Demise of the Living

by Iain McKinnon

  “I’m not sure,” Gary called back. “There’s been a car crash and the lady says these people are involved.”

  “Just call the police and be done with it!” the woman called down.

  The guard looked like he was about to retort, but then held back.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said, reluctance heavy on his voice.

  “God, no.”

  Colin turned round again, caught in a verbal game of piggy-in-the-middle.

  “Back to the car, children.” The woman was now directing her kids back to the wreck.

  Just turning onto the other end of the street was a second group of drunken figures.

  Colin scratched his head. What is going on?

  He put his hand in his pocket and fumbled for his phone. Not finding it there, he patted himself down.

  Car, Colin realised and went back to the car to retrieve it from the foot well where it had no doubt ended up after the crash.

  He prised open the passenger door, which was stiff from the deformity of the impact, and hunkered down to search for the phone. He lifted the spine-wrenched book out of the way and placed it shut on the passenger seat. The phone nowhere in sight, he swept his hand under the seat. Skimming across the sticky carpet and pushing an empty drinks can out of the way, his fingers found the familiar form of his smart phone. He fished it out and checking the screen wasn’t damaged, punched in the number for emergency services.

  The phone beeped angrily in his ear, but Colin wasn’t paying attention.

  The first of the drunken figures was now only a few feet away and now Colin could see him clearly.

  His skin was a ghostly white. His eyes were rolled up into the back of his head, making it difficult to see the border between eyes and flesh. His top lip curled upwards in a snarl, but his bottom lip had been torn loose and hung lower than his chin, exposing his bottom teeth down to the root.

  “Fuck,” Colin said softly into the beeping phone.

  ***

  “Gary?!” Mo shouted from the front step of the office.

  He had come in from the service entrance only to arrive at an unmanned front desk, and it wasn’t long before he noticed the ruckus out on the street.

  “Gary?!” Mo called out again.

  Gary was slowly approaching a man in the middle of the road, when he stopped suddenly and turned.

  “Mo! Call an ambulance!” Gary shouted.

  Mo surveyed the scene. There was a man in shorts on the phone bickering with a woman who had two children in tow. Behind them were two wrecked cars, the result of a head-on collision.

  Further down the street his colleague Gary seemed to be transfixed. There was a man a few feet away from him who was slowly yet steadily shuffling in his direction.

  For a moment Mo almost asked why he needed an ambulance, but then decided the explanation would be too lengthy.

  He ducked back into the foyer. Leaning over the desk, he picked up the phone. He punched in the number for emergency services. An angry tone beeped at him. He hit the receiver, doubting he’d dialled correctly, and tried again but got the same result.

  Mo thumped the handset down. It bounced off the receiver and clattered from the desk, but he ignored it as he dashed for the doors.

  As he got outside the bright light dazzled him for a moment. Shading his eyes, he looked out to where he has last seen Gary.

  Gary was on the ground, wrestling with the man he’d been approaching a few short moments ago.

  The woman and the two children were in one of the wrecked cars, frantically trying to get it started. The man in the shorts had let his hand holding the phone drop to his side and was now watching aghast the struggle in the middle of the road.

  “Gary! I’m coming, buddy!” Mo called, sprinting down the street.

  In seconds he was on top of the pair. He grabbed the attacker by the shoulders and threw him off to reveal the older security guard covered in bites and scratches oozing warm blood.

  “You okay, man?” Mo asked.

  Gary nodded and pushed himself up.

  Mo turned to see the attacker stumbling to his feet.

  “What did you do that for?!” Mo shouted at the shoddy-looking assailant.

  The assailant looked up at Mo. His eyes were empty white, like polished quartz. As he moved the flap of skin holding his lip to his jaw, it wobbled and jiggled. There was brilliant red blood dripping from his slavering and mutilated mouth, but judging by the paleness of the man’s flesh it wasn’t his.

  “What are you?” Mo asked.

  In way of an answer the creature let out a gurgling moan.

  The call was answered from down the street.

  Coming into view were a dozen more limping figures.

  Mo turned round to look down at the approach to the plaza. There, too, was a growing gang of lumbering figures.

  “Gary, I think we should get back in the office,” Mo said without looking down.

  Beside him Gary stumbled to his feet.

  Mo turned round. “Quickly now.”

  Gary’s face was a raw mesh of perforated skin and rapidly flowing blood.

  “Can you walk?” Mo asked.

  Gary simply nodded, blood dripping from his face.

  The attacker was on his feet, and with arms outstretched was shuffling his way towards them again.

  Mo beckoned the others to follow him into the office block. “Quickly, everyone inside!”

  The man in the shorts didn’t hesitate to follow, but the woman with her children still sat in the car, pointlessly trying to turn the engine.

  “Help him,” Mo said, handing his injured colleague over to the man in the shorts.

  Mo dashed over to the whining car and pulled the driver’s door open.

  “Come on,” he said.

  The woman looked up at Mo, a fine spray of blood over her face. She stared straight through him like she was possessed. Then she grabbed the door handle and slammed the door shut.

  Mo flicked the handle. This time the door was slammed and the lock clicked into place.

  He smacked on the window with the ball of his fist. “Get out of the car! It’s not safe!”

  The back door opened and there was a scream.

  Mo looked up to see the man in the shorts yanking the girl from her seat. The scrawny little thing was too weak and too shocked to put up an effective struggle.

  “Melissa!” the mother screeched. She stretched across the back seat, grasping at the empty air.

  Wriggling like a landed fish, the girl was bundled up in Colin’s arms. Her frantic squirming threw Colin’s centre of balance to and fro, making him stagger like a drunk all the way to the doors of the building.

  Mo grabbed the rear door handle to see a terrified young boy inside.

  “Come with me,” Mo said, extending a hand. “We need to get you to safety.”

  “Ma?” the boy said, looking at his mother.

  Before she could answer, there was a crumpling thud.

  Mo and the woman and her son looked up at the front of the car.

  The attacker with the torn bottom lip staggered into the bumper.

  Mo snatched the boy and dragged him from the car.

  “Come on, move!” Mo shouted.

  ***

  Liz was terrified. The pounding of her heart, the pounding in her head, and the monster pounding against her door were all too much to take in.

  She turned the ignition over and over again. Each time its screeching added to the cacophony of noises assaulting her ears.

  A hand grabbed her shoulder and she flinched back against the car door.

  The pounding from the thing outside reverberated through the glass to travel deep into her. She looked through the glass to see the exposed teeth sitting in a naked jaw, gnashing at her.

  The hand on her shoulder pulled and she looked round to see a security guard half in the passenger side.

  “Come on! Out-out-out!” he shouted.

  Liz came to. She unbuckled her sea
t belt and scurried over to the far side door. The man grabbed her under the shoulders and hauled her out onto the street. She stumbled on the debris-strewn road only to have a firm grasp clamp around her forearm.

  “Come on!” the man shouted.

  Liz was half dragged, half tripped into the office building. A blur of dark figures populated the street as she was jostled inside.

  “The door!” the man shouted and Liz heard the door being slammed shut.

  “My babies!” Liz threw her arms around her two children, her tears soaking into their ruffled hair.

  “What on Earth just happened?” Colin said, staring out the window, his hand still clutching his phone.

  Everyone ignored him.

  Mo was tending to his injured colleague and Liz was cradling her children.

  From across the lobby the elevator pinged and the door slid open.

  “What’s going on down here?!” the woman demanded.

  Colin looked at the lady in her grey pencil skirt and lemon-coloured blouse. He pointed out of the window. “We... we...” He dropped his arm and concluded, flabbergasted, “I’m damned if I know.”

  “Who are all these people?”she asked.

  Nobody answered.

  “This is intolerable. How are we meant to run a business—”

  There was a thump on the glass door.

  Everyone turned around to see a grey-faced woman pressed against the door. Her hands went up and started pawing at the window, her fingertips squeaking against the glass.

  Mo sprang up from attending to Gary and locked the door. Their eyes met, but hers were as ghostly white as her skin.

  “There’s something not right with those people,” Colin said, pointing at the woman.

  Mo backed away, but before he had taken two steps the office manager shouted, “You! Phone the police and tell them to get rid of her!”

  Mo scuttled behind the security station and gathered up the handset from where it had cascaded over the lip of the desk.

  The woman on the other side of the door continued to slap her fists against the glass in a half-hearted attempt to break in. Every time she struck the window there was a squeak, like a damp squeegee being pulled across the glass.

  No one spoke. Everyone stood silently, watching the retarded woman’s pathetic attempts to defeat the closed door.

  A new sound joined that of the glass reverberating: the phone beeping with a harsh, discordant tone.

  “I still can’t get through,” Mo said.

  “Mine’s dead, too,” Colin said, holding up his phone. “I’ve already tried to phone the police.”

  “Could she break through that?” the office manager asked.

  “I very much doubt it—unless she picked up a rock or something,” Mo replied.

  “Here comes another one,” Colin said.

  Gary stood up, holding a dressing to his weeping cheek. He asked, “What’s up with them?”

  “Drugs?” Colin said, though not convinced by his own answer.

  “Maybe it’s that flu?” Mo said.

  There was a thud as the second attacker hit the glass face first.

  “Is there a first aid kit?” Liz asked.

  “Sure,” Mo said. He scooped up the green box he’d been using to tend to Gary.

  “It’s my little boy,” Liz said. “He’s been bitten on the hand.”

  “Okay, we’ll soon get that fixed up,” Mo said. He knelt down beside the child. “I’m Mo. What’s your name?”

  The small boy didn't reply. His eyes were raw with crying, his mouth just a quiver away from a howl.

  “Grant,” Liz chipped in. “Isn’t that right, honey?”

  The boy sat still, the muscles in his face clenched against the flood of tears that threatened to overwhelm him.

  “Um, look, they’re creeping me out,” Colin said, easing himself deeper into the lobby. “Are you sure they can't get in?”

  “Let’s go upstairs,” Gary said.

  “Grab the accident report book, would you, Gary?” Mo asked, still tending to the boy.

  “Accident report book,” Gary said, staring at Mo. “I think we’re way beyond that.”

  ***

  Bang!

  Karen and Shan both jumped. Karen let out a short, girly squeal, much to her disgust.

  The garage door rattled more furiously.

  Shan blew out a thick cloud of smoke.

  “Fuck off! Nate’s not in!” she shouted over the sound of the music from the stereo.

  For a moment there was a pause in the banging. The garage interior was thick with swirling smoke from the joint the pair was sharing. Then the pounding restarted, the metal slats shuddering against a fresh attack.

  “Nate’s not here!” Shan shouted above the racket. “I don’t care what he owes you! Take it up with him!”

  The rattling only intensified.

  Shan took a long draw from the stub of a joint between her lips. She stood up and marched to the garage shutter.

  “Shan!” Karen shouted. “Don’t let them in!”

  Shan slapped the palm of her hands against the grime-coated surface. “Hey, hey, hey! Fuck off or I’m calling the Federalies! Capice?!”

  Karen giggled, “Federalies.”

  “What?”

  “Since when did you go all gangsta?” Karen giggled.

  “Don’t be dissin' me, girl.” Shan cocked her head and raised a hand in a mock gangster salute.

  Karen folded over double, laughing in hysterics.

  The banging at the garage door continued.

  “Fuck this.”

  Shan looked back at the vibrating shutter and walked up to the kitchen door.

  “Where are you going?” Karen asked. “Oh no—you’re not going outside?”

  “Nah, I just want to see who this fucker is. Bet it’s one of Karl’s posse.” Shan said, disappearing through the connecting door to the kitchen.

  “I’m coming with.” Karen got up from the depths of the sofa and trotted off after her friend, still giggling.

  Squeezing in at the window beside Shan, she asked, “Who is it?”

  “No idea. Some random,” Shan answered, pressing herself harder against the glass to get a better look.

  Shan stepped back. “I can’t see a thing from here.”

  Karen took her spot at the window and pressed her cheek against the cold pane. “I can’t tell who it is from here. I can just see their ass.”

  The front door creaked open.

  Karen called out, “Shan?”

  She pulled away and raced to the front door.

  The door was wide open with Shan silhouetted by the daylight.

  “Nate’s not in,” Shan said. “You'll need to score somewhere else.”

  The banging on the garage door stopped.

  Karen heard her friend say, “That is sick. What’s wrong with you?”

  Shan started backing up and collided with Karen.

  “Get back in the house,” Shan said.

  “Why? Who is it?”

  Shan pushed Karen back. “Just stay inside.”

  Shan grabbed the door across its edge and threw it at the open doorway. The door slammed shut with the sound of the doorknocker bouncing against its metal plate.

  A dark shape lunged in front of the door and started banging hard against the small, frosted glass panels.

  “Who is it?!” Karen asked over the banging.

  Shan’s mouth was open, horrified at what she had seen.

  “Who is it?!” Karen repeated.

  “I don’t know—that old perv from up the street,” Shan said, backing away..

  She stopped, her retreat blocked by a wall, but kept her focus firmly on the thundering door.

  “His face…” Shan touched the side of her cheek.

  Karen rushed back to the window in the living room and squinted against it to try to catch a glimpse of the person thumping on the door. She pushed up hard against the window, her hands on the windowsill, palms facing
outwards.

  The dark shoulders pulled back again and again, but they refused to step back into her field of vision.

  Hearing her friend stumbling back into the garage, she tossed her head back over her shoulder and called out, “Where are you going?!”

  The window banged and Karen jumped back.

  Hands windmilled against the glass, battering blooded fists down the pane. The old man looked like he was in a trance. Glazed white eyes sunk deep in their sockets, his pale skin wrinkled like the ridges and caverns of water-pruned fingers.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Karen said, backing up.

  The glass shattered.

  Cutlass-like shards cascaded down the windowsill, breaking and shattering further as they collided.

  The hands that had pounded so restlessly stopped. The arms came in through the empty frame. They hooked around the windowsill, oblivious to the razor-edged glass slicing at their flesh.

  Karen watched dumbstruck as the old man pulled himself up into the house. Chunks of glass rasped at the intruder’s body and limbs. The jagged shards crunched like frozen snow underfoot as they clambered into the room. Long, raw wounds zigzagged their way over the man’s body and limbs where the glass tore through his skin. As he moved there was a glistening as the imbedded glass caught the light.

  In clumsy movements he hauled himself over the lip and tumbled onto the floor. On the window ledge a trail of red and black slime marked his wake.

  The man lifted his head and let out a moan, a sound made all the more chilling by the fact that it wasn’t simply escaping from an open mouth—the breath wheezed through a black hole in his neck.

  As he lurched to his feet something flew by Karen.

  She turned to see Shan running past her, something large and looming in her hands.

  Without a word, Shan stopped at the man’s head and swung down at him. The hammer connected on the old man’s skull with a crack.

  He fell back to the floor and lay still.

  “What was wrong with him?” Karen asked, panting.

  “Don’t know,” Shan answered, staring down at the corpse.

  “You just killed him,” Karen said.

  “I know,” Shan replied. She looked up at Karen and held her arms out. “Self-defense.”