by P. J. Post
“Keats, damn glad to meet you and shit like that, don’t suppose you got any .45 shells?” I ask.
He reaches into a deep pocket in his overcoat and pulls out three boxes. “This enough?” he asks, grinning.
“You know it’s not, but it’s what we got. Thanks.”
“Are you going to get Jem?” Casey shouts across the room.
“Yep.”
“Don’t worry about us. We’ll be good, you’ll see,” she says with confidence.
I’m pretty sure Casey has lost her mind, and I’m not sure there’s anything we can do about it.
I give her my best reassuring look, and then motion for Sam to follow. She grabs Keats’s assault rifle on the way out. I reload my remaining magazine as we head across the center hall of the building toward a huge window at the far end. The floor is old oak planks, scraped and stained. The walls are lined with windows and doors inviting us into more empty offices. Computer monitors, files and paperwork are still scattered over the desks, like the workers just stepped outside for a smoke while they waited for the power to come back on.
At the end of the main hallway, there’s an ebony painted door with a simple red on white sign above it: ROOF.
As I pull the door open I see one of those motivational signs in the office across the hall. It’s the one with the second set of footprints along the beach.
I don’t know why, but it gives me the creeps.
Sam stares at me, and then offers up a wry smile. “So it’s ‘Lane’, right?”
I grin as she pulls the door open to the brick closet.
A steel ladder is anchored to the back wall, reaching up through the gently falling snow to the open roof hatch.
I take hold of the ladder and pause; I can just make out the stars in an opening in the clouds, or maybe it’s my imagination.
And then Emily’s face appears over the edge above us, and even under the weight of the world, I can’t help but smile.
§§§§§
“How is Hawk?” Emily asks as she takes Sam’s hand.
“Don’t know, I think she’s going to be okay,” I say, stroking her hair. “Hey, I’m proud of you, Punkin’.”
She looks out over the rooftops, eyes glistening.
“Jem’s lucky to have you for a friend,” I say, and then I’m gazing across the city too.
Brenda steps away from the warehouse’s parapet wall, shaking her head. “This is crazy, no white-haired kids, no puppies, just...zombies, everywhere, freakin’ zombies. Freemont’s dead, man.”
But the emergency lights are still glowing; the snow makes it look like one of Sam’s postcards.
I walk to the edge of the big flat, gravel roof and look down. She’s right. Did no one get away? There’s so many, up and down every street, every block, it’s thick with them for as far as I can see, from up here, it’s like a living carpet — Button Eyes looking for…for what? For people? Food?
If Jem is down there, on the street...
“We have to burn it,” I say.
“Burn what?” Sam asks.
“Freemont. All of it. From here to the far end, I bet there’s a million of them. We can’t let them wander off infecting every town they come to. They’ll destroy the world.”
“Again?” Brenda asks.
“More,” Sam adds.
“What about Jem?” Emily asks.
“We’ll figure it all out. Wherever she is, she’s safe.” She has to be. “We need to get to the river too, that’s how we’ll get out. We’ll find a boat or something down there. Something tells me they can’t swim.”
Shit, I hope they can’t swim.
Brenda joins me at the back of the building, staring down Half-Day Road to the river. Across the narrow alley behind this warehouse is another three story building.
“How far is it?” she asks. “Ten feet?”
“About,” I say and start walking the opposite direction and then stop and turn, tracing my path.
“Lane?” Sam asks. “What are you…”
And then I’m running as fast as I can, focusing across the alley, on the patch of roof just past the edge of the brick wall. Each step crunches in the gravel and snow, each step sliding, threatening to put me on my ass. Each step brings me closer to the abyss.
I can’t stop now even if I wanted to.
Hesitation kills.
I plant my foot on the parapet wall, praying I don’t slip and launch myself into space. I hear Sam screaming at me as the rooftop disappears beneath my feet.
The wind is cold against my face.
It’s further than I thought…
And then I land, slipping and rolling on the far side, rocks and gravel slicing into my hands as I slide to a stop.
“Don’t do shit like that!” Sam shouts after me.
I get to my knees. I cleared the alley by a mile.
Easy peasy.
I flash her a quick smile. “Be right back,” I call, and then search this new rooftop, running to the next street. The breeze is blowing the snow around, drifting it along the edges. It’s got shit everywhere: trash, peeled up tar paper and metal sheets along the outer edges, clay tiles, broken skylights and lots of shit piled up in the far corner, like it might have been under construction.
I slow down as I pass a hole near one of the pyramid skylights, watching my steps more carefully. The last thing I need to do is to fall through the roof. The far side is the front of the building.
We’re two blocks from the river.
I can see boats heading south, some large and some small, some with lights and most without.
I don’t know how far we are from a boat.
Not that it matters. The street to the next rooftop is at least a hundred feet away, might as well be a mile. One of the creatures spots me and then it suddenly feels like everyone left in Freemont is staring up at me, reaching out, climbing over one another, shoving toward me, toward this building.
What the fuck are they?
The street runs for blocks, curving along the river toward the church at the center of town. It looks like there’s a large square there. It’s all silhouetted by the fire that’s still burning at the far end of town.
I look up Main Street, back toward the gate we came through; the fire from the explosion up there is still raging too.
We might not have to do anything after all; Freemont might burn itself to the fucking ground all by itself.
I don’t see Jem anywhere.
I turn back to the roof, there are blue construction tarps flapping in the breeze over here, weighed down with white, twenty-five-pound buckets full of something. There’s lots of equipment piled up next to the roof access room too, all of it covered by a thickening layer of snow.
And right alongside the pile is the ladder I was hoping for.
“Hang on!” I call.
I step over and around the equipment, winding my way to the ladder, and even before I get there, I see them through the window set in the top of the door. They go fucking apeshit when they see me, bashing their heads against the glass. It’s security glass with wire mesh, but I don’t know how long that will last against skulls.
Forever?
A chip appears and then the pane instantly spider-webs, frosting over.
I try not to think about them and grab the ladder, but decide to drag some of the heavier boxes in front of the door just to be safe. I wonder how many buildings they’ve managed to get inside of.
How many roofs?
Shit.
It doesn’t take long to drag the ladder to the alley side of the roof.
I extend the ladder so that it’s long enough, and lock it in place, and then stand it upright.
“Here, don’t let it fall. I won’t be able to hold it if it does,” I shout.
I make sure it will fall onto the parapet on my side where I can grab it again, and then I let go, mindful of the ragged metal ends.
It slams against the parapet wall and Sam and Brenda jump to secure it even
as it bounces up on my end threatening to go over.
I grab the lower rung and steady it before planting a knee on it.
Brenda points back to the pile of construction shit. “Hey, is there rope over there, wooden planks? We can lay them over the ladder, and then wrap it with the tarps and rope. It’ll be safer for the kids, and then we can take it with us, hop from roof to roof.”
“Good idea. We’ll fix it up after we find Jem,” I say as I anchor my side. “Emily, let’s go!”
Brenda holds Emily back. “She’s just a kid, she can’t come, much less go first.”
“Yes she can, because she’s a kid. She’s the lightest.”
“What if she falls?” Brenda shouts back.
“She won’t.”
Sam’s quiet, her stare as cold as the night.
“Besides, I’m never letting her out of my sight again,” I say. “Let’s fucking go.”
Emily grins, and then she crawls onto the ladder, it rocks from side to side, but she holds tight to each rung as she slowly pushes forward, testing her weight as she goes.
“Watch your knees, Em, rest them on the rungs, um, the sideways thingies,” I shout at her. “Keep your weight centered!”
She gets a few feet out over the alley, and pauses, staring down.
Shit, she’s freaking out.
“Em, it’s okay, just come to me,” I call again, hoping the sound of my voice will calm her.
She holds one hand up, and then turns and sits on the ladder.
I look down and the Button Eyes are reaching up for her, moaning and groaning as they try to get their mouths to work — not nearly as mindless as I’d like.
“Emily, baby, be careful…” Sam says, trying to soothe her, even as she heads for the ladder.
“Shut up!” Emily yells at us, and then cups one hand over her ear.
“What?” I ask.
“I hear barking, I think it’s Pixie.”
“Where?”
She shakes her head, pauses, listening, and then shakes her head again in irritation. “Shut up!” she shouts down at the Button Eyes.
And then she shifts, spins and centers herself on the ladder and quickly crawls over. I take her hand and help her onto the roof when she gets to me.
Sam and Brenda take their turns and soon we’re all together again, all of us leaning over the edge of the roof listening for Pixie.
And then there’s a bark.
It’s faint.
“Did you hear that?” Emily asks, her eyes lighting up.
“Yeah, it’s this way,” I say standing up. Pixie’s down the alley, toward the church.
“Can’t be far,” Brenda says.
I meet Sam’s eyes and she nods in agreement.
The next building to the north is connected and we’re able to jump down the few feet that separate the roofs.
This building isn’t very wide and there’s a narrow breezeway separating the next building. It’s a few feet higher.
We should have brought the ladder.
“I can make it,” I say.
“Emily can’t,” Sam says with frustration.
“Let me check it out, hang on.”
I turn to get some running room when I hear a pistol go off further down the alley.
Pixie is easy to hear now.
And then another shot.
I race for the edge of the building like before and leap up, barely grasping the wall with my fingertips.
I hear Jem scream.
Fuck me.
She’s close.
She’s afraid.
“Lane, be careful!” Sam shouts.
My feet scramble against the wooden siding as I try to get a better grip, my fingers burn, feel like they’re going to snap, but I refuse to give into the pain. I grunt as I finally get one hand up and over the ledge, resting for a moment on my elbow.
And then Jem screams again, firing two more shots and Pixie goes nuts.
They’re so close.
I throw one leg over the edge of the roof and roll over, panting. Emily can’t make that. We’ll have to find another way, but for now, I have to get to Jem.
“Hang loose,” I call down to Sam.
“Don’t…shit! Be careful,” Sam shouts.
I flash an encouraging smile, and then I race across the roof to the next building, and even before I get there, I see her, back across the alley, on a garage roof, two stories down.
She’s backed into a corner as three Button Eyes stumble toward her; Pixie’s in front, standing guard.
“I’m coming, Jem!”
She looks up at me, trying, but can’t quite grin.
I race back to Sam. “Throw me the rifle!”
She doesn’t hesitate.
I pull the bolt, chambering a round and begin aiming even as I run to her. I’m a shitty shot.
They’re feet away now and Pixie leaps for the first of them as I pull the trigger.
The rifle kicks into my shoulder and I see one of the heads explode.
Lucky fucking shot.
And even in this short time, Pixie has one of them on the ground, darting back and forth, jumping and attacking the thing’s neck.
Jem screams again, but not in terror — it’s more like she’s trying to scare the things away. It’s a goddamned challenge.
The last creature is almost upon her…
She stands straight and braces herself, raising her .38 in the shooter’s stance I showed her, defiant as fuck, but I don’t know how many shots she has left…and then she drops one hand…she’ll never be able to control the .38 with one hand.
Please, God…
I take aim on the last one, as Pixie crouches on the chest of the thrashing Button Eye she’s taken down, ready to spring for the last one, and then I hear Sam’s voice screaming in terror.
“Lane!”
I turn to see heads bobbing up and down over the edge of the parapet wall, all in a jumbled rush for the back corner of the roof, toward Sam and Emily and Brenda — more Button Eyes.
Jesus Christ, we’re so fucked!
A Fear of Low Heights
°°
Gunshots explode behind me.
Flashes light up the rooftops like cameras at prom.
I hear gurgling grunts and the wet slap of bullets through flesh, bodies falling and the never ending moan of the not-so-dead.
Emily and Sam and Brenda are dropping Button Eyes as fast as they can pull the trigger.
Across the alley, I see Jem over the top of my rifle sights, staring up at a creature. It’s wearing a blood stained polo and khakis. She’s holding her .38 with one hand, gangster style, aiming for the thing’s face.
Pixie is keeping the other Button Eye pinned to the rooftop of the garage at Jem’s feet, leaping and biting even as the creature’s arms and legs thrash against the rusting corrugated roof, a hollow banging joins the gunfire; the death of Freemont echoes between the buildings.
It’s still snowing.
I try to focus on the shot, hold my breath…
And squeeze.
Jem’s .38 goes off, recoiling out of her hand as the ghoul’s head jerks sideways.
My rifle kicks against my shoulder, but the shot goes wide.
Fuck.
“Lane!” Emily screams for me.
I don’t hear the distinctive boom of her .38 anymore, she must be reloading.
I raise the rifle again as Jem gets caught up in the legs of Pixie’s Button Eye, loses her balance and trips, stumbling toward the edge of the garage. I hold my breath as she falls…she hits hard, her head bouncing off the roofing, and as she rolls to a stop, her face and shoulders are leaning out over the edge. Button Eyes stare up at her, mewling mouths bunched shoulder to shoulder like baby birds at feeding time.
She looks up at me and grins even as the thing on the roof reaches for her.
Fuck me…
I squeeze the trigger again, and the side of its head explodes, blood misting into the crisp night air, but
he only spins, staggering around as though suddenly remembering something urgent on the other side of the roof.
The fucker’s still on his feet.
“Lane!” This time it’s Sam.
I spare a glance to the breezeway; the bobbing heads of the ghouls are getting closer. I try not to think about the gunfire slowing down as I focus on Jem.
She spins onto her back, her long white hair hanging within inches of the palsied grasp of the Button Eyes below.
She’s got a shiny .22 in her hand.
Khaki Boy steps on his buddy’s head, and I can see his ankle roll over and break from here. He follows his twisting foot all of the way to the deck, narrowly missing Pixie.
She yelps as she leaps away.
The ghoul collapses next to the other Button Eye and now both of them are flopping toward Jem.
Pixie leaps onto a chest, resuming her ruthless attack, slowing one of them, but Khaki Boy keeps creeping toward Jem, one bloody hand after the other, his gnarled fingers clamping down on her feet even as she inches backward, pressing further over the edge.
I aim again, but Jem’s so close…it’s lying over her legs now, arms stretching for her face even as it examines her hips, like it’s looking for the softest meat.
Jem holds the small gun in both hands and raises it over her stomach, avoiding the thing’s clenching hands. She manages to work one leg free and places a tiny boot against the thing’s shoulder as it tries to take a bite out of her thigh.
I’m terrified, I don’t have a shot, but how long can she hold it off?
I line up the shot anyway, I can’t watch her die.
She braces herself, leveling the .22 at the Button Eye’s head.
And as I prepare to squeeze off one last shot, she raises up, leans forward and stares into the thing’s face.
From across the alley…I hear her shout, her voice clear…as if carried on the wings of the Damned…
“I…”
Bam! The .22 goes off.
“Got...”
Bam!
“This…”
Bam!
“Shit!”
Bam!
The thing falls over her legs, finally dead.
It has to be, right?
She grabs his belt and leverages herself off the edge, and then leans over to the other one, stretches out the .22 and empties the magazine into its head, before collapsing onto her back again.
