Life Among the Dead (Book 4): The End

by Daniel Cotton

  The living are scared for their lives, Susan has bigger concerns. As a herd of frightened survivors dash past her, she’s heading towards what they run from in the cold night air. She inadvertently becomes the focus of a pair of ghouls that had been chasing many but settle for the easy meal coming towards them. The running meat is too fast to grab as she changes course suddenly and darts around them. They reach and follow only to trip over their own feet and fall to the ground with nothing to stave their appetites.

  24

  “Aren’t you going to eat that?” Killian asks his brother who just holds his hotdog as it gets cold in his hands.

  Hippo takes his eyes off a red sign on the wall that indicates where an exit can be found just down the hall, he hasn’t taken his eyes from it for several minutes even with so many people around talking and bickering. “I’m not hungry,” he replies. His mind is elsewhere, debating whether to use that exit, staring at the sign as all the others look towards the dead at the gate that moan and plead to be fed. The boy wants his mom.

  Of all the people in the concession area, Killian is troubled by the presence of one in particular. He feels compelled to keep an eye on him though the sight of this guy gives him the creeps, he’s afraid of clowns. A man calling himself Brock Rottom, who apparently never removes his make-up, is among them. Though his intentions are admirable to the youth, keeping up everybody’s spirit while they hunker down together, Killian keeps stealing glances his way to make sure he isn’t coming near him. At the moment Brock is making balloon animals for the cute little girl with the lopsided pigtails, her dad smiles at the joy his daughter has in her eyes as she watches an inflated poodle take form.

  “Maybe clowns aren’t so bad after all,” the youth says to his brother, but when he looks over to see if he’s heard him Hippo is gone.

  25

  The dead on their heels, Sergeants Rashida Steele and Ezekiel Lynton are running out of hallway. Ahead of them is an exit and they have a mere second to decide if they’ll use it.

  “There’s still people in the auditorium,” Rash reminds her partner.

  “We’ll never get to them,” Lynton says. “We’ll be no good to them dead.”

  He’s right, the zombies in the halls have them outnumbered, they may be slow but there’s too many of them and too few bullets. They have to leave.

  They hit the door and exit into the night, letting the emergency door close behind them slowly on its pneumatic arm. The thought to release the corpses, give the folks inside more of a chance did present itself, however their number one job in the event of an outbreak is containment. They have to seal the dead in.

  Rash feels sick once the door is closed, she looks back as the dead slam against it and press against the glass. To prevent the emergency exit from inadvertently opening, Lynton wedges a long flat rock from the building’s edging against the frame.

  The two turn, unsure where they can go. The dead are everywhere chasing the living. Rash spots a window of safety in all the ensuing madness. “The motor pool,” she indicates, already dashing toward the corrugated steel building.

  A woman is running straight for the building they have escaped, Lynton catches her arm. “Ma’am, you don’t want to go in there,” he warns.

  “My boys are in there!” the mother replies as she pulls her arm out of his iron grip with shocking ease.

  “It’s overrun,” Rash tries to reason with the frantic woman who stops at the glass door, face to face with the dead trapped inside. “We have a group locked in the concession area,” she offers a kernel of hope, not expecting the woman to take it as an instruction.

  Before the soldiers can convince her to come with them, she’s running around the building. All winter the survivors have been offered movies and shows, along with many other USO sponsored diversions. The mother has a general idea where to go to find her children.

  “Come on, Rash,” Lynton says, taking his partner’s arm as he had the woman’s, only this time he won’t let her pull out of his grasp. Rash attempts, wanting to aid the lady, the resistance she feels in her arm is enough to convince her that it’s time for them to worry about themselves. Low on ammo, they head for the garage as the base falls around them.

  26

  Heading around the building, Susan tries to recall the layout of the building but can’t remember where exactly the concession area is. Her hope is to find a way in that’s not clogged with zombies. A cluster at the front entrance forces her to take evasive action, there’s many entering through the glass double doors that are being held open with a sandwich board announcing the concert that has been interrupted, she gives them a wide berth.

  Continuing around to the next side the mother slows at a door, the light shines out through the glass cutting a line through the darkness. Within she sees Hippo, his hands are cupped around his eyes to see past the glare, framed within his curved palms the boy’s eyes go wide once they take in the sight of his mother approaching. He quickly shoves himself against the locking bar and leaps into her arms. Her tough boy cries a little, unashamed, a child that hardly shed a tear as an infant lets his emotions out.

  Killian joins them, the touching moment between his brother and their mom makes him smile. Unfortunately, he can’t allow them too much time, he can hear the dead out there in the night. Before he can break up Susan’s tight embrace that Hippo is already trying to free himself from, he finds himself scooped into it as well. He tries to tell them that they need to get back in with the others where it is safe but he can’t get enough air to breathe.

  “Mom,” he struggles to say when he can find enough wind, “We have to get…” Killian turns to indicate that they need to go inside, but the door has shut. He tears himself from the crushing hug and confirms his fear, it has locked itself. “Shit!”

  “Killian!” Susan scolds.

  “It’s locked,” he responds, too frightened to cast blame or take any on himself. He doubts the survivors inside will come if he starts pounding on the glass. “We have to get somewhere safe. Now.”

  27

  “Why do you always put the ketchup under the hotdog, Howard?” a woman groans at her husband.

  “So it doesn’t make a mess, dear,” he responds, letting his irritation be heard in his voice.

  “It’s weird,” she tells him. “And, stop glancing over at her to check her out.”

  The abrupt change in accusations is directed at his occasional look around, always in Kelly Peel’s direction. He denies that he is doing what his wife has called him out on, only inciting a volley from her in return and setting them into yet another bickering match.

  “Uh, guys,” Brock Rottom tries to stop their latest battle. Things are tense enough without them making it uncomfortable for the rest of the group, besides the clown has been keeping tabs on everyone and his count has come up two people short. The pair continues to quarrel until Brock hollers. “The ketchup goes on top! Always! Now, cool it, already!”

  Not one to be told what to do, Gloria casts a glare at whoever dares to silence her that could melt gold, when she sees it’s Brock she acquiesces considering he had saved her from a man that wanted to do horrible things to her on the road to get here.

  “Did anyone see where those two boys went?” he poses the question to the group. “They couldn’t have gone far,” he says after receiving only puzzled looks and shrugs.

  The clown heads down the only hall they may have used, he figures they just got bored and wanted to explore a bit. His search turns up no sign of them. Not in any of the bathrooms he discovers, nor in the supply rooms. He notices an exit that leads out to one of the vast parade grounds, paved lots where soldiers assemble. Why would they go out there? he asks himself. He doesn’t see them anywhere near the other side of the exit. On the way back to the group he rechecks all the rooms and knocks on the locked doors in hopes of finding the missing boys. Nothing.

  “Did you find them?” Kelly Peel asks when the clown returns.

  “No, I di
d find an exit though,” he responds. “I think they may have gone out.”

  The living hold their collective breath upon hearing that, going out seems like a death sentence. They involuntarily look towards the dead at the gate, vacant eyed ghouls that moan and beg for flesh, that reach and press themselves against the steel just trying to get ahold of someone.

  28

  “The barracks!” Killian points across the plain of asphalt to where they should head rather than standing out in the open as they are. He leads them at a quick but silent pace, trying to be covert.

  At the door the oldest child peers in to see if it’s safe, though no movement is detected he enters with caution. A finger to his lips lets his family know to be quiet. Though afraid, more afraid than he’s ever been in his life, he ventures ahead to check out the halls leading to their open bay housing.

  The short hall that serves as an entrance, where soldiers once took turns monitoring who came and went, leads to a long hall that cuts down the middle of the building connecting every room; the two large bays full of bunk beds, the utility closet, guest bathroom, and the community recreation room. Each floor is identical in its layout, every building that serves as quarters is the same. The main artery is clear, the young man waves for his family to follow.

  At the swinging double doors Killian halts their progress so he can peer through the long narrow windows before leading his mother and brother inside. Once in they feel relieved, they feel safe at last. The eldest boy doesn’t let himself relax just yet, he quickly moves along the rows of metal beds and lockers to make sure it truly is safe. When he fails to locate any danger the tension finally escapes his chest with a sigh.

  “I have to pee,” Hippo announces. The youngest heads towards the bathroom, a room that hasn’t been secured.

  “Hold on,” Killian stops him. He’s at the doors they just used, sliding a push broom through the handles, it isn’t a perfect means of keeping danger out but it’s all he has at the moment. “Let me check it out first.”

  “Fine. But, hurry!” the boy says starting to dance. The feeling that he has to urinate is more urgent now that he has declared his intent yet has to wait, as if his bladder is just as head strong and stubborn as he is. “Whoops! Too late,” the boy says then reconsiders his words. “I mean, the door just moved. I didn’t pee myself. Yet.”

  The swinging door to the bathroom cracks wider and wider as whatever is inside pushes against it. A figure slowly slides out.

  “It’s just Murphy,” Hippo says. He starts towards the bathroom to relieve the pent up pressure in his bladder.

  “Hippo, wait!” his brother tries to stop him. The cop hasn’t spoken. His gaze on the approaching boy is unsettling, empty of recognition or any trace of humanity.

  Familiarity proves false, this is no longer Murphy. Killian sees his brother is hell bent on not listening to his warning. The closest thing he can find to use as a weapon is a pillow. He snatches one off the nearest bottom bunk and charges ahead of his brother. The pillows the survivors have been issued are heavy and lumpy, filled with a squishy granular substance that shift to one end as the boy tightly grips the sham.

  He swings the sack of unknown contents as hard as he can at the cop’s head, taking the man off balance. Murphy falters but doesn’t fall. He has a new target, the creepy fixation that had been locked onto Hippo is now on Killian.

  The younger boy can’t help but laugh. He wants to join in but his mother’s arms wrap around him and pull him away. She watches her oldest child battle the zombie with a pillow, taking in air in short gasps every time the ghoul reaches for her boy.

  “Honey,” she says holding her other child tightly to her. She’s afraid to distract her brave boy but is deeply concerned for his safety. “Is there anything I can do?”

  “I need a weapon!” he states. Killian uses both hands to shove the pillow against their dead protector’s chest, sending the cop back into the bathroom. As soon as the swinging door is about to come to a stop, Murphy pushes it outward again, his appetite is undeniable and he knows where to get meat.

  Susan looks around the bay for something that can be used to defeat the zombie. Her eyes fall upon a skateboard, its owner is not around so she grabs it. About to ask if it will do her son sweeps Murphy’s legs out from under him with a swing of the heavy pillow. The cop falls face first on the hard worn floor and Killian jumps on his back. He keeps the pillow against the writhing police man, holding him down so his mom can hit him.

  She isn’t sure she can do it, the board is brought up and she just holds it aloft.

  “Mom! Do it!” he yells.

  Susan brings the skateboard down, the feel of the impact against Murphy’s skull makes her shiver. He’s still moving, she’ll have to do it again, harder.

  Another strike arises a fresh chill up her spine, and still isn’t enough to do the job. The mother wants to end the danger, she falls to her knees and begins to batter the man who promised her father to keep them safe until he stops moving, and then she batters him a little more. She doesn’t stop until her son is off the zombie. He puts his hand on her shoulder to let her know that it’s all right to stop. It’s over.

  “Look away, honey,” the mother tells her oldest, the mess she’s made of Murphy’s head is almost too much for her to take, even for a nurse. “You shouldn’t see such things.”

  The bathroom door swings open. Hippo emerges, zipping up his pants. “Is it over? Mom, You’ll never guess what we saw today!”

  29

  “Shouldn’t someone go out there?” Kelly Peel asks with concern. “Find them, or maybe bring back help?”

  Everyone looks to one another to volunteer.

  “I’ll go,” Howard announces.

  “What, now you’ll be a hero?” Gloria asks, her snarky question is loaded with accusation as if the words ‘for her’ were attached to the end. “You’re not going. You may not have many uses, but I need you for what little you can do.” It’s her equivalent to saying she loves him too much to let him leave.

  No one else steps up, they stand at the door for a while looking out into the night. The dead are everywhere. They, like all that have been fortunate enough to survive this fresh outbreak, bide their time. The scattered groups sit tight and hope to be rescued, or at least until the right moment to move presents itself.

  That moment doesn’t come for over twenty-four hours, more than an entire day of maddening pacing and boring wall staring. Those in the concession area, the dead still keeping them company at the gate, keeping them awake with their moans, hear a crash outside.

  They are unable to see what made the noise, but they witness the dead walking toward it, also very curious. The zombies shuffle toward the southern side of Fort Eagle Rock, and all the survivors can do is wonder.

  “This could be our chance,” Kelly Peel poses to the others. “If we wait until they are all over there, we might be able to get out of here.”

  “And go where?” the only soldier among them asks.

  “Anywhere,” she says, unsure herself where to go. “Find someplace safe, find people.”

  “I think we should stay put,” the soldier voices his opinion. “Between all of us, and all the weapons in the armory, we can clear this place again. There’s food in the mess hall, strong gates to keep out the dead.”

  “You mean the things that are all over the place?” Brock Rottom asks sarcastically. Tensions are high as they enter their second full day of hiding.

  The survivors argue over what they should do, what the most sensible thing to do might be. Their voices rise over one another to be heard until everyone with an idea is screaming. The blonde haired girl with the lopsided pigtails covers her ears. She looks like she’s about to cry, this does not sit well with her father.

  “Shut up!” a man named Eli hollers loud and long in a deep alpha male voice that forces everyone into submission. “Those who wish to leave, will leave. Those that wish to stay, stay.”

  He search
es from face to face to make sure everyone understands him. His common sense plan seems to make sense to the group. “My parents have a house boat in Florida, near Cape Coral…”

  “We’re going to see Grammie and Pappy?” his daughter asks with a cheerful gleam in her eyes.

  “We’re going to try,” the man answers her. “If we can get there, I figure a house boat is a safe enough place. The dead won’t be able to reach us, we can fish for our food.”

  “That’s brilliant!” Kelly Peel congratulates him. “We’ll need a vehicle that can fit everyone interested in leaving.”

  “I’ve got just the thing,” Brock Rottom announces with pride.

  “It has to be able to fit every…”

  “Tut-tut-tut,” he assures. “The Brock-mobile is deceptively spacious. They have it parked behind the motor pool. Since they made me surrender my gun at the gate, I only have my spare—in my glove compartment.”

  “I’ll help you get there,” the soldier volunteers as way of apologizing for his opposing view. “We’ll need to move quickly.”

  As a group it is decided that they will wait for the dead outside to hopefully thin out, as well as give the boys time should they try to return. In the meantime they plan the route to Florida, as well as the game plan for getting to the motor pool. A full day ellipses, their spirits much higher. Those heading south have bigger things to worry about, those remaining behind will soon be rid of the annoying fighting of Howard and Gloria.

  Another crash from outside surprises the survivors, the unexpected ruckus has them searching at every vantage they can find. Though they are unable to locate the source, they see it has resulted in drawing the attention of the dead. The zombies are shuffling and crawling toward the southern gate, unfortunately in the direction of the truck they had hoped would take them to safety.