by Fuchs, A. P.
Snap out of it, man. She’s no good for you. It’s misplaced affection, if “affection” is even what it is. You’re so messed up right now that you wouldn’t know affection even if it was dumped on you, so who do you think you are feeling this way? And “feeling” wasn’t even the right way to describe it to himself either. It was more of a haunting notion, the idea of April that somehow Billie possessed, that got to him.
“Hmph,” he said. That thing underneath.
“What?” Billie said.
“Nothing.” But it was something. “That thing underneath,” was what he called it back when he met April, that invisible quality that attracted one person to another, the one thing in all of human thought and feeling that was utterly intangible and completely indescribable yet was known all the same. It was like everyone was built with an invisible sensor, one designed for a single purpose: to detect that secret, hidden, amazing attractable quality in another person. Some would probably call it “chemistry” or some other dumb name, just a feeble attempt to rationalize what they didn’t understand. Joe didn’t understand it. He just knew it was there.
April had it.
He had thought that, maybe, he had had it, too, and that April had found it in him. But he had been proven wrong the morning after they spent the night lying side by side in his bed and April was gone. He hadn’t even had to roll over to confirm it. He just knew. She had left a note, one explaining she had some things to work out but that she’d never forget him.
So lost in his reverie, it took several pokes from Billie from behind to catch his attention.
“What?” he said.
“Over there.”
Her finger pointed over his shoulder to the staggering corpses walking down the front steps of the Centennial Concert Hall.
The three stopped.
Des drew out the iron pipe.
The four undead moved down the steps with much more control than Joe thought them capable of. There was purpose in their stride. Even from across the street, the hatred in their dull, white eyes was apparent. Four men. Two middle-aged, two younger, all dead for so long that their skin was completely gray, blotched with brown spots, eyes fully sunken into their sockets save for those awful whites. Only one of them had hair, just a touch of black and unruly strands on top of its head.
Once at the bottom of the steps, the undead locked them in their sights and picked up their speed.
“Joe . . . ?” Billie said. She was right beside him. He hadn’t even noticed her get so close.
One look told her to take a step back, which she did.
X-09 raised, Joe cocked the hammer and lined up his shot, picking off one of the zombies just as it crossed the median. Another loud crack of the gun and he took a second. Their bodies dropped to the pavement in dull, fleshy thunks, black blood oozing from their skulls.
Des had the iron pipe raised like a baseball bat.
Billie took a few quick steps backward.
The remaining two zombies ran for them, one for Billie, one for Des.
Pulling down the hammer, he took aim and blasted the forehead out of the skull of the one coming for Billie.
Des wound up like a star hitter, ready to sink the pipe deep into the last zombie’s brain.
BANG!
The corpse dropped before Des could take a swing.
“Hey!” Des said, whining.
Joe just winked at him, turned, and continued down the street.
* * * *
“You know, you should really get a silencer or something for that thing,” Billie said to Joe. He didn’t reply. “Don’t you think its noise will attract them?”
“It does,” he said, though reluctantly. “I tried building one but every prototype failed. They only muffled the sound a little.”
“So you can build a gun but something like a muffler is difficult?”
She was obviously busting his chops but Joe didn’t care for it. Not now. Not after a kill.
“You should look into that online if we ever find a working computer that’s hooked up to the Net,” she said.
“Yeah,” he said flatly.
Des hadn’t said a word since that last kill. He was obviously pouting but Joe wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of it actually working by saying anything.
The three reached Portage and Main. They stopped, scanned the streets for the undead and, with the coast clear, took a breather.
“So here we are,” Billie said after a few moments.
Joe nodded, not feeling like speaking.
The buildings were empty, with no sign of life in their windows. Empty cars littered the street like trash from an enormous garbage can. Many of the buildings had their windows smashed, especially on the lower levels except for the Richardson building, which had its lower windows covered in blood, a few corpses lining the lower windows like a cheap ledge.
Across the way, through the dark lower windows of the Scotiabank building, the silhouettes of the dead were like paper cut-outs, piled four or five high.
The ever-present gray clouds hung thick overhead, their very presence seeming to muffle any and all sound. The brown blotches that weaved their way in and around the clouds looked extra ominous today.
This wasn’t the Winnipeg Joe knew. Though he’d seen it torn apart like this before, it was still new every time he laid eyes on it.
This place—this center of downtown—was meant to be a hub for life. It was one of the most famous landmarks in Canada. It was the very symbol of downtown Winnipeg and the one place people usually offered as a starting point when giving directions on how to get from Point A to Point B.
Now it was dead, the buildings stained with that pukey gray crud that came with the rain, each one appearing a hundred years older than what it actually was. Traffic lights hung limp off their metal poles, like dead fish off a fishing rod. The streetlamps, some with broken bulbs, hadn’t been on since shortly after the rain fell.
“So sad, isn’t it?” Billie said softly.
“Yeah. It ain’t what it used to be, that’s for sure,” Joe said.
“To be honest,” Des began, “I didn’t expect it to last this long.”
“What do you mean?” Billie asked.
He drew near to her. “After the rain, I thought for sure the boys in green—the military, I mean—would have come and just bombed it or something, you know, to get rid of as many of the undead in one go as they could. The zombies used to be like a swarm down here.”
“I doubt they could have bombed downtown even if they wanted to,” Billie said. “Canada’s army’s more like a few pissed off guys wielding hockey sticks than actual soldiers.”
Des chuckled, seemingly because he couldn’t help himself. “Yeah, a stick in one hand, a bottle of beer in the other.”
Joe turned away to conceal his smile. It was true. Compared to most other countries, Canada really fell short in the warfare department. It was probably why it had been overrun by the undead as quickly as it had. Elsewhere in the world, from what he had been able to piece together from the Internet and the bits of radio before the signals went out, their military efforts had lasted much longer. Months longer.
There was movement up the street and decayed heads peeked out from behind the roofs of cars and the sides of buildings. At first only a few, but with each second that passed, the number seemed to double.
“They’re here,” Joe said.
“I thought they were supposed to be gone?” Billie said.
“Me, too,” Des said, pipe already held tight with both hands, ready to roll.
Joe reloaded the X-09, pulled the hammer down and kissed the barrel. “Follow me.”
He meant to take them to the left, further down Main, but had to stop when more of the undead came out from behind the cars. Was it an ambush? Seemed like it, some kind of surprise attack. But there was no way the undead would have known they were coming.
“This way!” Billie said, pointing back the way they came.
All three
stopped running after a few steps when more ambling corpses came out of the side streets and from behind crashed cars.
They snuck up on us, Joe thought. That would mean that they can think. As an afterthought: Or maybe just some of them?
They backed up to the front doors of the Richardson building.
The undead drew closer.
25
Sniper
No matter how many times Joe had laid bullet to marrow on one of these things, he still wasn’t used to them. He could see them from afar, they could be rushing in up close, and each time a flash of panic still burst through him, throwing off his insides and momentarily detaching his mind from his body in a fit of surrealism.
The walking dead weren’t natural. None of this was. The human race wasn’t meant to end in a splash of blood at the jaws of the unworldly dead. He didn’t know how it was supposed to end—if it ever would—but a storm of gray clouds that brought death-giving rain not once crossed the minds of those who planned for chaos.
“Got any ideas?” Billie said beside him.
“Just one: try and survive,” Joe said.
“I could have told you that.”
“Me, too,” Des added.
Joe didn’t have to look at Billie to know she was panicking; her frantic breathing gave her away. He couldn’t blame her. She was unarmed, for one thing, and, as much as he believed in equals, she was a girl, the lesser in regards to strength and old fashioned wear-and-tear.
White, haunting eyes locked onto them anew. Hundreds of them, a stampede of wild animals with no thought except for the satisfaction of blood and flesh.
Surrounded, Joe did his best to remain calm though he was certain he was either going to die or soon become one of them.
The undead stopped their advance, as if all were waiting for a signal to go ahead and feast.
“What are they waiting for?” Billie whispered.
“I don’t know and I don’t care to find out,” Joe said. “Des?”
“Yeah?”
“Get ready.”
“O-okay.”
He raised the gun and blasted holes into the heads of two of them. The sweet dual crack of the gun made his heart sing.
Just pretend there’s only a handful, nothing more.
Bellowing, voices hoarse and ethereal, the undead charged.
Joe pulled the hammer back and took out two more before grabbing Billie by the hand and leading her to the left, just missing the scaly gray hands from four zombies.
Bang! Bang!
Two more down.
Bang! Bang!
Another couple and he made headway into the patch of zombies to the side. Behind him Des screamed in between dull thonks as he drove the end of the iron pipe into the skulls of the deceased.
Billie yelped, swore, and kicked and punched at those who came near her. Joe helped her by quickly firing as many shots as he could into those who got too close.
Soon, they and Des were separated.
“We can’t leave him!” Billie shouted amidst the wails of the dead.
“Can’t help it. We need some room.”
He jerked on her hand and, taking out a few more zombies, carved a clear path to the side of the building, reloading the X-09 with a packet of bullets from the straps crisscrossing his torso inside his coat.
Sprinting, they rounded the corner.
Only a half dozen undead here, all coming toward them, some walking almost normally, others dragging their feet.
Gray-green decrepit faces snarled at them; others held vacant expressions, drones in their lust for flesh.
Bang! Bang!
Two more fell. The others coming up behind them tripped over the bodies.
Joe pulled Billie by the hand and they ran past them, not bothering to finish them off. Every bullet spared meant more chance for survival later.
The anguished groans of the dead filled the streets like a stadium of hissing fans.
At the rear of the building, Joe saw them first. Billie ran past him and he had to grab her from behind by the waist, pick her up off her feet and pull her back.
The corpses were everywhere.
The doors at the back of the building were boarded up.
There was no way in.
“Aaaaaaagggggghhhhhhh!” Des screamed as he came running from the side of the building, pipe in one hand, the arm of an undead torn at the elbow in the other.
When he reached them he spun around and hurled the arm at the horde of zombies moving toward them.
There was a parkade to their left, the wall high, impossible to climb over, its entrance way blocked with empty cars. Zombies closed in from front and back. The Richardson building stood over them like a giant silent observer of a murderer’s dream.
“Got any other bright ideas?” Des asked. “No? That’s what I thought.”
“Shut up, Des. Let me think,” Joe said.
There was no place to go but up and unless each were suddenly bestowed superpowers, that wasn’t going to happen.
It was over.
The undead were no more than fifteen feet away.
Billie was crying.
“Hey,” Des said softly and for the first time since Joe knew him, genuine affection crossed his face.
Billie reached for him and put her arms around his neck.
“There’s something I have to tell you, Billie,” Des said.
“I . . . just . . . just hold me,” she replied.
Des appeared disappointed, but Joe had a pretty good idea what the guy was going to say.
“We have about ten seconds, folks,” Joe said. “I don’t know about you, but these guys aren’t going to take me. They’ve stolen enough already.” He raised his gun eye level, grinned, and said, “See you on the other side.”
He stretched out his arm and aimed the barrel at the nearest zombie.
Billie let go of Des and the three stood side by side.
One last stand.
Joe only managed to squeeze off one shot when the zombies rushed them and took them to the ground.
* * * *
Screaming inside and out, Des kept the pipe across his chest, using it as a barrier between him and the chubby woman with yellow teeth and purple lips pressing down from on top of him. Another zombie wrapped its sticky fingers around the bottom of his chin from behind, pulling so hard against his jaw and putting such pressure on his throat that it silenced his cries.
Still screaming inside, Des tried to ignore the pain building in his neck as this thing tried to separate his head from his body.
Pressing forward with everything he had, he tried to get the heavy dead woman off him. He only gained a few inches of space before she shoved the pipe into him, the iron plowing into his ribs. Something cracked inside.
Grunting, Des squeezed his eyes shut and braced for the end.
A crash of glass. A shot rang out.
The fat woman fell on top of him.
Joe?
* * * *
Billie frantically slapped and hit and pushed and punched the two corpses trying to take a bite out of her jugular.
“No! No! No!” she screeched.
Each time her hands struck dead flesh, they slipped right off as if these two zombies were covered in a slick goo she couldn’t see.
Their stench invaded her system and she shut her eyes, trying to block out the horrible, deathly whites of theirs.
A large hand clamped down on her waist; dull pokes dug into her skin and she knew that in a moment her intestines would be ripped out.
The sound of the gunshot jolted her out of her imagination, but she dare not open her eyes lest she be forced to see the undead eat her alive.
The finger-like vice around her midsection loosened its grip.
* * * *
The zombie’s head exploded after Joe managed to put the barrel of the X-09 under its chin and pull the trigger. Blood and brain splashed onto his face. The familiar sensation of teeth biting into his shoe distracted him, as di
d the fingers gripping him about the ankle.
A hard hand crashed down onto his face, sending a spike of pain from his nose up into his forehead.
“April,” he said but barely formed the words and another of the creatures shoved a finger that tasted like rotten milk into his mouth.
Gagging, Joe bit down anyway. The finger jerked and tugged between his lips.
Stop! You bite it off and the blood will get into you. Then, like another voice: What does it matter? You’re going to die, anyway. Then another: Go down fighting!
His right hand holding the X-09 was yanked to the side. He fired off a shot and thought he heard a zombie screech.
Anger boiled within, filled his stomach, bubbled up his chest and exploded into his head and heart.
