Life Among the Dead (Book 4): The End

by Daniel Cotton

  “Shit! Jan!” Rocky exclaims when she sees one of her girls sitting against the wall as people rudely trample past her.

  Rocky forces her way through the rushing crowd to get to her teammate. She treats them as she does her competitors, elbowing and shoving without regard to make her way to Jan Slaughter.

  “Hey, Rocky,” the derby girl says in embarrassment. “I fell and they just kept going.”

  “Momma’s got you now,” Rocky tells her girl. She puts Jan’s arm over her shoulder and hefts her to her feet. The Captain commands her team, “Make a wedge!”

  The derby girls form a ‘V’ with Rocky carrying Jan’s weight. They force their way through, showing only a little more mercy than they do on the track.

  The elevators are down since the emergency mandates the use of stairs. Once in the stairwell the formation is reversed to slow the flood of bodies that may try to pass, Rocky protects her teammate all the way down, she disregards the yelling guests that clamor to be let through.

  The team exits onto a short walk that leads to the parking lot of the hotel. The crowd disperses in a huff, Man’s Ruin continues onward to their bus.

  “Is it bad?” Rocky asks Jan once she has her sitting on the steps of their tour bus. She palpates her teammate’s legs.

  “Yeah, it’s my ankle,” the girl grimaces at the motherly tending. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to…”

  “The fuck you won’t,” Rocky corrects her. “Maxine. Penny. Get Jan on the bus, we’re taking her to the hospital.” The league gives the girls great coverage and Rocky will be damned if they aren’t going to use it, she’ll also be damned if she’s going to pay for their rooms.

  Man’s Ruin joins the other guests in the lot. Folks, pulled from slumber, conglomerate in groups. They huddle together in the cold, most in bed clothes, befuddled and tired, looking for some authority to come and tell them that everything will be all right.

  The night shift desk clerk emerges. The tall balding man raises his hands to quell the questions that are issued as the mob converges on him. “Everything is fine, folks,” he tells the guests. “Please, we need to keep this area clear for the firemen.”

  Sirens fill the air in the distance but they are not getting closer. The lack of responders isn’t lost on the grumbling mass.

  “There are of course other emergencies…”

  “What emergencies?” Rocky pipes through a mouthful of hard candy.

  “More urgent emergencies,” he responds snidely. “You are all entitled to a rebate, of course, for the inconvenience…”

  “Wow!” Rocky chides sarcastically. “A rebate? You know, you’re all right!”

  The woman’s condescending tone shakes his forced calm, his bald heads beads with sweat in the cold air.

  Rocky watches the man mop his brow with his sleeve as he tries to collect his thoughts. She has him where she wants him. “One of my girls is hurt!”

  “Ma’am, you’re party will get a full refund.”

  This raises protest from the other guests, Rocky doesn’t care about them. “That’s a start.” She heads his way to discuss her terms when in her way she is stopped by a young man she recognizes, the bashful way he looks away once her eyes fall upon him and his goofy ‘I’ve got a secret’ grin. This is a young man smitten, he could be any number of her conquests that has come back with full blown puppy love.

  “Aw Christ!” Rocky curses. “KB, kill the puppy. I’ve got to take care of business.”

  The rough derby veteran skirts around Mr. Breckinridge to close the deal with the clerk.

  All the love sick young man can do is watch his lady fair force her way to the front of the group that has formed while she was distracted. She stands toe to toe with the man that easily has 75 pounds on her, she locks her amber eyes on his and the man flinches. “I’m not done with you.”

  “Hey, KB, I just wanted to check on Rocky… and you of course. Everyone, really, I want everyone to be all right. Rock had said one of her girls got hurt. Can I call her Rock?”

  “Wow,” Killer B says at a loss. He has it bad, she thinks. Whatever Rocky does to these men must be friggin’ amazing. She hates ‘killing the puppies’ hates it even worse when it must be done twice. “Look, Mr. Breckinridge…”

  “It’s…”

  “No, no. Don’t tell me your name,” she insists. “I’m sure what you and Rocky had was…”

  “Amazing!” he finishes.

  His use of the word she had just thought moments ago sways her resolve to pull the trigger, but she must. “I’m sure it was. But, it was just a one-time thing.”

  “Oh, we did it more than…”

  “Stop!” Killer B’s hands are raised to ward off his over sharing. “I always walk into that one.”

  “Always?”

  “I told you at the bar, Rocky is the ‘love ‘em and leave ‘em’ sort.” It tends to get messy if the guys see her again in a chance meet, it dawns on Killer B what Mr. Breckinridge’s intentions were. “You thought that if you showed concern, she’d fall for you.”

  “It’s stupid, I know,” he admits.

  She won’t argue with that, but a thought pops into her head that may help the poor man. “Let me give you some advice that Rocky gave me once. I’ll warn you it’s a little vulgar but effective.” Killer B blushes as she takes the breath needed to extol her friend’s knowledge. “The entire world is looking to fuck you in the ass, that doesn’t mean you have to spit on their cocks for them. Nice guys finish last.”

  Rocky is on her way back from her meeting with the desk clerk. Mr. Breckinridge lets the advice sink in, the sight of his apparently one-time fling approaching now fills him with dread. “I’m just going to go stand somewhere else.”

  “Great news, KB!” Rocky announces with a smile of pride, ignoring the retreating puppy. “I had that pig sweating. Not only do we not have to pay here, we’re comped at the Hammond Grand in Waterloo!”

  “Awesome.”

  “Not entirely,” the smile fades slightly, “the high end fancy rooms are all being fumigated. I could have had us in the Presidential Suite, we’ll have to settle for regular rooms.”

  “Still,” Killer B accepts the good fortune with a shrug. “Now all we have to do is wait for the all clear to get our gear.”

  “Screw that! I drank. I’ve fucked. I’ve showered and napped. I’m ready to hit the road. We do need to get Jan to the hospital,” Rocky heads towards the hotel. “Load up the girls, I’m getting’ our shit!”

  “They said we have to wait for the firemen.”

  “Bitch, have you met me?”

  11

  Mr. Breckinridge, Archie Mead, watches the woman that has raised the bar for every sexual partner he will ever have for the rest of his life push one last load of suitcases to their tour bus. Soon she will be heading out of town and he will be able to cease his childish crush. Even before she is out of sight, the hold she has on his heart, more accurately his crotch, weakens. He tells himself that she is too old for him anyway, he knows she will only break his heart. More than likely cheat on him while on the road with the derby circuit. Archie knows he will cherish his memories for a very long time, vivid lurid memories that no one would ever believe even if he was the type to kiss and tell. The fevered images stir his arousal, and also his guilt, the afterglow Archie bathes in darkens. With Rocky no longer within reach, he recalls why he had come to Breckinridge, for Amber.

  A mental snapshot eclipses the steamy recollections, a girl his own age with brown eyes one could get lost in and a smile that never fails to warm his heart. He has just two-timed the perfect girl, a girl he has never met. Archie has only seen her online, the image of her he sees in his mind’s eye is her Gander profile picture.

  He fell in love with her from the moment he first laid his cursor upon her, a comment she sent thanking him for adding her to a horror art group he moderates. It took him weeks to build the nerve to go to her page. He was so nervous, as if he had entered her bedr
oom, as he tiptoed down her infinite scroll of posts. The pictures of rotting ghouls and bloodthirsty vampires was like a trip down memory lane, most were drawings she shared with their group. He had a passing thought that one day they could take the journey together with the grandkids like a photo album.

  He had been resisting the urge to follow her, not wanting to be too forward. She had followed him but he figured she was just being cordial, him being the group mod and all. Being on her profile allowed him to see facets of her life he hadn’t before, aside from her weekly avatar changes he noticed whenever she ‘liked’ one of his posts. Amber never commented, he figured she was shy.

  Among the dead he saw selfies that proved she was anything but shy, he actually was in her bedroom and seeing far more of her than he had expected. Picture after racy picture of her in nothing but her underwear, and a few without even that, just her hands providing halfhearted modesty.

  His heart skipped a beat at first, overwhelmed by her incredible figure. He found it hard to breathe as he continued to scroll. He realized why she had so many followers on her page and well over 3 million views, other men allowed to see her whenever they wanted. Comments and likes for each picture knotted his stomach, hundreds complimenting her and begging to see more.

  Don’t do it, he had thought at the screen though a part of him wished it as well.

  Grainy clips of her pressing her cleavage together, or showing off her curves made him want to cry. It was a relief to enter into a span of her grisly horror art once more, but even the monsters and slashers couldn’t overshadow the dismay of seeing his crush flaunting herself.

  Archie couldn’t help but pour through the comments being left, and her responses to them. The perverts, as he called them, had more interaction with her than he did. They claimed to worship her, and love her, they asked to see more, and she wasn’t saying no.

  He kept an eye on her, day in and day out, telling himself that he was protecting her. It made him feel better that she maintained a constant presence in their group. One day she actually left a comment about how much she liked a black and gray pencil sketch he posted of The Creature from the Black Lagoon. He replied ‘I’m glad’, and waited. He held his breath for minutes hoping she was online to write back, he imagined she might ask him who the artist was and that he would tell her it was his own work. He pictured her amazement but it never happened. The hypothetical conversation never occurred.

  Archie always found himself on her page, wandering through the images as the likes and comments racked up. He refused to participate in the ‘liking’ of any of it though he truly loved seeing her. He wished Gander had a ‘dislike’ button so he could effectively show how he felt about some of the horrible things being said to her. She played off the rude propositions with LOLs and flirting back. The degenerates were breaking her down with their requests for more skin, as if she hadn’t shown enough, a thread of comments asking for private photos evoked out of her the reply ‘maybe’

  Archie had to act. He opened a little rectangle to comment and typed in six words: You don’t have to do this.

  If the response to his proclamation could be heard it would have been deafening. It would have been a roar of objections and obscenities aimed at him, calling him every insult in the book and questioning his sexuality. Amber was nowhere to be found, she stopped replying to the men, her posts ended there all over Gander. For days Archie waited for her to return to their group, for things to go back to the way they were before.

  Most artists use digital means to make their craft, he is often asked what program he uses and just as often gets puzzled looks when he replies, “Dixon-Ticonderoga”, his preferred brand of pencil. He posted his best art, things he was saving for his portfolio when he applied to art school, just put his work out there for anyone to take and spread over the internet. He’d hardly see any credit for it but he had to find Amber. She didn’t take his bait, not so much as one ‘like’.

  Archie missed her postings of graphic violence. Returning to her page he scoured the photos for evidence as to where she may live, wisely she never revealed that to the men that often asked. He found a clue in an announcement she had made to her followers that she wouldn’t be online all night because she was going to a football game. Her post ended with the words: Go Walleyes!!!

  Archie discovered that a Walleye is a type of fish, and also the name of several teams across the Midwest. He knew of a way to narrow his search but it felt rather creepy to him, in his desperation he decided to go for it. Gander Pics allows people to use similar facial recognition software as is used by law enforcement and casinos all over the world. A picture can be entered into the search and after narrowing the parameters you can find all images that match the subject’s features as long as they are on the internet.

  Within seconds he had her location, Breckenridge, Iowa. Among the lurid pictures of her Gander postings, the search engine found a picture of her amid a crowd of football fans, cheering for the Walleyes. Yesterday, after his affairs were in order, he hopped a bus out of Georgia and headed to his current location. He stands out in the cold along with all the other guests of the hotel, waiting to be told that they can return to their warm beds.

  The firemen still haven’t shown up, but he has his sketch pad and a mind full of images of Amber’s smile to keep him warm. As he draws he considers it a metaphor, Rocky is the pencil he uses, disposable. But Amber is the drawing, a timeless work of art that will last forever.

  12

  “Hey, Santa,” a nurse cheerfully sings upon seeing Luke Stemmer enter despite the chaos happening around her

  The Emergency Room of Mercy General Hospital is a mad house, far worse than any Black Friday Luke has ever seen on his beat as Santa. Instead of shoppers fighting over bargains, many are fighting for their lives. Bloody people compete for the attention of the harried staff, telling anyone in scrubs what has happened to them. It is standing room only and even that is in dwindling supply as the injured sit or lie on the tile floor. Blood pools beneath dripping gashes and red soaked rags and gauze. Luke just finds his way carefully through, something’s up, something bad. All these people, the state of the city, he can feel in the pit of his stomach that it will only get worse. He learned long ago to trust that feeling, the other shoe always falls, and his gut is telling him that this is going to drop like a megaton bomb. He’s unapologetic as he pushes through the crowd to get to the lobby, all he cares about is seeing his daughter.

  The mass of hopeful patients spills all the way down the corridor leading to the main reception area and beyond. Luke has to hand it to the healthcare workers, it takes a special breed of person to be able to put up with all the moaning and groaning, the complaining and beseeching for aid. He can’t wait for the elevator doors to close out their clamor.

  The lift is like being in a sensory deprivation tank after the ruckus of the ER. He sways on his feet, almost able to drift off to sleep between all the day’s bell ringing and the alcohol. He snaps alert when the quiet box jolts to a stop with a ding, just like his days on the force he doesn’t let fatigue slow him down. That brief moment of rest invigorates him with a second wind as he steps into the hall and heads for the Intensive Care Unit.

  Quite a change from the ER, it’s almost too quiet. Luke knows most units run on skeleton crews at night, but there is no one behind the desk. The lighting has been turned down in the halls and in the patient suites to allow them the recuperative rest they need.

  “You said he was dead!” a man screams from one of the few lit rooms.

  “You pronounced him!” he hears his daughter’s voice and runs towards whatever waits behind this door.

  “Just hold him down.”

  Luke arrives to see his daughter putting all her weight upon a man’s shoulders where he lies on a hospital bed. The man writhes, the nasal cannula that feeds him oxygen comes loose from his movement and he doesn’t seem to mind. The man his daughter holds down strains to crane his neck to get his face as close t
o the nurse as possible, he can’t quite reach but that just makes him try harder, snapping his jaws just inches away.

  The nurse winces when the teeth come too close for comfort, she’d scream for help if any was available to assist her. All she can do is hold tight and hope it’s enough as she waits for the doctor to draw the sedative. Her eyes fall on a sight that baffles her, Santa entering the room. His white beard is tinged with red, as is the white trim of his suit. “Dad?”

  Luke is able to hold the man to the bed with one hand so his daughter can slip away.

  The doctor turns with a full syringe and says, “Susan, hold his arm down for me.”

  The patient is subdued by Luke’s hand but his arms still flail and claw at them. Before the nurse can get ahold of one of the flying limbs, the patient latches onto Santa’s beefy arm, she has to fight to break his grip.

  “That won’t help,” Luke tells the doctor as he watches him inject the patient.

  “Pardon?”

  “Saw a guy. Dead. He got up. Medics gave him the same shit and it didn’t help.”

  “Forgive me if I wish to try anyway, Santa.”

  “Suzy, grab some towels,” Luke overrides the professional. “We’ll lash him to the bed.”

  “You will not!” the doctor adamantly states.

  “Perfectly legal,” Luke assures. “This guy’s a danger to himself and others, namely my daughter. Your wife I might add.”