Dead America The Third Week (Book 4): Dead America, Miami

by Slaton, Derek

  He continued running until the groans became deafening in their closeness. He skidded to a stop on a landing and noted the veritable dozens of zombies bustling over each other to try to get up to him on the next flight. He contemplated taking them on, figuring he could just shove them down, but he didn’t know how many were really behind and how far down they went. He turned to the hallway door.

  Getting closer, he thought as he noted the large 23 on the sign. He threw open the door without thinking, and as soon as he stepped into the hallway a pair of bloodied squishy hands reached for him. He attempted to leap back, but the thing got a death grip on his shirt and jerked him into the hallway, the stairwell door slamming shut behind him.

  Kenny twisted away, bracing his back against the wall to avoid lurching over. The zombie was huge, his own height and easily two hundred and twenty pounds. He braced a hand against its chest, struggling to keep it at bay while he attempted to get his knife from its sheath with his other.

  The creature snapped at him, teeth gnashing, crimson spittle flying everywhere as it snarled with hunger. Moans echoed from beyond, and Kenny looked past the ghoulish face to see two more friends lumbering towards him.

  His stomach tightened as he tried to protect his tender flesh. He knew he was wrong, but nowhere near strong enough to force this gigantic rotted dude back into them.

  Need to get creative, he thought, and then threw his body into a spin. He used the weight of the clumsy beast as an anchor and slammed it into the wall with the force of it. He applied as much pressure as he could to keep it there, using the momentum of his spin to kick his foot into the chest of the first incoming creature.

  While he innately winced at his bad form, it did the job, and the force of the blow was enough to knock the zombie back into its friend, sending them both tumbling back to the floor. With a brief window to strike, Kenny managed to pull his father’s knife from its sheath and stabbed the big boy right through the eye.

  He tore himself free of the nasty grip, and before the rotund zombie even hit the ground, he had his sledgehammer in his hand. He brought it down hard in quick succession to put an end to the two writhing bodies on the ground.

  With the immediate threat eliminated, he took a breath, looking up and down the hall, but froze as the stairwell zombies began pounding on the door. He slung his trusty hammer back over his shoulder and bent down to grab the knife from its gooey target, wiping it on the zombie’s shirt before sheathing it.

  Okay, gotta get to the other side of the building, he thought. Nothing to it, you got it buddy. He cracked his knuckles, moving as slowly and quietly as he could to the corner. He didn’t know what would be over there, but he hoped whatever there was hadn’t been spooked or alerted by any of the noise—not to mention the now constant banging from the stairwell door.

  The hallway was just dim enough that he had to strain his eyes as he walked, and he shook his head. The building owners should have sprung for the solar package, he thought, though he was unable to truly distract himself with humor.

  The hallway was long, reaching a central lobby area where the elevator was, three equally-long corridors running in each cardinal direction. Kenny peered down each one, but could only see about halfway down with the crap emergency lights.

  Moans echoed from the ones to the left and right, but thankfully the one with the stairwell was the one straight ahead. Creatures staggered out of the darkness, and he gave them a wave.

  “Guess that’s my cue to get moving,” he said, and took off at a jog. Groans erupted ahead of him, and he skidded to a stop, drawing his hammer again. He blinked rapidly at the dozen or so creatures packed into the relatively narrow hallway.

  Think man, think, he thought frantically, and looked around. He stared at the apartment door next to him, and frowned, but then back over his shoulder, where the other two groups of zombies fought past each other to get around the corners to him. He shook his head in frustration and turned to the door, smashing the handle with the hammer.

  It partially opened, but was still hung up. He could almost feel the zombies’ rotted flesh grazing him, and he gave a loud grunt as he swung harder, this time successfully breaking open the door.

  He rushed inside, and was met with a family of zombies.

  Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me, he thought at the sight of blood covering almost every surface of the place. A young woman struggled to crawl towards him from the kitchen, enough flesh missing from its legs that it couldn’t stand anymore. The parental units were the most put-together, and staggered towards him from the living room, a young boy gasping and gargling from the bathroom, arms outstretched.

  Kenny sprinted forward, using his shoulders to knock the parents apart. He vaulted over the couch and threw open the patio door, leaping out onto the balcony and shutting it behind him. He backed away from the glass, watching the family turn to approach his new prison. The hallway zombies flooded into the apartment behind them, quickly filling the living room with a mosh pit of the dead.

  “Well, now what, Kenny?” he asked himself, running a hand over his head. He turned around, looking over at the balcony next to the one he stood on. He sighed. “All of a sudden, starving to death in a few weeks isn’t sounding so bad.”

  He inched to the edge of the balcony, and made the mistake of looking down. He stepped back, dizzy from the height, and closed his eyes for a moment, trying to steady himself.

  “Eight feet,” he murmured, slitting his eyes to focus on the balcony across from him. “It’s just eight feet. I can do that, easy.” He stuck a hand out to feel the breeze direction, hoping it would be on his side. He would just have to hope the wind would cooperate. “Never know when a gust is gonna come along and ruin your day,” he said, and scrubbed his hands down his face.

  He took off the hammer and tossed it across. It landed with a thud and clatter on the concrete on the other side, and he bounced on the balls of his feet, shaking out his hands. The zombies behind him reached the door, slapping the glass with their dead hands.

  “Ready for a show?” he called over his shoulder. “Kenjuan Morris, making the eight-foot leap from the death line.” He clambered up on top of the railing, and bent his knees, like a frog about to hop.

  Before he could overthink it, he pushed off with a grunt. As if mother nature were giving him the finger, a gust of wind smacked him in the face, blunting his forward progress. He threw his hands out, reaching to grab, something, anything. His arms went right through the slats in the railings, smacking down on the hard concrete, and he scrabbled for a moment before managing to get a good grip on two of the bars.

  He took a deep breath, locking his shoulders, and heaved himself up, reaching up with one hand to grab the top of the railing. After making sure he had a solid grip, he moved his other hand, and then swung his legs up and over. He tumbled onto his back, but was thankful for hard concrete as opposed to plummeting to an early grave in the parking lot twenty-three stories down.

  Kenny laid still for a moment, catching his breath, and then slowly peeled himself off of the floor into a sitting position. The patio faced away from the beach, towards the rest of South beach and downtown Miami. He was too far away to get much detail in the high rises of downtown, but there were definitely plumes of smoke rising from the city.

  Six, maybe eight, it was difficult to tell because many were twisting together into giant smoke stacks. It was almost mesmerizing, seeing the world burn like this, knowing it wouldn’t stop until the fire got tired.

  He startled at the sound of shattering glass, heart stopping. He relaxed a touch when he realized it was the patio door from the balcony he’d just jumped from, and turned to watch the zombies cluster outside.

  “Y’all couldn’t resist the view either, huh?” he asked, shaking his head and chuckling. “Take a good look, because you’ll never see anything like it again.” He paused for a moment, sobering at the insinuation.

  He probably wouldn’t ever see anything like it
again, either.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Floor 23

  Kenny caught his breath for another minute, dreading getting to his feet to face what was surely to be just another shitshow. He wanted to stay positive, but he’d only made it three floors and barely escaped with his life.

  Come on, buddy, get the hell up, he thought, and peeled himself off of the concrete floor of the patio. He readied his sledgehammer and wrapped his hand around the door handle, taking a deep breath before opening it.

  He waited for a moment, straining his ears, and then stepped inside. Nothing jumped out at him in the immediate vicinity, so he held his hammer with both hands and let out a whistle to see if that would draw anything out of the woodwork.

  To his surprise, nothing appeared.

  “About time I got a break,” he muttered, and then headed across the cavernous living room. His steps echoed on the hardwood floor, trainers giving off little rubbery squeaks. He crept to the front door and stared out the peephole, and his heart immediately sank. It was wall-to-wall zombies out there, and that was just what he could see.

  Doesn’t look like I’m going that way, he thought bitterly, and then retreated back out to the patio, taking in deep lungfuls of air. The zombies on the balcony he’d vacated earlier moaned, arms reaching for him over the railing.

  “So what would y’all do in my situation?” he asked them, putting his hands on his hips. He paused, cupped a hand to his ear, and pretended to listen to the undead monsters. “Yeah, that’s not a bad suggestion, but I don’t think that’s gonna work out for me.” He looked over the edge at the dizzying distance of the ground, and let out a long sigh through his teeth.

  He stepped back and secured his hammer back around his shoulders. “I’m afraid I’m gonna have to go all daredevil.” He shook his head, looking to the sky for a moment and clucking his tongue at what he was about to do.

  He climbed over the railing, turning around to face the building as he secured his shoes on the outer lip. “Get the penthouse, my realtor said,” he grunted as he began to lower himself down. “It’s a beautiful view, he said.” He managed to get a good grip on the edge of the concrete before slowly letting his feet dangle down. “It’ll only increase in value, he said.”

  He looked down to gauge his fall, the same distance that he’d had to go when he jumped down into Jerry and Karen’s apartment. Only this time, he had to fall at an angle, so definitely more difficult.

  Kenny growled. “If that realtor ain’t dead I’m gonna smack him when I see him.”

  He began kicking his legs forward to build momentum, like a kid swinging on the monkey bars. He counted down silently, and then heaved forward, letting go.

  He was only in the air for a split second, but it was easily one of the most terrifying moments of his life. Falling from a twenty-third floor balcony was nerve wracking, even with being able to see the landing spot below.

  He hit the concrete and stumbled forward, managing to catch himself before face planting. He took a knee, leaning on it with his thick arm to catch his breath, and then startled at a loud smack on the patio door.

  He looked up, seeing a lone zombie banging on the glass from the inside. It was small and lean, maybe even a teenager, and didn’t have any visible wounds.

  Must have been infected from the get go, Kenny thought, shaking his head. It was almost worse to see one without any bites or fight marks. The zombie looked more like a ghost than anything else, just gray with silvery eyes. Poor dude never had a chance.

  He pulled on the door, but it didn’t give. Locked.

  Paranoid even this high up. He shrugged at his reflection in the glass. Of course, I’m on the outside looking in, so maybe it was warranted.

  He pulled his sledgehammer from his back and reared back, swinging hard. The glass cracked, but didn’t shatter. He stepped to the side and swung it like a baseball bat, lining it up so that it went straight through the glass and smacked the zombie in the chest on the way in. He let the hammer go, leaving it to its momentum, stepping back so that he didn’t get any of the falling glass on his skin.

  The zombie flopped around on the floor for a moment and then regained its footing. Kenny reached for his knife, but then stopped, a smile curling his lips.

  As the corpse crossed the jagged threshold, he grabbed it by the front of the shirt and the belt buckle. He lifted the groaning creature over his head and hurled it off of the balcony. He peered over the edge, watching the undead monster flail its limbs as it plummeted to the ground below. It hit the asphalt and liquefied, guts spraying across the ground like a Fourth of July fireworks display.

  “Closest thing I’m getting to entertainment today,” he declared, and saluted the fallen zombie before heading inside.

  He picked up the hammer and shook it, making sure there were no errant glass chunks attached. He made his way to the front door, sweeping his eyes across the apartment as he went to make sure there was nobody else skulking about. Once clear, he stepped up to the door.

  He peered through the peephole, this time seeing nothing. It was a welcome sight, but he was still wary.

  Let’s see how this goes, he thought, and slung the chain over his shoulder, drawing his knife in case there was a close encounter. He inched the door open and peeked out, slowly poking his head into the hallway to look both ways. It was thankfully empty, but he didn’t want to press his luck, so he closed the door as carefully and quietly as possible behind him.

  The click of the latch, while quiet, still boomed in his ears, and he stayed stock still, listening as hard as he could for any potential moans. Still nothing.

  He moved quickly and quietly down the hallway, still on edge despite the relief of no undead groaning in the distance. He reached the stairwell—the one he’d been trying to get to on the twenty-third floor—and wrapped his hand around the knob. He readied his knife, and opened the door just a hair, ready to slam it shut if need be.

  When he met no resistance, he opened it a little more, and it creaked a tiny bit, making him draw in a sharp breath and freeze. There was nothing in his immediate vicinity, and he poked his head into the stairwell, looking up and down the flights before him, seeing nothing.

  Guess everybody was going up the other set of stairs, he thought with relief, and stepped into the stairwell. He tried to close the door as quietly as he could, but the latch echoed in the tall corridor, and he winced at the sound.

  Thankfully, the moans sounded distant, as if they were very far below, and from what he could tell, there were none above. Doesn’t look like I’m getting all the way down, but this should shave off a good chunk.

  Kenny descended the stairs, moving as quickly as he dared without making too much noise. The lighting was just as bad in there, so it was difficult to see much further than a landing or two ahead. He stopped at every set to look down and make sure he wasn’t running right into an onslaught.

  Several floors down, the moans were significantly louder, along with the rhythmic pumping of footsteps shuffling on concrete. He readied his sledgehammer, sheathing his knife, and moved cautiously, wanting to squeeze every last floor out of his journey but also not wanting to be so eager it would lead to an early grave.

  He stood at the top of the eleventh floor flight, finally seeing a mass of rotted flesh staggering up into the light.

  “Guess this is my stop,” he muttered, and turned to the door. This time, instead of throwing it open, he knocked on it, and almost immediately received banging from the other side. “Guess the twelfth floor is my stop,” he corrected, and tore back up the stairs.

  He knocked on the door loudly, and then waited. After what felt like not long enough and too much all at the same time, nothing happened, and he didn’t want to wait any longer for his pursuers to make it up to him. He opened the door a crack, seeing nothing but a mostly empty hallway, with just a lone zombie about twenty yards away. It stood, dumbly staring up at one of the emergency lights as it flickered on and off.

&nb
sp; He stepped into the hallway, letting the door swing shut behind him, and swung the sledgehammer just as the ghoul turned towards the noise. He bonked it on the top of the head, the corpse crashing to the floor, twitching. Once down, Kenny froze and listened hard for any other moaning or movement.

  There was nothing, aside from the moans echoing in the stairwell, louder and louder as they tried to follow him through the closed door.

  He made his way to the center lobby area with the elevators, and pulled out his flashlight. He shone it down each of the other three hallways, revealing only a couple of zombies down one of them.

  He took a deep breath. Come on, buddy, let’s finish ‘em off so you have time to think. He returned the flashlight to his pocket and tightened his grip on the sledgehammer, waltzing down the hallway as if it were any normal day. The sounds of hammer versus shredded flesh weren’t anything normal, but at least he was able to make quick work of them and return to the lobby.

  “All right, walk it through,” he said to himself, voice more confident now that he was sure he was alone. “Stairs aren’t an option. And if you ever go out on a patio above the second floor again, I’m gonna smack you silly, so that’s out.” He looked at the elevator, and clicked his tongue, puffing out his cheeks and letting out a deep breath. “Guess we’re hitting the lift. Just gotta hope it’s on another floor.”

  He stepped forward and tried to jam his fingers between the doors to try to pry them open, but they were stuck fast. He pulled his knife and wedged it in between, cracking them open just enough that he could get his fingers in. He heaved a grunt as he pulled, straining his muscles to pull, and then finally the doors gave in, rolling open.

  He rested his hands on his knees, elated to see an empty shaft in front of him. He pulled out his flashlight and leaned in, shining down to see the car several floors down.

  “That doesn’t look like the bottom, but it’s a lot closer to the bottom than here,” he murmured, and clicked off the flashlight, putting it back in his pocket. He held on to the side of the door, and reached for the large cable running to the car below. He pulled the thick cord to him, and then pushed off, wrapping his arms and legs around it like it was a firehouse pole.