Demise of the Living

by Iain McKinnon

  Mo and John nodded.

  “Once you’ve done your search, meet back at the canteen,” Colin added.

  The other two gave verbal nods.

  The men parted ways.

  ***

  Mo made his way to the lobby. He opened the door and stepped through, checking the corners and any spaces a small boy could hide in. He walked over to the desk to look behind it when he heard a noise.

  He turned to see John nonchalantly tailing him into the lobby.

  “Where are you going?” Mo asked.

  “I’m checking the stairwell,” John said indignantly.

  “Stairwell’s back there,” Mo said, confused.

  “Start from the top and work down,” John said, pointing at the ceiling.

  “What?”

  “I’m taking the elevator up,” John explained.

  "Oh, okay.”

  Mo shook his head. Had he thought about it, he would have known there was no way John would walked up to the fourth floor.

  John sauntered up to the elevator and pressed the call button.

  “Bloody thing’ll take an age coming down all the way from the fourth,” he huffed.

  Mo ignored him and went about searching the lobby and reception areas. There was a toilet and a security room and behind the reception desk to check.

  When Mo had checked these, he moved on to the access corridor for the plant room and the small loading bay. John was still waiting for the lift.

  Mo shook his head, despairing at John’s laziness.

  “I could have been up those stairs and back down again in the time he’s been standing there, he thought.

  He walked down the short corridor to the loading bay and opened the plant room door. There was instantly the noise of machinery and the hum of electricity.

  Mo stepped in.

  He called out, “Hello?”

  Although the room was well lit, it was populated by towering metal cases adorned with dials and lights that provided a multitude of nooks and crannies ideal for hiding a small boy.

  He stepped further into the room, trying to look past the rows of silver lagged pipes and blocks of ductwork.

  Suddenly there was a whine and movement from above. Mo whipped round and looked up.

  He let out a sigh of relief when he realised it was just the lift mechanism gearing up. He turned to continue his search and his heart stopped. Towering in front of him was a man in blue overalls.

  “Oh, you gave me a start, Thomas,” Mo panted.

  “What’s up?” Thomas asked.

  “I didn’t even know you were in.”

  “You know me; this place keeps me busy,” Thomas said.

  Mo looked back at the plant room. He could see a newspaper spread wide open over a relatively short and flat item of plant equipment, a chair pushed back a short distance from it.

  “What brings you in here?” Thomas asked. “I’m guessing it’s a quiet day, judging by how little the lift has been used.”

  “I don’t know where to begin, Thomas,” Mo said. “It has been absolute chaos out there.”

  “Agent Orange giving you grief?”

  “Agent Orange? Sharon? No man, I’m being serious. World War Three or something has broken out out there.”

  Mo turned and looked back up at the lift gearing, suddenly struck by a thought.

  “Why was the lift at the top floor?” he asked.

  Thomas shrugged. “Beats me. It went up just a minute ago.”

  Mo turned and ran.

  “John!” Mo shouted as he skidded into the lobby.

  John turned, surprise on his face. “What?”

  The lift pinged and the door slid open.

  A blur of snapping teeth pounced, growling at John. John flailed his arms wildly as he was toppled to the floor.

  Mo screamed, “John!”

  “Get it off me!” John screamed from behind his arms.

  “Colin! Colin!” Mo called, running in to help.

  “Get off me!” John screeched.

  Mo swooped down, grabbing the boy by the scruff of his neck. The boy thrashed and snarled with strength beyond his youth. He managed to pull the furious creature back a fraction. He again called down the corridor, “Colin! Colin!”

  The livid, thrashing tangle of limbs hissed and wailed, trying to eviscerate the man on the ground.

  The wheeling creature managed to break Mo’s grasp and fell on top of John again. John screamed in absolute terror.

  Colin came tearing around the corner. Without reducing his speed, he threw himself towards the pair on the floor. Colin caught the boy full-on with a vicious tackle and they went skittering across the lobby.

  Mo leapt at the knot of limbs. He grabbed the child’s arm tight and thrust his knee into his shoulder blade. Colin rolled free, leaving the boy pinned face down on the ground.

  There was a crunching noise and Mo’s face dropped. The boy had thrashed so hard he dislocated his arm from its socket.

  He looked over at Colin, revulsion sweeping across him.

  The boy started to turn towards Mo, no longer constrained by the arm lock.

  Mo dropped the lock and the boy’s arm flopped to the floor.

  Colin jumped onto the boy’s back holding him down with his weight.

  Liz thundered into the lobby.

  She screamed, “Grant!”

  The boy didn’t respond. He just continued to wriggle and squirm, trying to twist his head far enough around to bite his oppressor.

  “Stay back!” Mo warned, but Liz was ignoring him.

  Mo grabbed her from behind and held her back.

  “Let go of me!” Liz screamed.

  “Stay back—he’s changed,” Colin said.

  “What the hell is going on?” Thomas asked, stepping into the lobby.

  “Don’t hurt him,” Liz cried.

  “Who the hell is he?” Colin asked, looking at the tall man in the boiler suit.

  Mo started to answer, “Thomas the—”

  Colin shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. You have anything we can use to tie the boy up with?”

  Liz sobbed, “No!”

  “There’s some duct tape in the loading bay,” Mo said.

  “Go get it.”

  Mo looked reluctant to let go of his grip around Liz.

  She pleaded, “Please just let him go.”

  “Liz, I can’t,” Colin said. “Can’t you see he’s turned. He’ll attack you.”

  Liz fell to her knees sobbing.

  Mo went to grab her again, but Colin shook his head.

  “Go get the tape,” he said.

  Mo nodded and ran off to the loading bay.

  “Ow. I think I’ve hurt my back,” John said, still lying in front of the elevator.

  ***

  “It’s your turn, John,” Colin said.

  John protested, “What? Why bother?”

  “It’s not like you’re doing anything else,” Colin said.

  “It’s just creepy. Besides, he’s with his mother.”

  “That’s why I want someone to sit with them. I don’t want Liz doing something stupid, like untying him.”

  John hadn’t moved.

  “Get your ass up there and let Mo take a break,” Colin said sternly. “Now go on.”

  “Why me? Why can’t he go?” John asked, pointing at Thomas. “Or you?”

  He noticeably refrained from singling out Sharon, his boss.

  “Cause we’ve all been,” Thomas said.

  “I hurt my back and I think I might have concussion after this afternoon,” John complained.

  “We checked you over. You’re fine,” Colin said.

  “You can’t know that. You’re not a doctor.”

  “Suck it up,” Thomas said. “I once broke my ankle up a mountain and had to walk six miles to get to the ambulance. You fell over in the lobby.”

  “I didn’t fall over—I was attacked.”

  “All right, enough of this squabbling,” Sharon said.
“John, would you please just go upstairs and keep an eye on Liz?”

  John huffed and reluctantly pulled himself up from his chair.

  Colin placed his broken phone on the desk where he’d been sitting and wandered over to the window to look out over the street.

  “There’s more of them out there now,” he said.

  “So what if there are,” Sharon said sharply.

  “Don’t pretend you’re still working over there,” Colin said, not even bothering to look over at Sharon.

  She sat back. The computer had a number of spreadsheets and word documents open, none of which Sharon had done any real work to.

  “I suppose we’ll be in here for the night,” Sharon said, standing up.

  Colin nodded.

  “There’s a bed and maybe a couple of blankets in the first aid station,” Sharon said.

  “We’d better think about closing these windows. It’s warm enough for the time being, but I it’ll probably cool down overnight,” Colin said. “People will be getting hungry, too. Is there any food in the building?”

  “Just the vending machines downstairs. Oh, and there are a half dozen boxes of chocolates in one of those cupboards. Leaving presents and incentives sort of thing.”

  “Well, a box of chocolates each isn’t going to cut it.”

  “If you have any better ideas I’d be open to them,” Sharon snapped.

  “Whoa! I didn’t mean anything by it—I’m just stating a fact,” Colin said.

  Sharon pursed her lips.“It’s been a difficult day.”

  Colin sensed that was all the apology he was going to get.

  “I noticed there were a few things in the vending machine,” he said. “Have you got a key so we can get them out?”

  Sharon shook her head. “The vending machines are on contract. We don’t have anything to do with them.”

  “Smash them open then?” Colin said.

  “I can unscrew the access panel and get in that way,” Thomas offered.

  “Will it not be easier to just drop the cash in?” Sharon asked.

  “We got enough loose change? I used the last of mine on the sandwich I got out for lunch,” Colin said.

  “There’s money in the petty cash,” Sharon said. “I’m sure I can authorise its use in circumstances like these.”

  “That would be the simplest thing—”

  The lights flickered and with a sharp plink turned off completely.

  “What was that?” Colin asked.

  “My terminal has gone dead,” Sharon said.

  “Backup will kick in in a second,” Thomas said reassuringly.

  There was a sequential ticking noise from overhead and in a wave the lights came back on.

  “See? What did I tell you?”

  “How long will it run?” Colin asked.

  Thomas stood up from the chair he had been reclining in and looked at the lights as if he could divine some arcane knowledge from them.

  “Well,” Thomas began, “if it’s just the lights and a few computers, we can’t be talking at much more than fifteen K. That’s not a heavy load. In fact it’ll be under the regulator’s minimal threshold—”

  “How long, Thomas?” Colin asked again.

  “I’d have to check the tank. I don’t think it’s been filled since the last continuity test, but these things usually run for a good twenty-four to thirty-six hours. Maybe more.” Thomas nodded his head as if agreeing with himself.

  “There will be some torches in the loading bay or the security office, won't there?” Colin asked.

  “Yeah, a couple. Nothing fancy—just cheap double-D flashlights. Why? What would you use them for?”

  “I don’t think it’s a good idea to let the generator run,” Colin said.

  ”Why ever not?” Sharon asked.

  “Well, for one, we don’t know how long we’ll be here. Surely there’s no point keeping the lights on all night while we’re sleeping.”

  “There are a lot of scared people in here. I know it sounds childish, but it might not be a bad idea to keep the nightlight on, as it were.”

  “You have a point, but there are a lot of those things out there.”

  “Don’t call them that,” Sharon protested.

  “Whatever you want to call them, there’s a lot of activity outside. Not all of it will be welcome. With the grid down, you might be turning on more than a nightlight—you’ll be turning on a beacon for people from miles around to see.”

  “That’s not a bad idea,” Thomas said. “At least the emergency services will see us.”

  “Have you taken a look outside?” Colin asked. He waved his hand to invite the other two to take a look. “I don’t think there’s much of the emergency services left.”

  Thomas walked over to the window, followed closely by Sharon.

  “Besides, if we leave the generator running all the time we’ll be out of power in a day, maybe two.” Colin looked at Thomas for a nod of agreement. “If we ration it out, only use it when we have to, we can make the power last.”

  “Why do we need it to last?” Sharon asked.

  The three of them looked out across the vista of the city they could see from their vantage point. The sky was thick with smoke and the street below was teeming with wandering figures.

  “I very much doubt this will be over in just a couple of days,” Colin said.

  Chapter 6

  Facing Facts

  Liz looked at her son. He was bound with duct tape at the wrists, ankles, and across his mouth. There was also a knot of bungee cord tethered through a floor panel to prevent him from wriggling beyond the confines of his makeshift cell.

  She sat on a chair in this empty office, listening to her child’s grunts echo off the bare walls.

  She had watched the boy twist and contort, trying his best to break free with the limited range of motion he had. She tried to calm him down by talking to him, but he had resolutely ignored her. He didn’t respond to his own mother. He didn’t get tired of struggling. He didn’t even look like her son anymore.

  Grant’s skin was waxy and grey now. His eyes rolled back deep in his skull so that all she could see were the bloodshot whites. Even then, over the hours sitting here, the last hues of colour had drained from him, leaving him ghostly and wan.

  It was unnatural the way he constantly fought against his bonds. For hour upon hour he struggled relentlessly. All the time the child moaned from behind his taped-shut lips. It was the same moan that Liz could hear from beyond the windows out in the streets. It was a call, not a plea—a rallying call to attract the others like him.

  “I want to touch him,” Liz said, staring at Grant.

  She heard Mo shift position behind her.

  “What?” Mo replied, genuinely shocked.

  “I want to feel his skin,” Liz said.

  “Oh, I don’t know about that,” Mo answered.

  “He’s not right. I can see that, but I need to touch him to feel if he’s still in there.”

  Mo shook his head. “I think it’s too dangerous.”

  “I’m not going to untie him. I just need to feel if he’s still in there.”

  Mo let out a puff of air through his nostrils and nodded his head.

  “Okay,” he said reluctantly.

  Liz stood up from the chair she was sitting on at the prescribed safe distance Colin had insisted upon. She stepped across to her child. He didn’t desist his struggle.

  “Grant?” Liz said, kneeling down next to the boy.

  Grant made no acknowledgment of his mother’s voice. He just continued to fight, trying to break free and attack her.

  She stretched her hand out to cradle his cheek, but as her hand drew close he snapped round to bite it. The muscles around his lips strained as he tried to rip free off the duct tape over his mouth.

  She brought both hands up and cradled his juddering head between them.

  “Still now. Calm down,” she said softly.

  The skin on Grant’s
face was cold and stodgy to the touch. She slipped her right hand down to his neck and grasped it in a stranglehold.

  “What are you doing?!” Mo exclaimed.

  ”I’m checking for a pulse,” Liz said.

  “Do you believe what Colin said? That they’re dead?” Mo asked.

  Liz didn’t reply. She sat quietly for a few seconds, holding the boy by the throat.

  Eventually she stood up and walked past Mo.

  Puzzled, Mo turned to follow and was about to chase after her when John came onto the floor.

  “Liz,” Mo said.

  She didn’t acknowledge him.

  “Liz?” Mo said more softly.

  She turned round, her head slightly bowed. She slowly shook her head, then turned and walked past John.

  “Colin asked me to give you a break,” John said.

  “Thanks,” Mo replied.

  He took a last look back at the writhing child and left the floor.

  “Liz,” Mo called.

  He could hear crying coming from the toilet across the landing. He walked up to the door with the ladies pictogram, and rapped on it.

  “Liz, are you okay?” Mo asked.

  As soon as he’d said it he knew it was a stupid question. This morning she had seen her husband killed and this afternoon witnessed her son turn into a monster.

  “Liz, I’d like to help.”

  “Go away,” Liz sobbed.

  “If that’s what you want.”

  The sobbing stopped and he heard the sound of footsteps approaching. The door swung open violently.

  Liz stood before him. She was roughly the same height as Mo, but the anger held her rigid and Mo felt small and intimidated by her.

  “My son is in that room in some horrific limbo state. My husband is dead in the street and I have a little girl downstairs no doubt just as terrified by all this as I am. But I don’t have the luxury of breaking down in tears because my daughter needs her mother to be strong. Can you not leave me alone for five minutes to do some grieving on my own?”

  “I’m sorry,” Mo said, feeling belittled.