Dawn of the Rage Apocalypse

by Timothy W. Long

  “Keep it down,” Roger said. “We don’t even know if she’s on this floor.”

  “Only way I can think to get a hold of her,” I replied.

  “Try her phone again. Maybe we’ll hear her ringer.”

  I got my device out, found I had a single bar of connectivity, and tried to dial her. Putting the phone to my ear, I was surprised when it didn’t even ring. The receiver was completely quiet, so I hung up and dialed again.

  This time the phone rang, but for the life of me I couldn’t make out a ringer in the building. I was about to give up when she answered.

  “Listen to me very carefully. I’m trapped in the building.”

  “It’s her,” I said to Roger.

  “Where in the building? We’re inside.”

  “You’re inside the bloody building? I told you to stay out,” Elizabeth said, and then her connection became distorted.

  “You’re breaking up,” I said.

  “Stay away from the last floor. I’m one above. Actually, stay out of…” The phone went dead.

  I scratched my head.

  “What did she say?”

  “She said to stay off of the floor we’re on. She’s on the one above us.”

  “Wait. This floor doesn’t seem too dangerous,” Roger said, which of course completely cursed us.

  18

  There was no immediate sense of dread, more a slow burn that began in the pit of my stomach and slowly spread into my guts as we moved down the hallway, seeking an EXIT sign that would denote a stairwell. The noise began quietly at first, like a bunch of kids bouncing off the walls. Then it grew, as did the grunts and cries of people in pain, or angry, or both. The sounds rose into a crescendo that would give any big-budget Hollywood movie a run for its money.

  I had my handgun ready before I realized it.

  Of course I had fired a real gun before but it was always at a range, or when we went on a trip out to the woods with Roger. I’d like to say that we were a couple of brave mofos who stood our ground and prepared to fight. We didn’t. It was fight or flight and we chose the latter.

  Roger broke away from the noise and I was right there behind him.

  “Take the right side!” Roger yelled as he took the left and tried the first door he came to.

  I tested a doorknob but it was locked. On the next one I used Latimer’s ID, but it didn’t work. Dammit!

  I tried another and it was also locked.

  Roger must have become frustrated because he backed up and tried to kick in a door, but all he got out of it was hurt feelings and probably a sore leg.

  “Dude. They’re coming!” I urged Roger.

  “Tell me something I don’t know.”

  Someone appeared at the end of the hallway, and he looked like he had been sent to hell’s toilet and then shit back out right after having his face beaten to a pulp. His clothes were covered in blood and mucus, probably from his eyes, which dripped onto his shirt. He was barely five feet and a few inches tall and at first I took him for a kid, however, the howl that came out of his mouth was anything but.

  Let me tell you something right now. I’ve watched a lot of horror movies in my day. I’ve seen countless shows and played horror games galore. I don’t even know how many times I’ve wondered how in the hell these shows got away with such obviously stupid tropes. All you had to do was run, or stand your ground. There was no reason to freeze.

  What did I do? Of course, I froze like a deer in the proverbial headlights. It felt like the rager locked his eyes on mine, which was ironic considering I couldn’t see his eyes under the haze of gunk that covered his face.

  He howled again and then came right at me.

  Roger fired and struck the dude in the side. The man spun and hit the floor with an ‘oof’ that sounded weird from someone who only a second ago had sounded like a howling tornado.

  “Ow!” I exclaimed.

  “Yeah, bro. But he’s going to get up soon.”

  “No, my ears,” I said as I struck the side of my head with my palm. The gunshot had been incredibly loud in the confined space.

  I didn’t have time to think about it for long because of the sound of feet pounding on linoleum. Slobbering and grunting, and slaps of skin on skin that was as far from erotic-sounding as you can get without introducing a chainsaw. Roger ran into me as he fell back, but he grabbed my shirt and pulled me along as we fled. In front of us appeared the worst thing in the world, a dead end.

  I scrambled back as they approached. Not only did the mass quickly gather at the end of the hallway, but the man whom Roger had shot struggled back to his feet. He put his hand to his side where the bullet had entered, then lifted his blood-covered appendage to his face and sniffed. His gums drew back and he let loose a growl deep in his throat.

  I shot him. I did. If you had asked me a few minutes ago if I had the balls to shoot someone, I would have said, “I don’t know.”

  Now I know, and fuck that guy.

  Boom. The little PF-9 pulled my double-handed grip up, but I have to admit I kind of loved the action on the small gun. I filed the number ‘one’ away and promised myself that I would not lose count of my shots. As soon as the seventh shell flew, I would have that second magazine ready to insert.

  The man I had shot flopped back into a woman and the two went flying. But the two ragers were the least of our worries as at least a dozen more gathered. Once they saw us, it was like someone had turned on a light in their brains and we were a banquet feast.

  As we continued to fall back, it finally dawned in my mind that we had done this all wrong. We had gone in, all ballsy attitude, to rescue a woman who, quite frankly, didn’t want to be saved. Plus we had come here under the pretense that we would be able to somehow secure some documents and lab samples and save the world.

  God, we had been idiots! Now we were about to be dead idiots, or worse yet, among the rage-induced maniacs we now faced.

  Roger fired his gun a couple of times. One of the ragers took a round to the throat and hit the ground in a tumble of arms and legs. I felt along the wall as the ragers closed in on us. Since we had shot a couple of them, the mob had slowed. Did these things have some kind of sense of danger? How much of their human intelligence remained?

  Less than twenty feet separated us as they advanced, shuffling between each other as they closed and reopened ranks. More of the things had arrived, and now we faced at least twenty, if not two dozen. All of them jammed into the hot hallway, trapping us in the reeking place that would soon become our tomb. Most of these morons wore office clothing, but a few of them were dressed in lab coats like they worked at a doctor’s office. One of them, a larger black woman in a white and pink flower printed blouse, shuffled between a few of the ragers, shoving them aside.

  “Keep checking doors, man!” Roger yelled as he aimed and fired.

  I hadn’t stopped running my hand along the wall. I found another doorknob, tried it, and wasn’t surprised when it didn’t open, then I backed up, and hit the door with my shoulder. Unsurprisingly, it rebounded my efforts, and would probably leave a bruise.

  The mob made their move. I’m not sure who was the first to go, but it was probably the big lady in the once-pretty shirt. They howled for us as they made the run. Roger opened up until he ran empty, then slammed another magazine into his gun in a split second.

  I fired into the mass, but it wasn’t like I could pick out any one target, so it was rage fish in a barrel.

  The first rager closed to within punching distance so I shot him in the face. His head snapped back and he crashed into the woman behind. Mucus flew and some of it ended up on my face. Revulsion raced through my body. I wanted to take a three hour bath in hand sanitizer. But first I had to survive the next few seconds.

  I fired again and the bullet ripped into a slobbering woman covered in what I assumed was puke. The entire hallway smelled so disgusting it was hard to pick out one single gross thing.

  The slide lock open and I curse
d myself for losing count even though I had sworn I would be ready once that seventh bullet left the gun. I fumbled for a magazine but found my hatchet in the process. I panicked and pulled the weapon out, then planted it in the head of the girl I had just shot.

  Roger fired over and over again before cursing as he reloaded.

  “That’s my last mag, bro!” Roger yelled as he snapped his weapon back up.

  I jerked my hatchet out of the girl’s head before she could drag the weapon out of my hand.

  We had been backed almost to the end of the hallway and we would soon be fighting with our backs to the wall. To my right lay a door with a pair of large glass windows on either side. They had blinds over them and my quick glance didn’t allow me to see what was actually in the room.

  I spun and slapped Latimer’s ID card against the reader even though I knew it wouldn’t work. The stupid badge had been a terrible idea! But to my surprise, something clicked. My mouth dropped open as I grabbed the handle and turned. The door opened and I yelled, “Here! We have an open door!”

  Roger came toward me but one of the ragers leaped and almost landed on him. I swung the hatchet around and clocked the dude upside the head hard enough to make it crack. The guy dropped to the floor in a heap and the pair of ragers behind him stumbled over his body. Roger grabbed my arm and together we fell into the room.

  The door must have worked on one of those hydraulic hinges because it took forever to close, and just as Roger almost had it shut, one of them slid inside the room and came right at me. I tried to swing the hatchet but the rage zombie was too fast. It howled in fury as it slashed at my face and neck.

  The raging man knocked the gun out of my hand and it went spinning across the floor.

  “Hurry up and kill that thing and help me hold them back!” Roger yelled.

  “Argh.” Or something like that was all I could mumble.

  I couldn’t catch my breath. The most physical activity I normally got was from pushing a broom, plus I was a smoker, and that didn’t help one bit. But I was going to quit, as soon as we survived this. I almost laughed out loud at that.

  My arms were heavy as I tried to push the rager off me. He was bigger than me, but worse, he was like a drunk filled with piss and rage. I put my arm against his throat to keep him from getting his mouth on me. His teeth were a jagged mess, like he had been chewing on rocks.

  “Hurry up, man.” Roger urged me on.

  I wormed my knee up underneath his groin and pushed the man up. He ripped at me and I had to take my arm off of his throat or get hit in the face. I struck him in cheek but I didn’t have lot of power behind the blow, plus I wasn’t used to hitting people. The last time I had been in a fight was back in high school and I had gone home with a broken nose and hurt feelings. Now there was a raging zombie who didn’t give a shit about his survival, who wanted to sink his disgusting rat teeth into my body.

  Roger leapt to my aid; he grabbed the guy around the collar and flung him to the side. I rolled over and hit the rager with the side of the hatchet. The dude’s face split open and I hit him again. Roger hadn’t stuck around to help and instead went right back to the door to hold back the mass.

  The rager wasn’t down for long. He got up on his hands and knees faster than me. I barely had time to catch my breath before we were trading blows again. This time I got in the first one and cracked the rager once again. How many times was I going to have to hit this SOB in the head before he stopped moving?

  Time to find out.

  I spun him around because the last blow had dazed him. His arms flung out to the side as he tried to come back around to find me. I lifted the hatchet high, and then struck him hard in the back of the head. The man finally dropped and didn’t get back up.

  I rushed to the door and then got a better idea.

  The room we found ourselves in was some kind of small lab. There were a few metal tables bolted to the walls and there were also beakers and vials, making it look like a meth lab right out of Breaking Bad. An old-style metal desk lay a few feet away. Papers, a stapler, and a bunch of folders covered the surface. I brushed them off and threw the cheap plastic desk chair away.

  I put my back into it and shoved the desk toward the door. It scraped at the floor, and it was heavy as hell, but I got it moving.

  “This thing is heavy!” I grunted.

  “We got this, man,” Roger said as the door thumped and threatened to break open.

  “No lock?” I asked.

  “I tried it, I think it’s broken, or stuck.”

  I pushed again and the desk slid a few more feet. “Maybe there’s another way to lock it.”

  “I don’t know. Just get that desk over here. If they get inside, we’re screwed.”

  “We’re already screwed.” I grunted as I pushed.

  Roger put his foot against the door and leaned over to help. He grabbed the corner of and pulled. We got it into position, then shoved it so the widest part lay against the door. We moved around to the other side, put our backs to the back of the desk, and then lowered ourselves to the ground. If Roger was as wiped out as me, we needed a minute to regroup and gather our strength.

  “Fucking zombies.” Roger breathed a sigh.

  “I can’t believe this is happening,” I said. “We’re the good guys, trying to do the right thing, and we end up getting fucked.”

  “I gotta be honest, man. I didn’t think this would be that bad. I read about them, and even watched some grainy video captured near Emory, but those things are fucking crazy.” Roger wiped his hand across his sweaty forehead.

  “These are worse than my old boss,” I said. “At least we were able to contain him. These things are so odd.”

  “Odd, like zombie odd?”

  “It’s not just that. In zombie movies, the damn things are out of their minds, but it seems like some of those guys out there still have some kind of brain power. They seemed to feel like they were in danger at some points, even though they kept coming at us.”

  As if to punctuate Roger’s observation, at least one rager struck the door hard enough to move us. We put our legs to work and shoved the desk back into place.

  “Hey. Are you guys still in the building? What’s going on?” Mitch’s voice came over the little handheld radio.

  “Oh, shit,” Roger said. “I’m an idiot.”

  “They can call 911.” I pointed at the radio.

  He took out the radio and then lowered the volume.

  “I’m glad to hear from you. Holy shit-balls. Keep your voice down and listen,” Roger said quietly into the radio. “We’re trapped on the bottom floor in the building, and it’s been overrun by the raging zombie things.”

  “So when will you guys be out?” Mindy yelled over Mitch.

  “Stop. Yelling.” Roger kept his voice low. “What part of ‘we’re trapped at the bottom of the building by zombies’ didn’t you understand?”

  “Should we come get you?” Mitch asked.

  “I want a burger,” Mindy whined in the background.

  “They’re baked,” I whispered.

  “Sorry. We’re a little baked.” Mitch confirmed.

  I swear Roger rolled his eyes hard enough for me to hear them in their orbs.

  “Standby. We’re working on a plan to get out of here. Please don’t do anything stupid,” Roger said to Mitch.

  “Roger. Over and baked,” Mitch responded.

  “So what do we do now?” I asked.

  “I have no fucking idea.”

  19

  For the next five or ten minutes we played it cool, didn’t make a sound, and when the ragers tried to push through the doorway, we pushed back against the desk. There wasn’t time to look around our location, which was lit only by overhead emergency lights that barely illuminated the room. It was hot, muggy, and it was getting hotter by the second. Roger ejected his magazine and counted his meager rounds.

  Not that I was in much better shape; I had blown through my first magazine
and when I ejected the second one I found that I only had four rounds left.

  “We’re in a sorry situation.” Roger stated the obvious.

  “They’ve gotten quiet out there. Do you think you can hold the desk while I look around this room?”

  “Just be ready to rush back here if I need you. This place looks big.”

  “I think it’s a lab,” I said. “Hard to tell in the dark.”

  “I guess I could use my cell phone light,” I said as I fiddled with my phone. I had no bars, no calls, and no voice mails.

  “The blinds are closed. Go for it.”

  I switched on the light and then cupped my hand around the back to keep the level low. I moved away from the desk and stayed low in case the ragers made another move, but they must have found something a little more interesting to do out in the hallway.

  Roger waved me on and I crawled toward one of the long metal tables. I shifted things around on the surface looking for God knows what. A clue? A flame thrower? A couple of grenades? I found some chemicals, one in a big beaker, and held them up in the air with a shrug.

  “What?” Roger whispered.

  “I don’t know. Maybe we can make an explosive?”

  “Do you know anything about chemistry?”

  I squinted at the labels, one which was hand written, and may as well have been written in Chinese. “Negative.

  I put them back and kept on searching. A small refrigerator sat next to one of the tables, and inside were a bunch of small vials filled with what looked like blood. There were names on the labels, but I didn’t see Latimer’s.

  Moving deeper, I found a fire extinguisher attached to the wall and quietly unhooked it. I came back to Roger in a crouch and left it by his side.

  He nodded. “Good find.”

  My next trip, deeper into the lab, revealed a whole lot of nothing. Locked filing cabinets, some machinery whose use I couldn’t for the life of me figure out, and a low table with a long black shape laid out under a tarp. I lifted the end and shined the light down, then recoiled in horror, stumbled, and crashed into one of the tables, sending vials and beakers flying. They smashed across the floor in a crescendo that might as well be me on a bullhorn shouting out our location.