by Fuchs, A. P.
The next order of business would be to block the stairway where he now sat with whatever he could find and maybe line the top of the barricade with pots and pans from the food court so that, should something try and get through, the kitchenware’d tumble to the floor and raise a sound he could hear all the way down by the vault door.
He just needed to catch his breath first.
Boy, was he starving. He had put off scouring the food court for any canned goods on purpose until he verified he was alone down here. Now that he was fairly sure there was nobody around but him, his heart leapt in delight at the prospect of finally getting some grub. Maybe, just maybe, there’d be power in one of the kitchens and some coffee and he could boil himself a cup.
August got to work. It took awhile, but eventually a makeshift barricade was set up along the bottom of the non-running escalator and the flight of stairs that ran up alongside it. He dragged heavy tables from the restaurant next to the barricade and piled chairs on top of it. Then, as planned, put the pots and pans in place, some acting as a base, others half-on-half-off, so that any jostling of the chairs and tables would force them to fall.
“Not bad,” he said, hands on his hips as he surveyed his work. “Ain’t Fort Knox but it ain’t out in the open anymore either.”
Stomach growling, he went to the food court and worked his way through the various eateries, seeing what he could find. All the perishable stuff was rotten, stinking and covered with so much thick green fuzz that he couldn’t even look at it.
“How’s that? Can look the dead in the eye but rotten tomatoes make you gag.” What a time to live.
Some of the places had freezers, many of which still had a few slabs of meat, stuff which had been left behind by previous ransackers for some unexplained reason. Didn’t matter though. There was no power circulating down here and the meat was all grayed-out and, even though still wrapped, stunk so incredibly bad it made the zombies smell like roses.
One of the last eateries had a series of cupboards in the back, lining the grills. A few cans of mushrooms, one of tomato paste, three tuna and four canned wieners remained.
“Mmmm, lovely,” August said. “So what’s it gonna be? Fungus grown in crap? Ketchup paste, dead fish or meat scraps?”
He opted for the meat scraps and dined alone in the dark at a corner table, putting away two cans of wieners. Even though he was still hungry, he put the other cans in his pockets for later, already choosing a one-meal-a-day plan unless other food options presented themselves.
There was still no telling how long he’d be here.
As he slowly chewed his food, one question hung over him: what was on the roof?
18
Good Doggies
If this were a normal day, it would already be getting dark. But these weren’t normal days anymore.
The city skyline loomed not too far away.
Joe waited a moment for Billie to catch up from behind.
“Doesn’t seem this long a hike by car,” she said.
She came up beside him.
“We’re almost there. Big thing is we gotta get over the overpass. Not sure if you’ve ever walked those humps, but they take awhile.”
“Know where we are?”
“Sort of. Should be a street or two’s worth to go. Can’t really tell from down here. We have two choices: we either follow the river and head up by the bridge or we go up now and take a chance with the streets.”
“Well, you said the river was safer so let’s do that.”
“Agreed.”
They walked on for about ten more minutes. Then Joe’s heart sank in his chest.
“Oh, that’s nice,” Billie said.
A wall of cars and trucks that had gone off the roads and barreled through the trees and bushes stood before them. There had to be at least thirty or forty cars, all stacked and smooshed together like a Hot Wheels race gone bad.
She stood with one hand on her hip, the other gesturing toward the heap of smashed windows, tires and twisted metal. “How’s that even possible?”
“Panic. They probably freaked out the day of the rain and tried to outrun the dead.”
“Yeah, but they would have had to blast through how many trees and yards to get down here?”
“Don’t underestimate folks under pressure. I’ve seen too much to discount it. These trees aren’t densely packed and some are small. They probably bulldozed a whole bunch before hitting one or two their car couldn’t handle. Look, doesn’t matter. We got a problem. One side is blocked by the river, the other might be open. If not, we go uphill. No choice.”
“Fine,” she said and huffed.
What’s her problem?
Billie stepped around him and got closer to the cars. “Can’t climb them?” She pushed against a Volkswagen sitting partly atop a Caravan (how that happened, Joe hadn’t a clue). It rocked. Metal groaned. For a second Joe thought it might lose whatever slight hold it had on the van and come crashing down.
“Doesn’t look like it,” he said.
She threw her hands up in the air. “Okay, then. We go around.”
Joe stared after her as she made her way along the wall of cars, stepping over tree stumps and large, fallen branches. He realized her problem. It was so simple: she was scared.
He pulled out the X-09. Billie must have heard him draw it from its holster inside his coat because she looked back at him.
“Just in case,” he said, with a smile.
She didn’t return it.
Now right behind her, Joe offered to take the lead.
“No, I’ll be fine,” she said as she walked with hands partly spread out to either side to maintain her balance on the uneven terrain.
A second later she slipped and fell backward into Joe’s arms. He held her from behind, arms tightly around her waist. The way her small body fit into his reminded him of April.
Something didn’t feel right.
Billie struggled to get back onto her feet. “Okay, you can let go now.”
Joe held on. “Wait a second.”
She froze. “What?”
The air was still. Leaves crunched somewhere not too far away.
Billie squirmed. “Would you let go?”
“Quiet.”
“Don’t you dare talk to me like that. I’m not some damsel in distress that needs your help. I’m—”
That was it. He pulled her up, set her on her feet and gave her a shove forward. “Happy now?”
Her hot glare burned right through him. No matter. She was a pain anyway.
Crnch. Crnch. Very faint, but near enough that Joe knew they had to get moving.
“Walk. Now,” he said and motioned with the gun for her to get going.
She just stood there. “Jerk.”
Joe shook his head and walked past her. “Something’s coming.”
Billie got in line.
Their own footfalls on the twigs, branches and leaves masked the crunching sounds from earlier. Joe scanned the trees for any sign of movement. Nothing but browny-gray skeletons, dead bushes and a few dry brown leaves swirling on the air from a breeze that had just picked up.
The cars hadn’t smashed into each other in a perfect line, but instead weaved their way around the trees like a snake. Already the river was pretty far behind. The city was over to the right. They had to get over that way lest they take a detour that could get them ki—
Fierce growling followed by a low guttural bark shot through the air, sending a jolt through every bone in his body.
A big black wolf of a dog bounded out from behind a tree, its heavily-haired body slicked with greasy blood, its eyes dead and white, its fangs caked with rotten flesh.
Billie shrieked as five more appeared from behind the bushes, all six racing toward them.
“Billie!” he shouted.
She was already moving, dodging to the left, one of the undead dogs missing her, skidding to a halt, then twisting its body to come at her again. She was in mid sprint when
Joe blasted a hole through the back of the dog’s head.
It didn’t even yelp.
The other five bowled over them like a tornado to a house; Joe hit the ground hard and fast, one of the beasts on top of him, its foul breath cool and smelling of rotten hamburger.
It’s breathing? No sooner did the thought enter his mind than he put the barrel of the gun under the dog’s snapping jaws and pulled the trigger. A spray of black blood shot up through the back of the dog’s head then showered down, putrid and sticky.
Beside him, Billie had her forearm pressed against another dog’s throat. It was all she could do keep the animal’s snapping mouth away from her.
Joe cocked the hammer, two more shots falling into the chamber. Before he could aim, one of the beasts grabbed him by the foot, its yellow, meat-caked teeth digging into the leather and steel of his boot.
Thank goodness it didn’t get me. It would have bit my head clean off.
The dog dragged him through the leaves to one of its kin that was not far off, who bowed with hindquarters straight, front legs pressed to the ground, snapping. Its bark was loud, carrying the tone of more than one voice.
It missed my toes but its teeth are lodged in my boot. It bit through steel?
Joe aimed and took the dog out. It flopped over, forcing his ankle to the side, a numbing jolt rushing up his shin.
Screaming, Billie scrambled against the ground, trying to get away. She had somehow managed to flip over onto her stomach—a stupid mistake—and now the beast was standing on her back, about to take a bite out of the back of her head.
“AAAAHHHH!” The scream came out of nowhere.
It wasn’t hers.
Joe only caught it in his peripheral, the blur of an iron pipe, someone wielding it. Who it was, he couldn’t see.
He shot the dog at his feet. It dropped, its face still stuck on his boot. Immediately the dog on Billie’s back straightened then pounced on him, its lower teeth just missing his scalp and grazing his head. Thick gobs of funky saliva slapped onto his shaved head like a bad bath. He twisted his arms underneath it and used both forearms to push the dog off to the side. The moment the dog hit the leaves, he sat up and put a bullet in the dog’s ear, straight through to its brain.
The dog stopped moving.
One left.
He tried to stand but the dog still stuck onto his boot made it impossible for him to get the heel of his left boot under him. He fell over the moment he put any weight on it.
The remaining dog growled, tore for him and its paws left the ground. Its dark, blood-soaked body sailed through the air.
“Watch out!” Billie shrieked.
Just before it landed on top of him, a blur of silver-gray struck the dog in the chest, followed by a dull clunk. The dog flew backward through the air like a foul ball.
Another clunk, and the iron pipe smashed into the dog’s head.
The young man holding the pipe turned to look at him.
It was Des.
19
On the Way Up
Unable to get around the cars, the three made their way uphill away from the river, the first order of business to get out of there before having a small reunion.
Billie and Des walked ahead, Joe trailing behind. They were talking about what just happened, but too softly for him to get in on the conversation. Not that he wanted to. The gloating look Des gave him as he used the iron pipe like a crowbar to pry the dog’s teeth out of his boot was enough. It clearly read: how’s that for a heroic entrance? See? I can be cool, too.
Or maybe he was reading too much into it. Whatever the case, Des was now the hero and Billie looked at the guy with star-filled eyes because he had saved her life.
Despite not wanting the thought to be there, it was. I saved her life, too, and she didn’t look at me that way. As if he wanted her to. There was only one girl for him, and she was dead.
But there was a piece of April in Billie, that same carefree spirit, the kind that seemed rooted in disguised insecurity, the kind that took pleasure in the small things, the important things.
Des walked boldly, tapping the iron pipe on an open palm, as if telling any onlooking zombies to “come get some.”
That guy’s gonna get slaughtered if he’s not careful. Joe grimaced. I can’t believe Billie is falling for it. She’s smarter than that! Um, right? Relax. You don’t know her. You shouldn’t even care.
But he did.
“Where were you?” Billie said loud enough so Joe actually felt part of the conversation.
“I called and called,” Des said. “Didn’t you guys hear me? I wasn’t that far behind.”
Joe picked up his pace so he was right behind them.
“We didn’t hear anything,” Billie said.
“You guys deaf?” Des asked.
“No,” Joe said. “We didn’t hear you because there was nothing to hear.”
“I must have yelled at the top of my lungs.”
“Don’t forget we were also walking along a moving river, wind was blowing through the trees. Lots of ambient noise.”
Des was about to reply but seemed to be considering that last part.
“Means background noise,” Billie said quietly.
“I knew that. Still think you should have paid more attention.”
They reached the top of the hill. A wall of trees concealed whatever was beyond, likewise what was off to either side. The three stopped; Billie and Des caught their breath. Joe was just fine, his body used to being active.
“Did you see anything in the woods?” Joe asked.
“No. Did you?” Des replied.
“Just the dogs.”
“Where’d you get that?” Billie asked, gesturing toward the pipe.
“Side of the road. Looks like someone warmed it up for me. See?” He held up the pipe and showed the dried blood on its end peeking out from the fresh blood glistening on it.
“You should really clean that off,” Billie said.
“Why? Kind of a badge of honor, don’t you think?” he shot back.
“Do as she says. The undead can smell blood. It’s what attracts them to us.” Has to be, anyway.
“Even if that was so, this is undead blood on this thing, remember? Should be fine.”
“Do it anyway. Don’t take any chances.”
“Why, Joe? You scared?”
“Whoa,” Billie said, putting her palms up and taking a few steps back.
“You wanna run that by me again?” Joe said, taking a step toward him.
“Just saying that you take things a little too seriously, all grim and dark like some kind of Batman.”
“Do you forget how long I’ve been doing this? Is it not reasonable to assume I know what I’m talking about?”
“If you did, you wouldn’t have needed me to save you.”
“Des,” Billie said firmly.
That’s it. Time to set this guy straight. “You killed some dogs. Good. Billie and I are alive. Good. But don’t start going around thinking you can take on the whole world, one filled with creatures that are stronger than you, just because you killed a few pups.”
Des’s green eyes bore into him. “I don’t know why you’re being such a jerk to me.”
“Yeah, Joe,” Billie said. “He saved your life. And mine.”
“Don’t start, Billie. His head’s full of hot air right now. It’s gotta stop now or we’ll all wind up dead.”
“So you’re gonna blame it on me if something happens to us?” Des asked.
“No,” Joe said. “But you gotta come down off your throne and get back to the real world. I’m only going to ask you to do this once.”
“Or what? Think you can take me?” Des raised the pipe.
On instinct, Joe balled up his fist and sent it into Des’s nose.
“Gargh!” Des muttered, dropping the pipe and covering his face with his hands. Dark red liquid leaked out from between his fingers.
Billie was at his side in no time, one
arm around his back, the other catching the blood dripping off his hands.
“Screw you!” she shouted.
Joe ground his teeth. “Fine.” He stormed off up to the trees.
Behind him, Billie whispered words of comfort to Des. In front of him, he didn’t like what he saw through the trees.
A cemetery.
20
At the Top of the Stairs
August sat on the top step with his back against the makeshift barricade next to the door at the flight of stairs leading up to the roof of the Richardson building. It should hold. Before he had opened the rooftop door, he had taken a desk from one of the offices on the top floor, emptied its contents, dragged it up to the top of the stairs then went about filling it with as much paper as possible. He did the same with a couple filing cabinets before bringing up a couple of chairs to lock things in place once he was done.
Now, the door jerked in its hinges as the undead outside banged against it.
The entire rooftop was covered with them. Who knew how long they’d been up there, but the way they charged at him the moment he peeked his head out the door, he was lucky to move fast enough to close it and shove the desk in front of the door before they could break through. The filing cabinets were the hardest to move, even just the one foot from where he placed them to right up against the desk. The chairs were easy. But those zombies . . . . Their eyes, buried in deep and decayed sockets, were white and bloodshot; bloody drool oozed from the corners of their mouths.
