Demise of the Living

by Iain McKinnon

  They all nodded.

  “Where are Mo and Thomas?” Liz asked.

  “They were downstairs when Stephen crashed through the lobby,” Billy answered.

  “What happened to them?”

  “They’re dead,” Colin said. “We heard screaming and we couldn’t get to them.”

  There was the sound of a tent unzipping and they all turned to look. Karen stepped out, wearing an oversized t-shirt as a nightdress.

  “I thought you were asleep.” Liz said.

  “I’m not a two year-old, Liz. I just went into the tent to get away from your fussing,” Karen replied. “So what’s the score with this guy Steve?”

  “He’s one of my employees,” Sharon answered.

  “He punched me and threw my kids out of his car before abandoning us,” Liz added.

  “Okay, okay. There’s bad blood; we get it,” Colin said. “But what are we going to do with him?”

  “Is he bitten for sure?” Liz asked.

  “I’d say so. The wound is chewed up and it stinks,” Billy replied.

  “So how long before he turns into one of them?” Karen asked.

  “Who knows,” Colin said. “With your security guard...”

  “Gary,” Sharon offered.

  “Yeah, with Gary, he turned in about six, seven hours.”

  “Grant took a little longer,” Liz volunteered.

  “All well and good, but when did Stephen get bitten?” Billy asked.

  No one could answer.

  “Well, since we can’t tell, I think we should keep an eye on him,” Colin said.

  “Yeah, good idea. He might even be able to give us some useful information when he comes round,” Billy suggested.

  “Like what?” Liz snapped.

  “Like where’s safe,” Billy said.

  “He already said nowhere is safe,” Sharon said. “That's why he came back,”

  “Sure, he might not know where a safe place is, but he hasn’t been everywhere and he can sure as hell tell us where not to go,” Billy added.

  “Makes sense,” Colin agreed. “We’ll all take turns watching over him. Karen, would you take first watch?”

  “Oh, why me?” Karen protested.

  “Because you’ve not just dragged him up three flights of steps, that’s why,” Colin said.

  “Oh, come on,” Karen sulked.

  “You’ve been asked to do fuck-all around here. Now go up there and sit with him!” Sharon snapped.

  “I have not done fuck-all. I put up a tent and sorted out food,” Karen whined.

  “If you want to be treated like a grown-up, then stop acting like a little girl,” Sharon said. “We’ve all had to do jobs around here. It’s about time you started pulling your own weight.”

  “Not you or your buddy,” Karen said, pointing ferociously at Sharon. “You just stood around ticking boxes on a sheet of paper and bossing everyone around.”

  “John,” Sharon uttered softly.

  “John’s been...” Colin stopped.

  “Where the fuck is John?” Billy said.

  They all looked around and then at each other.

  “Is he still in the toilet?” Colin asked.

  “Shit. Mo did say he looked infected,” Billy said.

  “No, Mo didn’t say he looked infected; he just worried he might be,” Colin corrected.

  “We’d better go find him,” Sharon added.

  “Grab a gun,” Billy said, rushing over to the crate with the rifles.

  “Thanks,” Colin said, placing a firm grip on the handle as he took the weapon from Billy’s grip.

  Billy shouldered his weapon and turned to the girls.

  “One of you up for holding the lantern?” he asked.

  “I’ll do it,” Liz said.

  The trio made their way up to the gents’ toilets where John had last been seen.

  Billy took his hand off his rifle stock and held up three fingers to Colin, then pointed at the door. Colin nodded. Billy started his countdown.

  Colin found himself bouncing in time with the count, building up courage and momentum.

  Billy flipped down his last finger and Colin flung the door open.

  With the butt of the rifle firmly against his shoulder, Billy was into the toilets in an instant. Colin hurried in behind him, with his weapon also at the ready.

  Billy stopped and lowered his rifle. Colin sidestepped him to see why.

  One of the stall doors was open and John was laying half in and half out.

  “Fat fucker’s fallen asleep,” Billy said, laughing. He stepped up to John, the rifle by his side, and kicked the sole of John’s foot. “Wake up, sleeping beauty.”

  John’s leg reverberated with the impact, but other than that he didn’t move.

  “Come on, John. You’re not that sick on a bellyful of leftovers,” Billy said.

  “Billy?” Colin said, placing his gun down on a sink with a clatter.

  He took the lantern off Liz and walked over to the man on the floor. There was watery sick down his front and around his mouth. The unflushed bowl was streaked with yellow bile.

  Colin went to kneel down beside John, but the cubicle was too cramped.

  “Billy, pull him out a bit, would you?”

  Billy bent down. Grabbing an ankle, he hastily slid him out.

  “Thanks,” Colin said as he bent in closer.

  John’s eyes were lightly closed as if he were dozing. Colin placed two fingers behind his jaw, trying to feel for the cardiac pulse. The clammy skin was still warm to the touch. He shifted position, but failed to find a heartbeat. He lent over him, placing his ear over his mouth so close they almost touched. The smell of warm sick filled his nostrils as he listened for a breath.

  There was nothing.

  Colin stood up and gazed down at the body.

  “He’s dead,” he said.

  “How’d he die?” Billy asked. “From eating too many chicken nuggets?”

  “Is he dead dead?” Liz asked from the doorway.

  “What do you mean?” Colin asked.

  “I mean, will he get back up and attack us?” Liz said nervously.

  “I... I don’t know,” Colin said.

  Billy raised his gun. “Stand back.”

  “What for?” Colin asked.

  “I’m going to blow his brains out,” Billy replied.

  “What? Why?” Colin spluttered.

  “Stop him coming back,” Billy explained.

  “No, no—wait. We can tape him up or something.”

  “Be quicker just to shoot him,” Billy said.

  “Think of the mess,” Liz said.

  “What?” Billy asked, lowering the gun.

  “You blow his head apart and it’s going to be sprayed all across this washroom. If he is infected, we’ll be covered in it.”

  “She’s got a good point, Billy. Be easier to tie him up and drag him out than wash his brains off the walls.”

  “Suppose,” Billy agreed.

  “Liz, go get some duct tape.”

  Liz nodded and scurried from the toilet.

  “Shit, it stinks in here,” Billy said, stepping past John’s body.

  Looking into the vomit- and paper towel-filled bowl, he spat out a glob of saliva and pressed the flush button. With a swoosh, the toilet started to fill with water. The paper towels and vomit swirled around the bend, then a towel became clogged and the water started rising. A few lighter chunks managed to stay on top of the deluge to bob around in the clean water.

  “Stand back,” Billy advised.

  Blocked by the towels, the water rose higher and higher, getting dangerously close to the rim of the bowl.

  “Shit. You’d better try and unclog that before it overflows,” Colin said.

  “I’m not sticking my hand down there,” Billy replied.

  There was a glug of air and the water level dropped instantly. A second bubble and the towels began to slip round the bend.

  “See? You just neede
d a little faith,” Billy said.

  When the waters receded, there was still a few wayward chunks of vomit lazily circling the bowl. Billy pushed the button to initiate a second flush, but the cistern only gave out a light gasp.

  “Fuck it,” he said.

  “What is it now?” Colin asked.

  “Water’s off,” Billy replied.

  Colin shook his head. “It’s just one thing on top of another.”

  ***

  Stephen came to. His jaw ached and his head thundered. He tried to move, but couldn’t. Looking down, he saw he was duct taped to an office chair. There was a teenaged girl he didn’t recognize sitting across from him. She wore only an oversized T-shirt and was reading a celebrity magazine by the light of a camping lantern.

  Stephen croaked, “Hey, little girl.”

  “I’m not a little girl,” Karen said.

  Without another word, she stood up and walked out of the empty office.

  “Hey, come back,” Stephen cried through cracked lips.

  The door creaked shut and he heard the sound of footsteps descending the stairs. Stephen tried to call out, but his throat felt swollen and dry.

  “Bitch.”

  He pulled at his bonds. His hands and fingers were curled round the arm of the chair, restrained by the adhesive tape. His feet were bound together behind the chair’s central strut. Testing all of his limbs, there was the tiniest amount of play between his flesh and the arms of the chair. He could slide his arms sideways a few millimetres left and right.

  He started wiggling his arms vigorously, trying to find a weak spot or some purchase he could exploit. The whole chair creaked and groaned at his efforts. The chair started to rock and protest even more loudly.

  “Come on,” Stephen urged, hearing a crack.

  The most noise was coming from the right arm of the chair. He shifted his body weight into the right arm and pushed and pulled harder and harder.

  “Come on,” he said, spurring himself on.

  There was a crunching noise and the chair’s arm broke loose.

  “Yes!” Stephen hissed, holding his arm out in front of him.

  Dangling from his forearm was a splint-like armrest. A pair of bolts dangled at the bottom corners where they had been broken free.

  Stephen brought his freed arm up to his mouth and started feeling with his teeth for an edge to the duct tape. His teeth found the end. He rasped his top incisors down over the lip of the tape, trying to work enough of it free to give himself purchase. With luck he could find the edge and pull back enough tape and start to untangle himself from its sticky grasp.

  The door to the office opened and Liz strolled in.

  “Fuck,” Stephen cursed.

  Liz stared at Stephen for a moment as if she were trying to decide what to do.

  She held the door open and shouted back down the stairs, “Stephen’s trying to free himself!”

  There was an unintelligible reply and Liz let the door swing shut.

  Calmly she walked over to Stephen and sat down on the edge of a desk opposite him.

  “Who bit you?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. Some random,” Stephen answered.

  “Did you find your wife?”

  “Fiancée. And yes.”

  “She’s dead now, isn’t she?”

  “Yes. I got back to the house just fine. We hunkered down for a couple of days, but they swarmed the place. Every hour there were more and more of them hammering at the windows and doors. We left it too late. There were too many of them when we tried to fight our way to the car. She got bitten and that night she died.”

  Liz nodded after listening to Stephen’s story.

  “I’m going to die, too, aren’t I?” he whispered.

  “That’s how it seems to work,” Liz said.

  “Oh, God,” Stephen said, letting his chin fall to his chest.

  “Is there a cure?” Liz asked.

  “How the fuck should I know?!” Stephen barked.

  “I just thought you might have heard something on the radio.”

  “I left her there,” Stephen said, crying now.

  “You left us, too,” Liz said.

  “I dragged her out of the car and left her by the side of the road,” Stephen wept. “I watched her come back. I should have buried her or something. I shouldn’t have let her come back.”

  The doors to the office swung open and Billy, Colin, and Sharon entered.

  “Don’t let me come back,” Stephen pleaded.

  “You’ll be lucky to get the chance,” Liz said.

  She retrieved the roll of duct tape from the desk and stood up.

  “I’ll take care of John. You decide what to do with him,” she said, walking past the others.

  Sharon walked over to the table and took up the position Liz had just left. Billy grabbed a chair by the headrest and wheeled it over while Colin stood with his arms folded.

  “So what are we going to do about you?” Billy said, sitting down hard.

  Stephen stayed silent. He shivered, not from fear, but from the infection eating him up.

  “Because of you, two of our friends are dead,” Colin said.

  Stephen looked up at him, sweat dripping from his forehead.

  “I say we toss him out the window,” Billy said. “Give the fuckers down there something to occupy themselves.”

  “Come on, Billy—let’s not get carried away,” Sharon appealed.

  “Mo and Thomas are dead all because of this dick,” Billy pointed out.

  “Mo’s a loss, but don’t kid yourself. Stephen’s done our dirty work for us where Thomas is concerned,” Sharon replied.

  “So what do you propose we do? Leave him tied up here until he dies?” Colin asked.

  “Kill me,” Stephen said.

  “What?” Sharon said in surprise.

  Stephen swallowed hard. His saliva was thick and sticky in his burning throat.

  He said, “I can feel it. It’s eating me up from the inside.”

  “So you admit you’re infected,” Colin said.

  “Of course I’m infected. One of those fuckers bit me,” Stephen replied.

  “Okay, we’ll kill you,” Billy said. “But first tell us what it’s like out there. Where have you been? Have you seen any supplies we can use?”

  Stephen started to laugh, but it quickly turned into a coughing fit. His cheeks turned crimson and phlegm dribbled from his lips.

  “He’s choking to death,” Sharon said. “Aren’t you going to help him?”

  “A pat on the back is going to help,” Billy said.

  Slowly, Stephen composed himself again.

  “What’s it like out there?” Colin asked. “Can you tell us anything that will help?”

  “It’s all fucked up. They’re everywhere and there’s no way out,” Stephen answered.

  “No way out?” Colin asked.

  “The roads are clogged with abandoned cars and the west bridge was down. The only way out is on foot, but with those fuckers following you, you’ve got no chance.”

  “Okay…Anywhere we can get supplies?”

  “How the hell should I know? I wasn’t looking,” Stephen replied.

  He started coughing and choking again.

  “Get him a glass of water or something,” Sharon said, but no one moved.

  “He’s of no use,” Billy said.

  “Why are we even asking? How would we get out to go looking for supplies, anyway?” Colin asked.

  Stephen stopped coughing and his head fell limp.

  “Stephen?” Sharon said.

  She lent in to check him when a hand shot out and grabbed her by the arm. Looking down, she saw Colin holding her back.

  “Don’t get too close,” he warned.

  “Is he all right? I mean has he died? Should we check him?” Sharon asked, stepping back.

  “Let’s just give it a moment,” Billy advised.

  They sat and watched, listening to their breathing, focu
sing on the still body. Time stretched out and slowed, counted only by their skittish heartbeats.

  “There!” Colin pointed at a muscle in Stephen’s arm.

  They all looked and the muscle twitched.

  The slumped head twisted quickly, then drew up straight. Stephen’s mouth was open, stringy drool hanging from his chin. He looked at the three people around him.

  “Stephen?” Sharon asked.

  At the sound of her voice, Stephen’s head turned to look directly at her.

  “Stephen?” she asked again.

  Stephen’s lips peeled back and a low moan issued from somewhere deep inside his throat. As he tried to stretch out for his prey, the binds held him in place. He looked down at the lashings of duct tape, but they were beyond his comprehension. Ignoring them, he looked back up at Sharon and stretched out his free hand, rasping out his discordant moan.

  There was a flash of motion and a wet thump. The sound stopped.

  Billy stood, holding his rifle by the muzzle shroud .

  Stephen’s head slumped forward and fell to his chest. The head hung in an unnatural way, bobbing about randomly like a ship on a swelling sea.

  Billy became aware of Sharon and Colin staring at him.

  “What? It was less messy than shooting him,” he said, justifying himself.

  He swung the gun around and examined the butt.

  “Yuck. I’ll need to take some bleach to that,” he said, seeing a chunk of scalp embedded in the back plate.

  Colin bent down, hands on knees, and examined Stephen’s head.

  “Holy shit,” he mumbled, using the lantern to highlight an inch-deep gash above Stephen’s left temple. “Is he dead?”

  “If you want to be sure, I can go get my machete. Take his head off,” Billy offered.

  “Christ, Billy—that was uncalled-for.” Sharon turned and stormed out of the office.

  “What’s up with her?” Billy asked, watching her leave.

  “Fuck knows,” Colin replied. “Maybe she just wants out of disposing of the body.”

  Billy slung his rifle on his shoulder and spun the chair around. He placed both of his hands firmly on the backrest and started pushing it to the door like a wheelchair.

  Reaching the end of the office, he stopped. “Give us a hand and we’ll toss this fucker off the roof.”

  ***

  Sharon came into the office and immediately noticed that all but one of the lanterns was off. No one else was about and she suddenly realised how much noise the door was making creaking on its hinges.