After Life

by Daniel Kelley

  “When enough of them have gotten in here, and lord knows how many that actually is, we light the fire. I figure we’ll both need lighters, get the fire going as quick as possible. Make sure it’s lit, then we haul ass out of here, to the exit.” He was gaining confidence as he spoke. “Anything goes wrong, the kids are right by the door. They can still get out even if we don’t.”

  Andy nodded. It was as good a plan as any. Without a word, he started piling desks and chairs in the center. Everyone was awake now, and the kids — save Brandon, nursing his sore ankle — pitched in as well. Stacy and Travis ripped the ornate curtains from the wall, layering them in and around the desks. Within twenty minutes or so, they had made a substantial enough mass in the center, with some assorted liquor bottles scattered and poured about as well. Simon and Celia had been back to the lounge five times, getting as much of the liquor to the classroom as possible. They also soaked every bit of spare clothing or fabric they had with alcohol and spread those throughout the pile, close to the side that would need to light the fastest when the time came.

  When Andy was satisfied with the burn pile, he turned to Lowensen. “Now,” he said. “Take us to this mystical exit of yours. I want to know where I’m running to.”

  Lowensen nodded and wordlessly left the room, heading down the same hallway Andy and Roger had traveled earlier. The group all followed, Andy and Simon helping Brandon limp along. He could put some of his weight on that injured ankle, but not enough to run — barely enough to walk.

  They convoyed through the hallway, past the cafeteria, past Lowensen’s office, past the teachers’ lounge. They kept walking in a direction that, Andy agreed, led back the way they had come, toward the parking lot and his car. The concrete floor and relative lack of decoration, he figured, was a mixed blessing. It would slow the fire’s spreading significantly, that was true, but any zombies that managed to get through the fire would be able to chase them largely unhindered.

  Finally, they turned a corner and were faced with a dead end, with only a door before them. The door was marked “FACULTY ONLY,” with smaller words underneath that said “No students under any circumstances.” Lowensen pulled a key from his pocket and unlocked the door, opening it to reveal only a small extension of the hallway, maybe ten feet deep, that ended at a ladder bolted to the wall. Lowensen climbed the ladder until he was level with the ceiling and pushed upward a couple of inches. He looked around as much as he could before climbing back down.

  “They’re out there,” he said. “A lot of them. But there aren’t many right around here. And those that are will be attracted to all the noise and activity at the classroom door. By the time we’re ready to get out of here, we ought to be fine.”

  Andy nodded. He removed Brandon’s arm from around his neck and herded the kids as close to the ladder as they could get. “You all have weapons, right?” he asked. At their nods, he continued. “Good. When the zombies get into the classroom, I’m going to fire a couple of shots. Get their attention as best as I can. You ought to be able to hear that from here. When you hear the shots, give us two minutes. Two minutes, and that’s all. If you don’t see one or both of us in two minutes, you run.” He turned to Simon. “Keys are still in the car. If we aren’t in that car, you get yourselves to Walt Mart. Don’t wait for us. If we haven’t made it in two minutes, we aren’t making it. Son, you get yourselves to Walt Mart and you take care of my daughter.”

  Simon nodded solemnly. “Yes, sir,” he said.

  Andy looked from one teenager to the next, making eye contact with each of them. They returned the look, but each looked terrified. That was good, he thought, as he’d prefer they be scared than full of false bravado. He and Lowensen left them there and headed back the way they had come.

  “You really think this will work?” Andy asked the teacher when they were out of earshot of the kids.

  Lowensen shook his head. “No idea. It’s risky as hell, but I don’t have a better idea. And I feel like it’s my fault we’re in this situation, so I have to do something.”

  Andy agreed with that sentiment, but didn’t say anything. Lowensen made a quick detour into the teachers’ lounge when they passed it, coming back out seconds later with two lighters and two cigarettes. “I don’t smoke,” he said, “But I feel like there’s never been a better time to do something that’ll calm my nerves.”

  Again, Andy agreed, so he took the second cigarette from the teacher and lit it, inhaling slowly and deeply. It was his first cigarette since the mid-2000s, years before the zombie outbreak, but the cigarette fit back into his hand neatly, like an old glove. He had quit smoking for his health, but he realized now that he had more pressing health concerns. One cigarette wouldn’t hurt.

  They returned to the classroom. As they entered, Lowensen grabbed a bottle of bourbon from the last case they had. He looked at it admiringly for a moment. “One thing you can say about the post-zombie world,” he said with a small grin. “All our alcohol is finely aged now. Not exactly the way it was meant to be, but they bottled this stuff in 2009.”

  Andy, too, grabbed a bottle, then another. He went back to the stairwell and started pouring them on each step. He hoped this would lead to the zombies getting some further incendiary on them as they descended. At the least, he mused, it might make them more likely to slip as they chased. Lowensen kept a tight grip on his own bottle.

  Those bottles empty, Andy went back to the case and saw that there were two bottles left. He removed those as well, and moved to the corner of the room that was 180 degrees around the burn pile from the entrance. He placed one bottle on the floor and held the other in his right hand, while he clutched his gun in his left. When he was in position, he nodded to the teacher.

  Lowensen moved over to the stairwell and stepped to the edge of the area where Andy could see him. He stopped and looked back to Andy, who nodded again. Lowensen tucked away his gun for a second, and used his free hand to open his bottle of bourbon. He tilted it to his face, taking a quick plug from the bottle. He made eye contact with Andy after his drink was finished, and shrugged, re-capping the bottle.

  Andy couldn’t exactly begrudge the man who was about to open the door to death one drink, so he remained stony-faced. Lowensen climbed the stairs, disappearing from Andy’s sight. He could hear the teacher climb, hear him stop once a few steps up, hear him start again. Finally, Lowensen climbed enough steps that Andy figured he must be at the top. For a full twenty seconds he heard nothing. Eventually, though, Andy heard the unmistakable sound that indicated the crossbar on the door was being raised. The door creaked loudly as Lowensen pushed it open, but the creak was brief, as Lowensen likely had opened it only a few inches.

  Then Lowensen’s steps predictably sped up. He hurried back down the stairs, stopping just short of the spot where Andy would be able to see him again. From there, Andy heard him call out.

  “Hey!” he cried. “Hey! Down here, you crazy-eyed fuckers!” A second later, Andy heard the sound of glass shattering, and figured Lowensen must have hurled his bottle to the top of the stairs, trying further to attract the dead’s attention.

  The teacher wasted no time then, sprinting back into the classroom and toward the door to the bowels of the building. “They’re coming!” he cried, knocking what desks weren’t in the burn pile down behind him, blocking the path from entrance to back door.

  It was an unnecessary warning. Mere seconds after Lowensen ran into the room, the first zombie showed up, tumbling down the stairs and surely breaking one of its arms in the process. It showed no signs of pain, of course, and pushed itself to its feet just as another zombie came barreling down. The two collided and both lost their feet again. Soon, though, zombies were making it down more sure-footedly. Finally, they untangled from one another, and one turned and entered the classroom, the room that Andy had thought would be the safest place in the world for his daughter.

  The zombie was hideous, its eyes blanched white and one arm reaching outward. Its shirt,
which had one time been khaki-colored, was soaked with blood over nearly its entirety, except for a few spots around the right shoulder and down the arm that were torn to shreds, presumably from the bites that had left the creature in its current condition. As a result, its right arm hung limply at its side, a grotesque reminder of what had once been a human arm, as the rest of the creature charged forward. The thing that made Andy’s stomach really turn over, though, was the fact that he recognized this lead zombie.

  It had once been Roger Stone.

  Chapter 11: A Clear Conscience

  Michelle couldn’t get her heart to slow down. Salvisa’s confession had thrown her for such a loop that she was breathing like she had just finished a five-mile run.

  Donnie was right though, in stopping her from shooting him straight away. Either way, Michelle swore that the man would pay for his Anti-Tech stance. It had cost Madison her life. If it turned out to have cost Stacy hers too, Michelle swore he’d pay double.

  As it was, they were drawing near Hyannis, near Morgan College. They were already to the point where Donnie was needing directions from her, directions Michelle was only about 75% sure of herself. His lack of certainty led to them making one wrong turn, and going about five miles in the wrong direction.

  During their wrong turn, though, they passed what looked to Michelle like nothing so much as an old Wal-Mart building. Out in front of the building, she saw several Army-grade Humvees and other official-looking vehicles.

  The Army vehicles were parked in a line, together and unified. Scattered around the rest of the parking lot, though, were other, less official vehicles, ones that had been parked in a hurry and haphazardly. Chillingly, Michelle was sure she could see bodies scattered around as well, lying flat on the ground. Something about the bodies told Michelle they were humans that had died, not zombies. Regardless, none of the bodies she saw looked to belong to anyone that might have been operating the Humvees, meaning, as best Michelle could figure, those people were alive somewhere.

  Worst-case scenario, she figured, if Morgan College was overrun, unfit for long-term occupancy or — ideally — already locked down, they could head back to the Wal-Mart and try to get in there, as it appeared to be some sort of secure location.

  They got back on the right path, though, and drove, passing through what Donnie recognized as downtown Hyannis. Though he didn’t know where they had built Morgan College, he recognized enough of the remnants of the pre-zombie city that he at least knew for certain where they were.

  Michelle instructed Donnie to make a right turn. He did so, but slammed on the brakes immediately. The road before them, the one between them and Morgan College, was swarming with zombies, filled with creatures that turned immediately toward their headlights and began sprinting in their direction. In this group, Donnie couldn’t help but notice, were several student-aged zombies. He hoped Michelle hadn’t noticed the same.

  Donnie, in a move he was growing rather used to, threw the car into reverse and spun around, heading in the other direction. As he did, he noticed Michelle beside him handing Salvisa’s weapon right back to him. This was a situation where she had deemed it necessary to arm the old man.

  Despite Donnie’s quick driving, this group of zombies was closer than any previous encounter, and made it to the car before Donnie could really get going away from them. They started pounding on the windows, and Donnie knew that, with no concern for the safety of their hands, they’d get through in a matter of seconds.

  Sure enough, as he hit the gas to go forward, Donnie heard the driver’s-side window behind him shatter as the lead two zombies pounded. Instinctively, his attention turned backward, though his foot had already committed to the gas pedal. The result of this combination was that Donnie got away from the zombies for a second, but ultimately drove their car head-on into a light pole that sat on the corner they had just rounded.

  He had gotten enough acceleration to damage the car beyond repair. Which, Donnie figured, was almost a blessing — better to know right away the car wouldn’t go again than waste valuable seconds trying to start it.

  As it was, all three of them tore out of the car as quickly as they could, Michelle throwing Salvisa’s pack on her back as she exited. They had put enough space between them and the zombies that they had the chance to get out unassaulted, but that was all. Immediately, all three turned and started firing, felling the lead pursuers with haste.

  They leveled all the zombies that posed an imminent threat, then the three of them turned to run in the opposite direction. Donnie, without the burden Michelle carried or the age of Salvisa, led the way, but the other two kept up well enough that they avoided attack.

  After a block, Donnie swung left, trying to let their retreat at least put them in the same general direction as their ultimate destination of Morgan College. The other two followed without question. When they had put some fifty yards between themselves and their pursuers, Salvisa called out. “Stop!” he called between labored breaths. “The bag. Let me get an explosive.”

  Donnie acknowledged the wisdom here, and so he slowed to a stop, letting the two of them pass as he turned to face the attackers. A few feet farther up, Michelle and Salvisa stopped as well, and the old man rummaged through the bag for a grenade. When he had it in hand, he hollered to them to go again, and the three resumed their sprint.

  Salvisa, his age catching up with him, fell behind again. Within another sixty or seventy feet, he had slowed. Donnie, though he didn’t have any love for the man, didn’t have it in him to leave him to die — not like that, anyway — and slowed down as well, turning again to the zombies that were relentless in their pursuit.

  Michelle did so too, reluctantly. The zombies had gained little ground, and so the three of them had a moment to collect and ready themselves. Donnie and Michelle aimed their weapons. At the same time, Salvisa raised his explosive, preparing to throw it. He stepped in front of Donnie and Michelle, pulled the pin, and flung it toward the zombies, again showing remarkable accuracy. It landed mere steps ahead of the new leaders and, when it went off, destroyed no fewer than twelve of them.

  Without the previous benefit of the car to accelerate their getaway, the three of them felt the blast this time, but it was faint. In their wake, only two zombies maintained the ability to run, and these two were easily felled by Donnie and Michelle’s guns.

  For a few seconds, the three of them stood silently, only their heaving breaths on the air. Then, almost simultaneously, Donnie and Michelle stowed their weapons and turned to one another. They fell into an enormous hug, the kind that, Donnie thought, a husband and wife might share in such a circumstance, and held each other for a long moment. The three of them were surrounded by darkness, with the only lights coming from the moon and the tiny fires on the bodies of what had once been chasing them.

  Over Michelle’s shoulder, Donnie looked up. Peeking over the nearest row of buildings, just visible, were three buildings, arrayed in a triangle. Donnie recognized the arrangement as the three towers of Morgan College. They were within a couple blocks of their destination.

  Donnie smiled faintly to himself. Though it didn’t feel like it — considering the zombies they had encountered around Stamford, at the toll booth, in Hyannis; considering the events at the Sagamore Bridge; considering that they had already gone through three cars; considering their trying times with Peter Salvisa; considering the fact that they were even battling zombies in the first place — he had to admit that he and Michelle had been lucky to have gotten as far as they had so quickly. They had had no right to expect to get all the way to Hyannis in barely over 15 hours, to be within sight of Morgan College only having lost their packs and a few bullets. Yet here they were, so close to the school that Donnie could see it in the moonlight. And they were still together, and they were hugging to celebrate their renewed feeling of safety.

  When Donnie and Michelle separated, though, Salvisa was facing them. And his gun was pointed in their direction.

&nb
sp; “Kill me?” he said, malice dripping from his words. “Kill me? Really? And I’m just supposed to, what, wait until my usefulness has run out?”

  “Mr. Salvisa, don’t …” Donnie started before the old man interrupted.

  “No, boy, you don’t,” he said. “You’ve been calling the shots since we found one another. I’m done listening to some kid, some inexperienced little know-nothing who just happened to have a car. Kill me,” he scoffed. “Kill me. It’s bullshit, that’s what it is.

  “Now,” he said, turning to Michelle, “I would like to have my pack back. I think that is a reasonable trade to make for your lives, which I have now saved at least twice.”

  Michelle nodded, with hate in her eyes. She removed the pack from one shoulder, then the other, and reached it toward Salvisa. He negotiated putting it back onto his own back, all the while keeping his gun aimed at the two of them.

  His pack secure, Salvisa sneered at them. “Still ought to kill you,” he said. “Would serve you right. But you’ll never survive out here anyway. Now I can get out of here with a clear conscience.”

  Donnie almost laughed at this claim, and would have if not for the gun pointed at him. Salvisa, though, noticed his reaction and focused on Donnie alone. “You don’t think I should be okay with myself?” he asked. “You think, what, maybe I should feel bad? I don’t. I wish we hadn’t had to do what we did, but blame lies in the hands of the young people, the parents who let their kids listen to music players at restaurants, the ones who thought it was funny that people developed thumb injuries from texting too much.

  “Find it funny all you want, son, but I’ve done nothing wrong. And before you judge me, know that you only let me live this long because I’m useful to you. The second you decided I wasn’t going to help you get any further, you or your little girlfriend here would have put a bullet in my head.”