Machines of the Dead

by David Bernstein

  They went inside. The living room, kitchen, and bedroom were empty, but the bathroom door was closed. Jack couldn’t remember if it had been shut the last time they were there. Maria stood to the right side of the door, Jack on the left. He reached out, grabbed the handle and pushed the door open. Gunshots rang out from within.

  “Throw down your weapon or we’ll open fire,” Jack said.

  “Fuck you.” Two more shots were fired, neither hitting the doorframe.

  Maria motioned for Jack to cover his ears, then produced a flashbang grenade. Pulling the pin, she tossed it into the bathroom.

  Jack turned away, covering his ears and closing his eyes. He heard the explosion, then the man’s scream.

  Maria sprang into the doorway, gun out, and fired two rounds. Her body seemed to relax. She looked at Jack and nodded.

  A man, Devon was his name, in black fatigues, lay sprawled next to the toilet, two bullet holes centered in his chest. Blood trickled from the man’s mouth, his partially melted, still steaming face and irritated bright red devil-like eyes were beyond gruesome. When the chemicals had mixed, they created a terribly corrosive substance. Jack wondered if the guy had even been able to see, hence the terribly fired shots.

  Not wanting to touch the dead man, they left him be, but not before Maria put a bullet into his head.

  Jack went over to the window, lifted one of the shades, and almost jumped back as a zombie, its jaw missing, tongue lapping at the security bars, stood before him. Lifting the shade farther, he saw the street was packed with undead.

  “Shit,” he said. “We’ve got company.”

  “More soldiers?”

  “No.”

  Zaun came running down the stairs and into the apartment. He looked at Jack. “I see you’ve been brought up to speed on what’s happening out there.”

  Jack let the shade fall back into place. “Those idiots brought the undead down on us. What were they thinking?”

  “They were hoping for a quick snatch and grab,” Maria answered. “They probably figured we’d put up a fight, firing our weapons. The dead would’ve shown up either way, so why not just come at us hard.”

  “How many are out there?” Jack asked.

  “At least thirty,” Zaun began, “but more are coming down the street, from both directions.”

  A noise came from the hall. Jack looked over to see a female zombie, a gore-filled hole where its left eye socket had been, reach for Zaun.

  Zaun spun around, grabbed the zombie’s wrist and flipped it into the room. Jack stepped up and put a bullet into its head.

  “They’re coming inside.” Maria ran to the door.

  Zaun raised his machine gun and blasted another zombie as it entered the hallway. Right behind it was another. As each one fell, another took its place.

  Maria was firing now too.

  Jack ran over and joined her in the foyer. Undead after undead filed into the entrance only to be mowed down by the hail of bullets.

  With the undead pushed back, the group made their way to the second floor.

  Maria and Zaun gathered the supplies from the apartment while Jack remained at the top of the stairs, shooting the zombies as they made their way inside and up the steps. When they were finished, they ran up to the third floor, then climbed the ladder to the roof. The undead were slow and probably not even up to the second floor yet.

  Jack shut the hatch, breathing the frigid air deep into his lungs. Looking around, there was nothing to see but the roofs of attached buildings, as well as the buildings beyond. He tugged his coat tighter around himself as a chill crept over him, the wind cascading over his sweat-lined body.

  “Take a look at this,” Zaun said, standing near the edge of the roof.

  Jack and Maria hurried over.

  A huge crowd of undead took up the area in front of the building, with more coming from both ends of the street.

  “We can’t do this,” Jack said.

  “Do what?” Zaun asked.

  “Survive in the city. There are too many of the damn things. We won’t last long.”

  “What are you saying?” Maria asked.

  “That we go back to the operations center; the warehouse. Back to the tunnel and take the left fork. See where it leads.”

  Zaun laughed, shaking his head. “Are you crazy?”

  “No,” Maria said, “Jack’s right. We won’t last long out here. We took out a number of Reynolds’ men. Can’t be many more, and who knows, maybe the rest are back at the bunker.”

  “The other tunnel might lead to another part of Brooklyn or Queens,” Zaun insisted.

  “True,” Maria said. “But I think it’s our best chance.”

  Zaun held up his hands in surrender. “All right. I go where you guys go.”

  Telling the others to wait where they were, Jack headed to the rear of the roof. Looking down, he saw that the back alley was void of undead, save two at the far end. He thought about the possibility of climbing down the fire escape and making a run for the operations center. It wasn’t a long distance and they could easily outrun the undead. The only problem would be if they encountered more of Reynolds’ men at the warehouse. If they couldn’t get into the building—Reynolds’ men holding them off—they’d have to turn around and face the horde.

  Jack walked back to the others.

  “What’s up?” Zaun asked.

  “Just a second.”

  He stared down the block at the operations center disguised as a warehouse. The place looked liked the rest of the area, abandoned, but that didn’t mean Reynolds’ men weren’t inside. It was too cold to remain on the roof while keeping an eye on the place. It could be hours before he saw anyone, if there was even anyone to see. He was tired and was sure the others were too.

  “Was just thinking,” he finally said.

  “And?” Zaun asked.

  “We need sleep and we won’t get any up here.”

  “Well, we can’t go back down,” Zaun said.

  “Looks like a few of the other buildings have hatches on them,” Maria said.

  “Let’s see if we get lucky and one or two aren’t locked,” Zaun said.

  “It’s worth a try,” Jack agreed.

  They headed to the closest hatch, finding it not only locked, but seeming to be impenetrable, short of blowing it open with dynamite. The next two hatches were the same.

  “That’s that,” Zaun said. “Things are like tank lids.”

  They would need to wait out the undead, hope the things eventually wandered off like they did when Jack went to rescue Zaun.

  They went back to the hatch that led into the apartment they’d been in. Jack bent down and opened it a crack. Peeking in, he didn’t see any undead. He opened it all the way and got a better look. The floor was clear. Pulling his head out, he closed the hatch door.

  “Floor’s empty,” he said. “I think they’re either still working their way up or for some reason they’re just remaining on the other floors. We can stay in the rear apartment. Wait for the undead to leave, and use the fire escape to get down.”

  “How do you know they’ll leave?” Maria asked.

  Jack told her about the alley and how it had filled with undead, but only a few days later it had emptied.

  “You don’t know if that will happen here. That was an alley. Those things only had to walk one way and they were out.”

  “We can’t remain up here,” he pointed out. “It’s too cold. We won’t be able to sleep.”

  “What about the other buildings’ fire escapes?” Maria asked.

  Jack hadn’t even thought about that. Heading over to the rear of the roof and looking over the edge, he saw that only two of the eight fire escapes had ladders leading to the roof, the building he and the others were on and the last building, the one at the end of the alley.

  “We can try that one,” Jack said, pointing.

  Jack climbed down while the others waited up top. One of the apartment’s rear windows was covered w
ith steel bars. The other had a security gate on the inside, the lock only accessible from within, designed to keep intruders out, but easy for the people inside to escape in the event a fire broke out. He thought about smashing the glass, seeing if the gate was unlocked, but the noise would definitely attract any undead inside the building. It was probably a better idea to go back to the original building and stay in 3R. Spending time here, bashing in a window, creating a ton of noise was risky. And he had no idea what was on the other side of the window or in the building.

  Heading back up, he told the others what he saw and why he thought going back to 3R was the best option.

  The others agreed.

  Back at the hatch, Jack explained his plan.

  “I’ll go down,” he began, “head into 3R, open the security gate on the fire escape window, and let you guys in. We’ve got enough food to last a few days at least, and as long as we’re quiet, the dead won’t know we’re there.”

  “And not finding any food,” Zaun said, “they’ll leave the building and the street outside, allowing us to get to the warehouse without much trouble.”

  Jack removed his backpack, taking only the Sig Sauer and .45. Using either would ensure his plans going to shit, but he was taking them nonetheless.

  “Meet you guys at the window in a few,” he said, then opened the hatch.

  Seeing the floor was still clear, he climbed down the ladder, closing the hatch behind him.

  Making it to the floor, he walked passed 3F, its vault-like door taunting him with its promise of security. 3R was open. He had no idea if any undead had come up the stairs and wandered inside. The floor might not be as safe as he’d originally contemplated. This might have been a job for Zaun now that he thought about it, but since he was already on the floor, he was going to see it through.

  He moved slowly forward, wanting to avoid making any noise. A floorboard creaked here and there, making his heart pound a little harder.

  Halfway to 3R, he heard a soft click from behind. Turning around, he was shocked to see 3F’s door open. A large man with a shaved head and tattoos covering his arms, wearing jeans and a wife-beater, was pointing a double-barrel sawed-off shotgun at him. The man put a finger to his lips, then motioned for Jack to come to him.

  Dumbfounded, Jack was unable to move. He could go for one of his guns, but with one pull of the sawed-off shotgun’s trigger, and he’d be plastered all over the walls.

  “Listen,” he whispered, but the man shook his head, eyeing Jack angrily. The guy put a finger to his lips again, his eyebrows coming together, then motioned again for Jack to come forward.

  Jack walked slowly, just as he had been doing. Within a few feet of the door, the big guy backed into the apartment, keeping the gun aimed at him. He couldn’t go inside. His friends were depending on him. At any moment, the undead could come upstairs and their plans would be ruined. But with the gun on him there was nothing he could do but obey.

  Jack stepped into the apartment and was motioned to halt.

  Stepping forward, the man placed the sawed-off’s twin barrels under Jack’s chin, the cool steel sending a chill down his spine. Jack felt a tug at his waist, then under his right arm, as the guy removed his guns.

  Baldy tucked the 9mm into the back of his pants and the .45 in the front. Jack was then ushered forcefully passed the man, farther into the apartment.

  Jack stopped as he heard the door close. Not hesitating, he turned around and saw his kidnapper’s back was to him. Bending down, Jack pulled the knife from his boot and jumped onto the man’s back, slipping the weapon’s blade under the man’s throat. The big guy slammed Jack into the wall, knocking the air from his lungs, but Jack held on, pressing the blade harder against the man’s neck.

  “Another move and I’ll end you,” he said, through clenched teeth.

  The guy stopped struggling and stood still.

  “Baby?” came a woman’s voice.

  Whispering, Jack told the man to place the sawed-off on the ground. Holding the knife firmly against Baldy’s throat, Jack lowered his feet to the floor as the man bent down and released the weapon.

  “Baby?” the woman said again, before coming around the corner. She wore a half-shirt with jeans. Her red hair was curly and came to her shoulders. Her brown skin looked as smooth as silk. Some kind of tattoo that Jack couldn’t make out wrapped itself around her pierced belly button. Bright red lipstick made her lips glow. Jack thought she was pretty, but slightly emaciated, as if she hadn’t eaten properly in a while.

  “What the fuck?” she asked, putting a hand over her chest. Her eyes were wide with fright. She turned to run, but Jack called out, telling her to freeze or her man’s throat would be slashed.

  The woman stopped.

  “Please, baby,” the big guy said.

  “Everyone shut the hell up,” Jack whispered harshly. “We don’t need the undead coming up here.”

  “Place’s soundproof,” the man said. “That’s why you and your crew never heard us up here.”

  Jack reached down with his free hand, keeping the knife’s blade firmly against the man’s neck, and took back his 9mm. He pressed the barrel to the back of the man’s head and sheathed his knife, then reached around and grabbed his .45. Shoving the man forward, he told the two lovebirds to walk.

  They went into the living room and Jack felt as if he’d entered another world. Compared to the other apartments, this one was a luxury suite. A plush wrap-around leather sofa took up half the room. A beautiful glass coffee table rested in front of it, an ivory looking statue of two dragons sat at its center. A large fifty-inch television set hung on the wall above a faux fireplace. The wood floors were immaculate, as if they’d just been polished. The end tables had lamps appearing to be made of marble. A thick, heavily lacquered mahogany desk lined with intricate designs and legs carved into lion’s paws sat in the corner.

  “Take a seat,” Jack told them, not showing his amazement.

  “Why you letting this asshole tell you what to do?” the woman asked, facing the man.

  “Because I’m the one with the guns,” Jack answered.

  “Never stopped him before. He’s been in a lot worse situations than this. Haven’t you baby?”

  Jack didn’t have time for this. He just wanted to get him and his friends to safety and lay low until the undead cleared out. Looking around, he saw that the windows were covered with mini roll-down gates, similar to the ones businesses used. And the walls looked strange. At first he thought they were painted black, but looking closer he saw they were covered in something. Keeping the gun trained on the two on the sofa, he walked to a wall and felt it.

  “Soundproofing,” the big guy said.

  The walls were covered with a thick, soft, rubber-like material. The place was perfect for holing up in, the only problem being if the undead didn’t leave, they’d be trapped with no fire escape with which to flee by.

  Jack produced a few zip-ties from his pocket and tossed them to the woman. “Tie up Baldy here; hands behind his back. Ankles too.”

  “Fuck this,” the big man said, getting to his feet.

  Jack stiffened his arm, aiming the gun at the man’s head. “Sit down.”

  “Shit, baby,” the woman said, grabbing the man’s wrist. “Just sit down.”

  “No. I don’t think this punk-ass-bitch has the balls. To shoot a fucking deadhead, sure. But he ain’t no killer.”

  “Sit down,” Jack demanded.

  “This is my home; my place of business, and nobody’s going to tell me what to do.” The man walked over to the desk. There was purpose in his stride. He knew what he was going for.

  “Stop,” Jack warned. He didn’t want to shoot, let alone kill anyone, but he would if he had to.

  Baldy reached under the desk.

  “Stop, I’m warning you.”

  “Baby, stop.”

  Jack heard the sound of tape ripping. He fired a shot high, but the big guy kept on, not even flinching. The man gra
bbed something from underneath the tabletop. The room’s light glinted off it as Jack saw the gun. The guy turned, raising the weapon.

  Jack fired. The man’s head snapped back, then came forward, revealing a small dark hole in his forehead. With a deadpan expression on his face, the man toppled forward, landing face down with a crash.

  “Motherfucker!” the woman screamed, then reached under the sofa.

  Shaken, Jack turned toward her. “Stop. Don’t move.”

  The woman didn’t listen and came up holding a handgun. She fired, missing wide. Jack pulled the trigger on his Sig Sauer and sent a bullet, dead center, into the woman’s chest. She fell back into a seated position onto the couch, seeming to stare at the ceiling for a moment before her head fell lifelessly to the side.

  Shaking his head, he said, “You stupid—” but cut his words short as he brought his hands to the sides of his head. Closing his eyes, he yelled at the top of his lungs. He grabbed the flat-screen and ripped it from the wall, sending it crashing to the floor. Breathing hard, he focused in on the dragon statue, picked it up and threw it across the room where it shattered into pieces.

  He had been through so much in such a short amount of time. All he and his friends wanted was to leave the building. Why’d this asshole have to get involved? Angered beyond control, he kicked the dead man in the ribs a few times, hearing bone snap. Damn it. This wasn’t the time to lose it. What was he doing? Defiling a corpse? He needed to focus. Get to apartment 3R before the floor flooded with zombies.

  “Shake it off, Jack,” he said aloud, his voice booming in the silent room.

  He walked to the apartment’s door and peered through the peephole, making sure the hall was clear, then opened the door and stepped out. Pausing, he stared at the ladder leading to the roof. He had a decision to make. Go up and inform the others about the secure apartment or stick to the original plan? Thinking they were outside 3R’s window, waiting for him, the answer came easily. He would tell them what had happened, asked what they thought, but as far as he was concerned, the apartment with the fire escape was the better choice.

  He quietly approached apartment 3R, having no idea if any undead were inside. Keeping his guns holstered, he pulled out his knife. The blade was about eight inches, plenty of steel to reach a zombie’s brain.