Uninvited

by David Anderson

  They all had their backs to her. With immense relief Nora counted rapidly; three, four, five of them were in the room. Marie sat at the tiny desk and appeared to be ‘switched off’, her body slumped and limp. Sanders, Ned and Abby Mackie hauled on a rope coming out of the shaft. As Nora watched, a pair of legs appeared in the square black vent. They’d have Peterman out any minute.

  Nora swallowed hard. It was now or never.

  Her hand moved down to her jeans’ pocket and her fingers slipped inside. She felt around for the scrap of paper with Wheeler’s door code written on it and tugged it out. Her sweaty fingers fumbled and the paper slipped out, drifted to the floor. Nora’s heart stopped.

  The slip of paper floated just out of her reach. She took a small step toward it, closer to the open doorway. Not daring to look at the occupants, she grasped the paper firmly, straightened up and raised the scrap to eye level. When Wheeler had handed it to her, without thinking she’d folded it in four. That now seemed so stupid, so dangerous.

  Unfolding it made a slight, crisp rustling. It sounded like thunderclaps to her ears.

  There were six single-digit numbers. Her eyes found the keypad on the wall, easily within her reach. She only needed a few more seconds to punch the numbers in. Her arm reached out, her fingertips touched the keys, and she pressed the first number.

  It made a small, confirming electronic sound, like a tiny toot on a flute.

  Instantly, Sanders turned and looked straight at her. Then they all did. Nora wrenched her eyes away from them and her hand flew over the keypad to the second number. She nearly pressed the one beside it by mistake and for a terrible moment her world ended. Get it wrong and she’d have to start over again. Would it even work a second time? Sanders would get to her first. God, please help me.

  Her trembling fingertip found the right button and she pushed it. Another peep sounded. Third number . . . got it.

  Her finger moved through air that had turned to treacle. She managed to press the fourth number before Sanders got to her. He grabbed both her wrists in the tightest grip she had ever experienced and pulled her into the room. By sheer instinct, Nora slammed her knee into the soft triangle between Sander’s thighs. She caught him just right and he let out a grunt, but instead of doubling up and letting go, he only slackened his grip and came at her again.

  “Duck!”

  Nora did as she was told. Behind her, Nick’s arm shot out and landed in Sanders’ face. Her brother was no fighter, but he got two fingers into Sanders’ eyes. The man immediately let go and his hands shot up to his face.

  “Good one,” Nora said as she stepped back.

  “Quick, get him all the way in.” Nick came around beside her and shoulder charged Sanders back into the safe room.

  “Now,” he shouted, “Put in the numbers.”

  Nora flattened the ball of paper she’d accidently scrunched up and held it close to the keypad. She tapped in the fifth, then sixth numbers and pressed the red button marked ‘Close.’

  Nothing happened. Why isn’t it closing? Did I do it wrong? Is there a button I press first? Panic surged through her mind as Sanders stepped forward again. It seemed like hours before she heard four loud peeps and the metal door slid toward her. Come on!

  Three-quarters closed, Sanders made a dive for the door and got his hands across the front edge. He took the strain of the mechanism pushing against his body, and the door stopped closing.

  Then it started again. Unable to stop it any longer, Sanders retreated until only his left hand remained on the door edge. It closed the final few inches, trapping Sanders’ fingers.

  Nora watched as the fingers swelled and reddened like overripe tomatoes. Sanders moaned on the other side. The terrible pressure from the door increased and Sanders screamed in agony. At least one of his fingers seemed to burst before he finally managed to pull his hand free and the bloodied fingers disappeared, leaving a bright red slick behind.

  Steel bolts slotted into place and the door locked. Nora stood, head bowed, the grim silence only broken by her murmured prayer of thanks. She discovered she was holding Nick’s arm and turned to look at him.

  “It’s over,” she said quietly, confirming it as much to herself as him. “We’re safe now.”

  * * *

  I stuck my ear tight against the steel door but couldn’t hear a thing inside.

  “Sure they can’t open it?” I said. “Nothing in there that tells them the combination?”

  Nora shrugged. “Wheeler swore he was the only one who knew it.”

  Which was typical Wheeler behaviour. I sat on the floor beside Nora and Toby.

  “What now?” I said.

  Toby looked surprised by the question. “Now that they’re locked up, we leave them in there and get picked up tomorrow morning,” he replied, “Then we’re out of here once and for all.”

  “And what about them?” I persisted, nodding at the safe room door.

  Toby shrugged. “Tell the police, of course, let them deal with it.”

  “They’ll survive okay in there,” Nora added, “They’ve plenty of emergency rations.”

  “When the police come they’ll think we’re crazy,” I replied. “Have you thought about that?”

  “We just tell the truth and stick to it,” Toby said.

  “They won’t believe us,” I protested, “They’ll let those guys out.”

  “We can’t just go away and forget about them,” Nora replied, “There’s Wheeler’s dead body to explain for a start.”

  “You know what will happen to anyone else who comes here,” I answered, “Sanders and his crew will change them over until there’s a whole mob of them. If they get to the city it may never stop.”

  Toby and Nora didn’t argue the point. They knew it too.

  “You’re right,” Nora said, “We’ll be giving people a death sentence. Make it to civilisation and they’ll be everywhere. There’ll be no escape.”

  “What else can we do?” Toby countered.

  “I don’t know,” I replied. “Whatever these guys have, it spreads like water through a paper towel.” I shuddered at my own imagery, thinking of the red stains growing on the cloth we’d put over Wheeler’s body. “Once it hits a major population, there’ll be no putting it back.”

  Toby frowned. “I’m not condemning six people to a slow, painful death.”

  For a while no one spoke. There didn’t seem to be any solution. Nora finally broke the silence.

  “How they look, how they eat, what they did to Marie, then Wheeler,” she began, “They’re not really human anymore.” She looked straight at Toby. “And if we let them out, neither will anyone trying to help them.”

  “I get it,” Toby replied. “But even if they no longer feel guilt, I do. Marie is badly injured, and Sanders isn’t much better. If we leave them in there, they’ll waste away horribly. I’m not sure I can do that.”

  I sighed. “Whoever comes up here after us to investigate Wheeler’s death will let them out anyway. Whatever we do, we can’t win. All we have now is a reprieve.”

  “Right now, I’ll take that,” Nora said, and I nodded in agreement.

  * * *

  Sanders sat on the floor, his left hand dripping blood. As he peered down at it, examining the damage, the pain lessened and went away completely. The broken fingers continued to bleed for several more seconds and then abruptly stopped. Sanders closed his eyes and his body sagged in instant sleep.

  Peterman stood beside the door, one arm raised. Thick rivulets of sweat trickled down his forehead and the neck of his shirt was soaking wet. His fingers moved in constant rapid rhythm over the keypad on the wall. Faint sounds slipped out from between his thin lips.

  “One-six-seven-four-three-one . . . one-six-seven-four-three-two . . . one-six-seven-four-three-three . . .”

  The succession of numbers continued in a whispered, rhythmic drone like bees buzzing in the dank, stinking air. Half an hour later his hand froze and dropped to his side.
Immediately, he sat down on the floor, closed his eyes and went directly to sleep.

  By then, Ned Mackie had already taken over at the keypad. He began with the next number string in the sequence. With the tedious efficiency of a master computer, every possible lock combination would be tested. It was only a matter of time.

  An hour later Abby Mackie stood at the keypad.

  “Two-one-six-eight-eight-three . . . two-one-six-eight-eight-four . . . two-one-six-eight-eight-five . . .”

  Four loud peeps sounded. Abby Mackie’s small fingers stilled their motion and stopped, her arm came down and her eyes closed. Her task accomplished, she switched off for a minute’s rest.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Restless, we moved up and down the hallway, well away from the safe room but keeping it in sight. When I checked the time, it was two-thirty a.m. Eventually we sat on the floor again, and Nora and Toby dozed a little. I guessed they were hoping, like I was, that this dangerous mess would somehow sort itself out and leave us alone. My legs became cramped and I got up and stretched. Still antsy and worried, I needed to do something, anything. I gave Nora a nudge.

  “Come on, we’ve been sitting for ages,” I said.

  She looked at me sleepily. “Think I’ll stay here till morning,” she replied.

  “I don’t feel like moving either,” Toby said, looking up, “I’ll just rest and pray a bit if you don’t mind.”

  I sighed and sat back down. Even at this distance, the metal door seemed to have a hold over me – as if sitting around it long enough would change something. It started to really bug me.

  “There’s really no way to fix this?” I said. “Think of all the people who are going to be affected. Maybe millions!”

  “We’ll just have to tell the truth and hope that someone will listen,” Toby replied.

  “By the time they do, it’ll be too late!” I wanted to scream at him.

  “I don’t know how we can stop that, Nick,” Nora said. “There’s no good answer.”

  Toby nodded. “At least we’re safe for a few hours till the helicopter comes.”

  The frustration in me boiled over. “We can’t let this spread any further . . .”

  A loud peep interrupted me. I jumped in my skin. Another peep, then another. I knew what they were. By the time the fourth one sounded I was on my feet again and staring at the safe room door.

  Slowly, impossibly, it opened.

  * * *

  Sanders emerged, his mashed fingers holding the axe, the others following behind him. I stood gaping at them, frantically trying to think what to do. Both my mind and body were paralysed, and I couldn’t tell if it was the sicko zombies manipulating me or just my own sheer terror. I had seconds to do something but was too shocked to even speak. At last I forced out a few words.

  “Nora, Toby, let’s get the hell out of here.”

  Not very classy, but hearing my own words broke the spell and I led the way down the hall to the kitchen. Inside, I was going so fast, I almost fell over the red and white mound on the floor.

  We went out the back door, then I stopped and turned, looked at Nora and Toby.

  “Where to next?” I didn’t want to be responsible for the decision.

  They didn’t know either. I looked around rapidly and saw that the big storage shed door was open. With no more time to think, I made for it.

  “There’s stuff in here we can use as weapons to keep them off,” I said. Toby and Nora followed me inside and I slammed the door behind us.

  As soon as it closed I realised I’d made a big mistake. The Yale lock was smashed and hanging off the door. There was no way to lock it from inside. I’d trapped us, and it was too late to turn back now. The three of us managed to shove a solid wood storage unit across the door but it would only keep Sanders’ gang out for a short while. Desperately I scanned the room, searching for a way to escape.

  All I saw was gardening equipment, food freezers, propane fuel tanks, the skylight out of reach above our heads. None of it was any good.

  “Over there,” Nora shouted, “The stepladder.”

  She ran across the room and took down a lightweight aluminium ladder off the wall. “We can use this to get up to the skylight,” she said.

  Suddenly our prospects looked better. Maybe now we could get out of here. But wherever we went, Sanders and his spaced-out freaks would follow. Eventually they’d catch us. Could we stop them, once and for all? My eyes fell on old wooden storage boxes at the back of the room and I remembered what Toby had told me a couple of days ago.

  “Toby, come over here.” I led him into the shadows at the far end of the shed. “Remember the stuff we found here when we were looking for Sanders? You said they were dynamite sticks, blasting caps, whatever?”

  Toby looked puzzled. “They’re in these boxes down here. What about it?”

  “You told me your father showed you how to use them; that you actually set up blasts?”

  “That’s right. He shouldn’t have.”

  “Forget that. Just tell me – do you still know how to do it?”

  “Sure, it’s really simple.”

  “Then do it now. Put together a bundle we can carry and set off with a short fuse.”

  Toby frowned. “Are you crazy?”

  “Just do it. We have no choice. Quick.”

  “But–”

  “Toby, if you don’t, we’re dead. And maybe everyone’s eventually dead or changed into mindless zombies like those guys outside. You have to stop it. You have to do this, right now.”

  Toby shook his head. “I need to think about it.”

  “We don’t have time!” I screamed at him. “It has to be NOW!”

  He stood frozen, undecided, while the door rattled and shook behind us. Soon Sanders’ axe would break it down and he’d be in.

  I held my arms out, silently pleading with Toby as he still refused to move. We had a few more minutes at most. Nora was at the top of the stepladder, working on the skylight catch. We could still do this, if we moved right this second.

  “NOW!”

  Toby turned and rummaged in the boxes. It was a race against time. Sheer frustration switched to heart-stopping nervous tension.

  Someone touched my elbow and I nearly jumped in the air. It was only Nora.

  “I can’t get the skylight open,” she said.

  I hurried to the ladder and scurried up the rungs to the top. There was a small metal catch that should have pulled up and back. It was stuck fast. Worse still, the cowboy workers that Wheeler must have hired had painted the window frame and gone right over onto the skylight itself, sealing it shut forever. To unstick it I’d need a flathead screwdriver, heat torch, God knows what. My dad could do it, given a couple of hours. I had a minute or two if I was lucky.

  Maybe I could free it with hammer or, failing that, break the glass. I ran down the ladder, ignored the loud banging on the door, and grabbed a short mallet off a work bench.

  Back at the top of the stepladder, I hit the frame with the hammer. By sheer fluke I connected with the catch handle and moved it up and out of its groove. I grabbed the handle and wrenched it the whole way back, releasing the skylight. Old, hardened paint cracked, and the window swung opened on ratcheted hinges.

  I pushed the skylight open as far as it would go, tossed the hammer on the nearly flat roof, and stuck my head out into cool night air and a sea of twinkling stars. Sweet freedom, at least for a moment.

  My plan was crazy, dangerous and brutal, but it just might work. If it did, it would solve all our problems. I clambered down off the stepladder, determined to push on with it.

  “It’s big enough to get through.”

  Toby was still fiddling with sticks of dynamite. His hand moved in a winding action and there was the familiar sucking sound of duct tape being applied. The shed door was now partly wrecked and half open, and Sanders’ axe hacked at the storage unit we’d shoved across it. We had to get up the ladder right now.

  “Toby
, get over here.”

  “I’m not finished yet.”

  “What’s keeping you?” I went over and joined him.

  “It has to be done right or I’ll blow us all up.” He picked up a bundle from the table.

  “Looks good to me,” I said.

  “I’ve taped half a dozen sticks together; put in a cap and fuse. Found some matches too.”

  “Will it work?” Nora asked from beside the ladder.

  “You bet it will.” He pointed across the room. “If it blows in the middle of that stack of propane cylinders, this place will go up like a fireball.”

  “That’s my plan exactly,” I replied.

  “Then we’d better be well away before it goes off.” Toby looked at the bundle in his hands. “I’m still not sure about this. Once it goes off, this will kill anyone inside.”

  There was no more time to argue. “Let’s get up on the roof right now. They’ll be here any second.”

  As Toby pocketed the matches, a massive cracking and breaking noise sounded behind me. I turned and saw the door exploding inward.

  Our hunters poured through the opening. Sanders strode up to the stepladder and stopped us from getting back to it. The Mackies and Peterman stacked heavy freezers and cupboards across the doorway, blocking it far better than we had done. Now we were well and truly trapped. Sanders nodded to himself and picked his first victim.

  * * *

  Nora shrank behind the ladder as Sanders approached. Peterman and Georgia circled around to her right and the Mackies to her left.

  Divide and conquer, Nora thought. Sanders is going for me, and the others are cutting off Nick and Toby. Nora’s nose filled with the stink of their bodies. They were all a revolting mess; their clothes filthy, tattered and torn. Sanders’ shirt was blotched and streaked with blood, Ned Mackie had an open gash on his forehead, and Abby’s nose was bloodied and probably broken. Georgia still looked good, like an oiled-up model from a calendar shoot, her tight top now torn to the navel. Marie was the worst. Bent over and barely able to walk, she dragged her crooked leg along like deadweight. Her face was a permanent picture of silent agony as she hobbled behind Sanders. Whatever was controlling her didn’t give a damn about her pain.