Taking a deep breath, Hank turned and hurried to the nearby secretary's office, in which was a little TV that played the news on mute all day. Searching the drawers for the remote, he eventually managed to get the box working, then cranked the sound.
But all the stations were broadcasting emergency errors—not a puffed up newscaster in sight. Hank flinched when something scratched along the window, and in his peripherals he spotted a bloodied face trudging along, fingers trailing over the glass.
His heart practically beat in his throat at this point—what the hell was going on?
It then occurred to him that he hadn't checked in with the most important person in his life. Susie was probably already asleep in front of the TV, undoubtedly dozing off as soon as they ended their phone call. What if those…. people were headed her way?
He fumbled for his phone, pacing the small secretary's office, his footfalls loud on the thin grey carpet.
"Come on," he whispered, listening to each consecutive ring with growing fear. "Come on, Susie, pick up. Pick up the phone."
On the sixth ring, he finally heard his wife's groggy voice. "Hank?"
He closed his eyes tightly, lifting his head in a silent prayer. He wasn't necessarily a religious man, but in times like these, he could see why it might be appealing.
"Is everything okay over there?" he asked after a moment of gratefulness, his voice heavy and thick at the sound of hers. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," she replied, groaning a little. He could practically see her sitting up on the couch, running her hands through her bushy blonde hair, a bit of drool crusted to the sides of her mouth. "What's the matter? You sound upset?"
"I'm… okay," he told her, which was the honest truth. Those people were still outside, though it only took one to break another window and invade his territory. Gritting his teeth, he stalked out of the office and began locking every door he could find, the phone pressed to his ear with his shoulder. "Something's happening out there. There are these people—"
"Rudy!" she shouted suddenly, and he winced. "Shut up! He's barking like crazy out there."
"Bring him inside, Susie," Hank ordered, straightening up, his heart racing. "Bring him in and lock the doors."
She was quiet for a minute or so, but he could hear her moving around the house, probably toward the backdoor. He heard the telltale signs of it opening, followed by the familiar clatter of the hound's nails on the fake hardwood.
"It sounds like there's a riot out there," she whispered finally, and Hank leaned against the door of the most recent classroom that he'd managed to lock. "Hank… What's going on?"
He pressed his lips together, then shook his head. "I don't know."
And that was the god's honest truth. Who were these people? Why were they so… warped? Was someone filming a horror movie nearby and forgot to warn people? Was this a reality TV experiment?
If that was the case, someone was getting their teeth kicked in.
Then, somewhere down the hall, he heard glass shatter again.
"Fuck," he hissed under his breath, jogging toward the sound. Even if the rooms were breached, he just needed to keep the hall clear.
But there were so many windows—and a second floor. Would these guys be able to climb the old trees growing in front of the second story windows? Would they think to use the fire escape?
"What is it?" She sounded panicked now, and that was the last thing he wanted to do. Hank inhaled deeply, then cleared his throat.
"Nothing." He heard the groaning as he neared the classroom with the breach, then slammed the door shut without looking in, locking it with his master key. "Susie, go lock all the doors. Turn off the lights, close the curtains, keep Rudy quiet."
"You're really starting to scare me. Hank, what—"
"I know, I'm sorry," he said quickly, flinching back when something heavy collided with the door of the room he'd just locked. Swallowing hard, he tried to control the tremors in his fingers, his hands. "I don't mean to, but it's really important… Until we figure out what's happening… Just stay away from the windows. Lock the doors."
"You said that already."
He could tell she was trying to lighten the mood, make a joke, but even though he could hear the smile in her voice, Hank definitely didn't miss the tremble in her voice. It wasn't fair to scare her like this, especially if there was nothing to worry about at home, but if she said it sounded like a riot out there, he was probably well within his right to caution her. Even if meant she was up half the night, he'd rather her be safe than sorry.
"Did you get the garage door?" he asked as he locked yet another classroom, his palms sweating profusely at the sight of figures on the other sides of the windows just beyond the desks and craft tables. "You never remember."
"You're the one who never shuts the actual garage when you leave," she countered, again trying to exude a playfulness to lighten the mood. It didn't, but once again Hank appreciated her trying. He smiled weakly. Normally he'd be annoyed if she nagged him about the garage door—and she was right to. He never remembered.
Just like today. His smile faltered when he realized he'd left the damn thing wide open, too lazy to get out of his car and hit the automatic switch inside the garage—the clicker attached to his dashboard was broken.
"Susie—"
"I'm going to call my sister," she said, and he could hear the creaking of the door that led out to the garage. "She probably knows more about what's going on… Such a gossip."
"I don't think this kind of stuff is gossip related," he told her, his hands shaking as he tried to jam the key into a lock. Somewhere down the hall, another window shattered. "Maybe if you—"
She cut him off with her screams. Horrified sounds, sounds he'd never heard his wife make before, shrieked out of the phone and into his ear, so startling that he dropped the device entirely.
"Fuck, shit," he hissed, fumbling to grab it again, his head shooting up when he heard a commotion from the direction of the most recently broken glass—but that wasn't as important. He could put his own safety on hold for a moment if it meant he could calm his wife down. He shouted her name into the phone, but all he could make out was more screaming, followed by Rudy's baritone howl, then some snarling.
And then the line went dead.
Hank brought the phone away from his ear, staring at it for a long moment, before hastily redialing the home number again. It rang, but just like his call to the police, no one on the other end picked up.
Right. Fuck this. He wasn't about to wait around here for the cops to show up and get the guys creeping around out front. Something was happening at home, and it was time to get the fuck out of there.
Forgetting about the rest of the open classrooms, Hank shoved his phone in his pocket and ran full-speed down the empty hall, his footfalls echoing thunderously all around him. There were a number of other exits he could have tried, but they were all too far away at this point: the front doors were the closest getaways.
Hank yanked the wooden bench that he'd used to keep the doors shut earlier out of the way, shoving it aside and going for the metallic handles. However, as soon as he opened the doors a fraction of an inch, those on the other side barreled in. They might have been slow moving and dead in the eye, but the whole cluster of them managed to overpower him through their sheer combined weight. He staggered backward, not wanting to be touched by their bloody hands, outstretched and groping in his direction. Some seemed to be aware he was there, staggering toward Hank with an oddly discomforting gleam in their vacant eyes—not so vacant after all, but rather he saw a hunger, a want for something they were on the verge of getting. The others, the ones who were less observant and seemingly less bloody, wandered into the main hall, gravitating toward the lights and the pictures on the walls, wide-eyed and dumb.
"What are you?" Hank whispered, stumbling to the side when one man tried to take a swipe at him. The guy missed, of course, but Hank felt the rush of air between the bloody fingers and
his face. He drew in a deep breath, trying to see if any of them were wearing little cameras to capture his reaction: real people react when zombies attack!
"Is this real?" he demanded, marching backward as the horde descended upon him. "Is this… Is this for a show or something? Am I on TV right now?"
With millions of people across the country laughing at him, no doubt. None of them answered. None of them spoke beyond that of a grunt or groan. But their eyes spoke. He thought they were deadened at first, those glossy orbs vacant and distant. Now that they were closer and fixated on him, he couldn't say that was the case anymore. The eyes were… fiery. They wanted him, and judging by the bloodstained clothes and skin, he didn't need many guesses to figure out what those hungry eyes were after. They either wanted to rip him apart or eat him whole, and he wasn't going to stick around to find out which they chose.
As he ran, the logical part of his brain told him to question it—question everything. Those… people looked like they belonged on the set of a horror movie, not an uptown high school where he slaved away at as a janitor. Something wasn't right, and that was for damn sure.
They followed pretty well, but given most of the first floor was a straight hallway, it wasn't exactly difficult for the ones at the head of the herd to see where he was going. In the end, Hank decided on barricading himself in a science lab. The windows were still intact when he arrived, and after slamming the door shut and locking it with his master key, he shut off the lights and crawled under the teacher's desk near the whiteboard, knocking his head in the process.
"Damn it," he muttered, his chest heaving as he pressed a soft palm over the spot that had made impact with the underside of the desk. He'd like to think he was in pretty decent shape, but for some reason he was totally winded, and each breath he drew just didn't quite seem like enough air to keep him going.
With shaking hands, he ignored the shuffling on the other side of the classroom door, blocking out any and all foreign sounds as he dug into his pocket for his phone. His thumb hit redial on the last number, and thankfully, this time there was an answer after two rings.
"Hank!"
He closed his eyes tight, face screwed when Susie sobbed his name into the phone. Damn it. Damn it. He should have been home with her—fucking Bill's asshole of a kid could have waited until his dad finished his shift. Maybe it would teach the kid a lesson. That way, Hank could have been at home with his wife, which was precisely where he needed to be more than anything.
"Are you okay?" he breathed, trying to keep his voice steady. If one of them was having a meltdown, it probably wasn't good for the other to join in. Someone needed to be the support system if the other was failing.
"Hank, there are crazy people out there."
"I know." He shook his head as he shuffled further under the desk, keeping his voice low to avoid any unwanted attention. Their eyes clearly worked just fine, despite the state of them, and Hank wasn't about to guess whether their hearing was still intact. "They're here too… I caught two breaking in, and now… there's so many."
"Are they covered in blood?"
He swallowed hard, wishing she didn't have to go through this alone. "Yup. Sort of like…"
"Zombies?" she said, finishing the sentiment. Hank nodded, even though he knew she couldn't see him, and then sighed.
"Zombies aren't real." They couldn't be. It wasn't plausible. They belonged on television shows and in comic books. "This is… It must be an outbreak of something. Disease. Rabies. I don't know."
"I-Isn't that how all the zombie movies start?"
"They're fake. This is real."
She sniffled noisily on the other end, and he sighed again, not wanting to fight with her over something so… trivial.
"What happened earlier?" He'd never be able to get the sounds of her screams out of his head. "Is everything okay?"
"They were in the garage," she told him, and in that moment, he knew he'd never forgive himself. He was the one who always left the garage open—it was his fault. "As soon as I went out there to close it, they were… they were everywhere. Rudy scared most of them off, but Craig came in with a bat. He said he heard me screaming."
"Well, thank Christ for Craig," he said bitterly. His neighbor was king of one-upmanship, always trying to do better than Hank at anything and everything: lawn quality, fence repair, garden lushness. He'd always thought women would be more into that kind of stuff, fighting with the wife next door to have the best looking house, but over the last five years, it'd been Hank and Craig dueling it out for the nicest little bungalow on their street.
Still, he'd have to thank the guy—buy him a beer or ten once this nightmare was over.
"He wrecked them," she whispered, and Hank wondered if she and the neighborhood jerk were still near one another. "Bashed all their heads in… Said it was the apocalypse."
"Don't let him scare you," he said firmly, his eyebrows creasing. "There's a reasonable explanation for all this… There has to be."
"Hank, none of this feels reasonable."
"Is Rudy okay?" he asked, changing the subject. He could almost envision her nodding when she made an affirmative little grunt. "Are you hurt?"
"No."
"Good," he breathed. "I'm coming home."
"But there are so many of them outside—"
There was a slight commotion on the other end, and before he could get another word in, Susie's voice was replaced with on more inclined to stroke his temper.
"Hank, Craig here." The man's voice sounded just as pompous through the phone as it did in person. He rolled his eyes. "Listen, don't come home. It's a shit-storm out there. Cecelia is packing up the car and we're headed out to our cabin. We'll bring Susan and Rudy, and we'll swing by and pick you up from work."
He bit back the first few words that came to mind—being combative helped no one in a situation like this. Instead, he took a small breath to calm himself, and then cleared his throat.
"Craig, I appreciate what you did for Susie," he started, looking back sharply around the edge of the desk when something slammed against the door. Damn it all to hell. "But you need to stop scaring her. This will all get taken care of by morning, and I'm coming back to—"
"Look, Hank, it's not getting sorted out. No one's come to fix it yet. The neighborhood is crawling with those brain-dead fucks, and we can't just sit around and wait for them to get inside."
"I'm not suggesting that," he said, teeth gritted, his words coming out in a hiss. "You're going overboard."
"Am I?"
No. Given the way those people out there had chased them, and how they'd overwhelmed him at the main entrance, it was Hank who probably needed to go overboard with all this. Besides, it was best to get Susie out of town if the creeps were everywhere, and he didn't have a fancy cabin retreat. The best he could do would be his brother's place two towns over—the guy lived on a little farm and raised sheep for a living, somewhat successfully. It'd be remote, but he'd seen pictures of Craig's cabin: it usually looked like no other person set foot there most of the year, given its rocky terrain and altitude.
"Okay," he said after a long moment, resigned to letting Craig take over if it meant that was what was best for the love of Hank's life. "Okay. Let me talk to Susie again."
"See you soon, buddy."
"Yeah." He didn't have it in him to say something friendly back. Once he heard the shuffle of the phone traveling from one person to the other, he spoke up immediately. "Pack all our emergency savings. Get my axe from the basement, make sure you bring food for Rudy."
"I got this, Hank," she said, and this time there was a noticeable firmness to her voice. Apparently she'd taken the few moments they'd spent apart to collect herself, which gave him hope. "I'll take care of everything here. You just be safe there."
"I'll do my best," he said, giving a half-hearted chuckle. "I'm going to try to get up to the roof… Seems like they're all just wandering around with no purpose. May as well stay out of sight."
<
br /> He was spit-balling, of course—anything to make Susie think he had an actual plan in place.
"I have to go," she whispered, and he bit the insides of his cheeks, an overwhelming tightness taking hold of him. "I love you."
"Always," he murmured back, and with that, the line went dead. Closing his eyes tight, Hank leaned forward, unable to shake the feeling that that was the last word he'd ever say to his darling Susie.
It couldn't be. He wouldn't let things go down like that. They'd gotten through enough crap in their marriage, from Susie's infertility to Hank's lack of motivation, and it wasn't going to come to a grinding halt just because some people got drunk or high or sick or whatever and went on a spree across the city.
There were trained professionals to handle situations like this. Don't officials have emergency disaster drills all the time? He was again surprised that he didn't hear sirens wailing beyond the school's walls, but they may have simply been busy in another section of the city. After all, Susie and Hank lived in a suburb, a great place to raise a family ironically enough, and it usually took him about twenty minutes to get to work on a good day—and that was driving. If the people out there had walked from his neighborhood to here, or vice versa, there were probably already official officials dealing with them.
He had to believe that. Hank wouldn't have been able to crawl out from under the desk if he didn't. Grunting, he clambered out slowly, mindful not to knock his head again—which was throbbing. Around now would have been the time he'd grab a nighttime snack, regardless of where he was. Even though he was in too much shock to eat, he knew he probably should have. Maybe they'd have something in the car.
Running a hand through his shaggy black hair, he looked from the windows to the door of the classroom—and then nearly had a heart attack when the lights in the hall went out. One moment the outline of the door shone brightly, illuminated by the awful yellow lighting, supposedly energy savers, the administration had put in a year ago. The next, it was all dark. Gone. Poof. Out like the flickering flame of a candle.
Z Walkers: The Complete Collection Page 8
