by Fuchs, A. P.
It was at the base of the stairs in no time.
Joe cocked the hammer, ready to take this thing down, but a long leg ending in a size-fourteen shoe plowed him in the chest, sending him onto his back. Ribs aching, his lower back wracked with pain from slamming into the sharp edge of a stair, he couldn’t get up. Billie was behind him almost immediately, her hands under his armpits, trying to help him to his feet.
At the top of the stairs, the rooftop door opened again, this time more than an inch.
“Des! The door!” she screamed.
Des pushed the desk into the door. The door moved a little, but not much. Too many bodies were on the other side, trying to force their way in.
“It’s stuck!” he yelled.
August shoved past him and told him to help him push against the desk. They did. The door closed.
Billie helped Joe to his feet. Joe snapped his legs back just as the giant zombie tried to grab him. Its haunting white gaze stole his breath. He’d never seen someone so huge in his entire life. Judging by its oversized cheekbones and forehead, the thing must have suffered from gigantism in its former life.
The door opened again and August and Des pressed against it.
“They’re coming through!” August said. “We can’t hold it.”
“This was a bad idea,” Billie said and joined the two men at the top of the stairs, helping them keep the zombies on the roof at bay.
What was Billie thinking? She had just left Joe to defend himself against this massive, walking robot of death.
He brought up the X-09, aimed and just as his finger squeezed the trigger, a huge hand swatted at the gun. The shot went off and tagged the zombie in the shoulder. It didn’t even flinch.
Suddenly, low growls and groans filled the stairwell and Joe didn’t need to look over the railing to know that the mass of the undead from below had finally ascended almost to the top floor. The zombies were getting faster. The rolling over of broken chairs and repositioning of metal filing cabinets echoed throughout the stairwell, the sound so loud he could barely hear himself think.
They had to get onto the roof. Up and over the desk and . . .
“Joe!” August shouted.
A pair of large fingers wrapped themselves around Joe’s throat, picked him up off his feet. Before he could cock the hammer on the X-09, he was already flying backward through the air. His body crashed into the drywall at the top of the stairs, just next to where Des, Billie and August pressed against the desk to keep the door closed. The back of his head hit the wall with a resounding smack and a bizarre black flash scattered across his vision. He didn’t even feel himself hit the floor. Head spinning, the stairwell he was in feeling like a world that was a million miles away, he tried to get to his feet. His legs wouldn’t move.
Through blurry vision, he watched as the massive zombie stepped up the stairs and reached for him.
Two shots fired and a pair of nails appeared beneath the dead man’s eyes, embedded in the bruised flesh of his cheekbones.
Billie.
He wanted to say thank you, wanted to wrap his arms around her and thank her for saving his life, but all went dark.
* * * *
Joe’s head drooped to the side and Des thought the trench coat-wearing gunslinger was dead.
The giant zombie on the stairs stumbled back a step and reached for the nails protruding from under its eyes.
“Shoot it again!” he shouted.
Hands shaky, Billie raised the nail gun and Des hoped against hope she was aiming between the creature’s eyes.
“Des, I can’t hold it,” August said, now sitting with his back up against the desk, his feet digging into the floor.
A sudden push from behind sent him and August skidding forward. Des pushed back with a grunt, hoping the effort was enough to slide the desk into the door and close it. The sound of dead fingers and hands slapping against the wall behind them said otherwise.
The giant zombie stomped up the steps just as a half dozen more appeared behind him.
“Joe, wake up!” Des screamed.
Billie fired the nail gun and a nail appeared in the giant zombie’s forehead. It just wasn’t deep enough to take it down. She quickly turned and got on top of Joe, slapping him in the face and chest, trying to rouse him.
The dead man grabbed Billie around the waist and yanked her off, bringing her to himself.
She shrieked.
No . . . Des thought. “Billie!” He got to his feet and the desk skidded along the tiled floor. He didn’t care. This thing couldn’t have her. No how and no way.
The zombie opened its mouth wide, about to take a chunk out of Billie’s neck.
Rage consuming him, Des dove off the top stair and swung the iron pipe into the zombie’s jaw, snapping its head and neck to the side. The thing dropped Billie and she hit the floor with a thud.
August, now on his feet, pulled her up.
“Joe!” the old man shouted.
The desk slid further across the floor and hit Joe in the leg. The door was open a good foot and the undead began to come through.
Others piled up the stairs.
Billie had the X-09 and for a second Des thought she was going to shoot Joe. Instead, the drywall beside his head exploded, the sudden bang causing him to open his eyes.
“Let’s go!” she screamed and pulled on him to get him up.
August helped her.
Big arms pulled at Des and forced him down the stairs.
Time slowed and the weight of the heavy iron pipe in Des’s hand made him realize what it was he had to do.
At the top of the stairs, August pulled on the desk and helped Joe and Billie get on top of it. A handful of the dead began to come through. August punched one and kicked another. Billie shot one with the nail gun and handed the X-09 back to Joe, who took down the rest.
Strong arms squeezed against Des’s chest and his lungs began to close. A rib popped. It was on the same side he had injured before.
August’s eyes bore into him. The old man knew something but Des didn’t know what.
Billie turned and tears filled her eyes when she saw him. She ran toward him but Des kicked her away.
“Run . . .” he rasped. “Go. Please.” He wrestled against the zombie and stomp-kicked backward against the thing’s legs.
It tumbled back just as it reached out to grab Billie by her shirt. Its fingers missed and as Des went flying back down the stairs and he and the giant undead landed against a dozen more, he mouthed to her three words: “I love you.”
34
The Roof
“No! Des!” Billie screamed, her voice thick with tears.
Joe grabbed her from behind and tossed her onto the desk. August grabbed her by the shoulders and shoved her out the rooftop door. He followed behind. Joe jumped onto the desk, slid and fell onto the other side. When he hit the ground the X-09 went off, the bullet taking down the nearest zombie.
Billie didn’t know what happened. Through teary-eyed vision, the scene changed from being just inside the stairwell to part way down the expanse of the roof, the rooftop door still open, Joe now on his feet and running out. Joe kicked the door closed and socked a zombie in the face.
Her world crashing down, she shrieked and screamed, her voice choked by her own tears.
Des was gone.
“Keep moving,” August said, giving her another shove. “You have to.”
Screaming, she cursed at him and slapped the old man then kicked him in the gut. August stumbled back a couple of steps; Joe ran up to them.
“No! Billie, stop!” He held her back as she was about to pummel the old man again for taking away her friend.
Her best friend.
Joe took her face in his hands. “Billie, look at me. Look at me!”
Crying, she tried to focus but all she could hear were her own screams.
“Get it together,” Joe said.
“Joe!” August yelled, running, waving them along.
/> Joe spun and took out a couple of zombies edging closer to them.
Billie surveyed the rooftop. Against a backdrop of hazy, gray clouds, over twenty undead began moving toward them.
And there was something else up there with them. Something that took a moment to register as to what it was: a helicopter.
* * * *
“You got to be kidding me,” Joe said as he pulled Billie along to meet up with August.
The helicopter sat just on the other side of a walking wall of corpses, black and unmoving, one of its skis propped up against a series of vents on the roof.
August eyed the flying machine coolly then nodded toward it. “Let’s go.”
Joe pegged off a couple of the undead moving toward them and cocked the hammer again. Billie followed his example and shot a nail into the face of one and another into a different zombie’s shoulder. She grimaced at having missed the head.
“Sorry,” she said.
The old man shoved his way through the deceased, paying no mind to the chance that one might grab him and take him down.
“Keep running,” Joe said.
Billie glanced back toward the door.
“There’s nothing you can do for him,” Joe told her. “Des is gone.”
“Stop it! Don’t say that!”
He stopped her, looked her square in the eye and said, “I’m saying it.”
Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes anew and she slapped him one good on his right cheek. The hot zing from her swat made Joe’s skin sting. He may have deserved it, he may have not. Either way, Billie needed to wait till she grieved over Des.
All of them did.
The undead formed a semicircle and drew in closer, the circle getting smaller and smaller until Joe and Billie were on its inside, August on the other, running for the helicopter.
Dead hands pawed at them. One grabbed Joe by the shoulder. He shoved it off, delivered a swift hook to the side of the zombie’s head, then kicked at another before firing off a clean shot to the face of one straight ahead of him. The dead man dropped and blood pooled around Joe’s boots.
Billie yelped as a pair of hands tugged her back and to the side. A couple zombies had grabbed her in a bear hug, her arms pinned to her body, forbidding her from raising the nail gun and taking them out.
Joe spun on his heels and blasted one of the zombies that held her. He cocked the hammer and took out the other. Arms free, Billie ran ahead and got some distance before turning and firing off nail after nail in quick succession. Joe had to dive to the side to get out of the way of the spray of spikes.
She’s running off pure adrenaline now. All emotion. Unwise. He got to his feet and headed for the chopper. “Billie, come on!”
She turned, clocked a zombie in the face with the butt of the nail gun, then ran toward the black helicopter.
Joe stopped, fired off a few more shots, then followed her, bringing up the rear.
The rooftop door blew open and that giant zombie filled the doorframe. It eyed the scene with a dead, white-eyed stare, its blood-caked lips grimacing.
It ran after them.
Joe’s heart went into a beating frenzy. He’d never seen one of these zombies run before. And this thing wasn’t just running. It was moving at an all-out sprint. The creature bowled through his comrades as if they weren’t even there. Behind the enormous dead man, a plethora of the undead poured out of the rooftop door, quickly coating the roof in a throng of moving, deceased flesh.
Joe turned toward the helicopter and gave it all he had, running with all-out abandon.
The propellers fired up; slowly at first, but soon they were moving at a blur. August leaned from the pilot seat, waving Billie in through the side door. He was saying something but Joe couldn’t make out what above the roar of the propeller blades.
Billie turned as she ran, arm outstretched, nail gun firing in all directions, she evidently not caring what or who she hit. Joe wondered if she even remembered he was there.
He kept to the side as much as he could to avoid inadvertently getting blasted by one of the nails.
The giant zombie was right behind him, its panting groans crawling up his spine and sending goosebumps across his flesh.
Don’t look back. Don’t! But if walking the streets alone in search of eradicating the undead had taught him anything, looking over your own shoulder was what was needed to survive.
Joe glanced back. Large gray hands reached for him and grabbed him by the face. His feet left the ground and he was dragged over to the building’s ledge.
“Joe.” The voice was somewhere behind the dark of the dead man’s palm, somewhere above the din of spinning helicopter blades, somewhere underneath the constant moans and growls of dead men and women.
August? The voice was faint, almost a whisper.
It was female.
Billie?
He raised the X-09 and fired the two shots it could handle, hoping he’d hit his target in the head. Two low grunts, one for each bullet fired. The hand remained on his face.
Out of necessity, Joe let go of the dead man’s wrist and let his head support his body weight. He felt around for the holster and slid the X-09 into it. Then he reached up and clawed at the dead man’s fingers, hoping to release them just enough to see what was going on. He managed to pry them loose enough so that his left eye was uncovered.
An empty street lay thirty-some stories beneath his boots.
Pain from the iron claw-like grip around his head spiked through his temples.
Blood oozed from the undead giant’s lips. From the little Joe could see, it appeared the X-09 had slugged the creature twice in the chest. Black blood trickled out of the wounds, but it wasn’t enough to stop it.
He couldn’t see the helicopter.
Go ahead. Drop me. They’re gone. I’m ready to go, too. Time to see April.
“Joseph.” There was that voice again. “Joe.” It sounded pleading, begging him not to give up. “I need you.”
Billie?
No. Not Billie. She wouldn’t call him “Joseph.”
April?
I’m coming, sweetheart. He just needs to let go and soon I’ll be there.
Then another voice, this One strong and sure: “If you let yourself die, you will not see her. Not without Me.”
Who? Who’s “Me”?
The undead giant shook his arm and Joe’s body wagged like a rag doll’s.
The voice again: “I have called you by name. You now have a choice: listen or perish. Make your decision.”
Unsure what to do or if his mind was playing tricks on him, Joe thought about April. She had changed everything. She was why he was here now. If she hadn’t died, he would never have taken it upon himself to make war with the undead. He would never have met Billie or Des or August. He wouldn’t be here now, hanging by a thread over a rooftop’s ledge.
Wouldn’t be questioning his sanity at hearing a voice that was not his own.
Have I slipped? Have I finally gone—Just one more chance. Please.
The giant tossed him into the air. Joe went up, tipped forward, and began a swan dive for the street below. Suddenly, a gust of wind stronger than anything he’d ever felt shoved him forward and sent him back onto the rooftop. His forearms hit the ground and he skidded a few feet before finally coming to a stop.
Impossi—
The giant zombie turned and stomped toward him. The crowd of the other zombies came in from the other side.
Behind the giant zombie, the black helicopter rose close to the roof, Billie standing in the side door, waving at him to get in.
Thank you. It was more feeling than thought, but Joe got to his feet, pulled out the X-09 and sent a bullet home between the giant’s eyes. The creature stopped its stride, eyes wide, then dropped to its knees as black blood and brain matter gushed from its head.
Joe ran toward the helicopter. Almost at the ledge, about to negotiate how he was going to step off the edge and into the chopper, a mult
itude of hands pulled at him from behind.
Billie fired the nail gun, sending a barrage of nails into those holding him back.
The zombies wailed.
Joe lurched forward, ran to the edge and jumped.
His foot slipped on the helicopter’s ski and he lost his balance. Gravity swept in and he fell. A rush of pain spiked through his underarms and it took him a second to realize he had managed to catch himself on the ski instead of plummeting to the street below.
Four zombies jumped off the roof. Two grabbed onto each of his legs. The third grabbed onto the ski, the fourth missed completely and plunged to the ground. The helicopter tipped to the side.
Through the open door, Joe heard August mutter something as he tried to right the thing.
“Shoot them! Shoot them!” he screamed at Billie.
She aimed the nail gun at the ones by his legs. “Can’t get a clear shot.”
“Then shoot the other one!”
She aimed at the one hanging onto the ski with one hand. A nail to its throat was enough to force it to let go and drop the thirty-something stories to the street.
The zombies tugged at Joe’s legs. He slipped, fell, then caught the ski with his left hand. His weak hand. The other still clutched the X-09. There was no way he was going to drop the gun.
Even at the expense of his own life.
Without it . . . . The gun symbolized everything. It was who he was without April.
