. “Jesus Christ, mate, you have got to stop scaring me like that.” He pulled the big man to his feet and helped him over to a bench beside the front doors of the office building. Gary pulled his shirt up, squinting in the dark. He inspected the deep gashes from the eater’s nails and made a face. “This is not going to look pretty tomorrow.”
Andrew wheezed, squeezing his head in his hands. “I don’t know how much longer—“
A pack of hungry, moaning eaters burst through the front doors beside them. Gary jumped back and spied the baseball bat on the ground. He ran for it and swung it up to smack the first of the attacking dead in the face. The force sent the eater’s head spinning, breaking its neck.
“Andrew!” Gary cried out, but the man remained seated on the bench. There was no time for concern as another eater grabbed at Gary’s sleeve. He kicked the eater’s legs out from under it and stomped at its head as he brought the bat down hard onto another’s.
Breathless and panicking, Gary looked around in horror, realizing there were far too many of them for him to take out on his own. As he reached for the pistol on his hip, Andrew stood, his arms reaching out.
This is it.
Gary raised the gun, his finger on the trigger. Andrew let out an angry cry and grabbed the eater in front of him, twisting its head around and flinging it to the side. A look of confusion took over Gary’s face as he watched Andrew walk unnoticed among the dead, snapping necks and bashing skulls in with his fists. Gary shook the confusion away and returned to disposing of eaters with the baseball bat.
The men stood amidst a gruesome pile of unmoving dead, trying to catch their breath.
