Zombieclypse (Book 3): Dead End

by Rosaria, A.

  “Derrick, give Brenda your shotgun.” Ralph gave Lauryn his rifle. “Watch our backs.”

  He and Derrick made some room pushing the tables and chairs aside, and dragged the zombies outside the room. They barricaded the door again, waiting for more to come. By that time, Emma had cried herself to sleep.

  Brenda and Derrick continued their watch, while Lauryn and Ralph sat together, but didn’t continue their conversation or sleep. Hours passed. The watch changed and nothing happened. Brenda and Derrick eventually fell asleep. They slept huddled together like longtime lovers, but Ralph knew they barely knew each other. Misery must breed companionship. Derrick was a good guy, worked hard, and a hell of a fighter. They had talked before, but not often enough to consider each other friends. The guy was some sort of recluse. It amazed him really, seeing him get along with Brenda, but then again, Brenda was Brenda. Everyone loved her.

  “What are you smiling about?” Lauryn said.

  “Oh nothing, just thinking about something.”

  “Must be something funny for you to be smiling.”

  Was that a twang of resentment in her voice? “Something bothering you?”

  “No… nothing. Never mind me.” She sat down, leaning her back against the cabinet, her axe resting in her lap. “Just tired.”

  “Well, we get to sleep soon, together.” He winked at her and she smiled, her cheeks flushed.

  He sat next to her and put an arm around her. “Tell me what has you troubled.”

  “It doesn’t sit well. That one zombie just went away. That just doesn’t happen.”

  “I know, but not long ago, they stalked people and attacked like a pack of wolves.”

  “That only makes me worry more.”

  “If it returns, we will deal with him.”

  “And if he comes back with friends?”

  “We deal with them too.” He patted her knee. “Come on, let’s wake up the sleepyheads. It’s our turn to doze a little.”

  Brenda and Derrick took their places, and Lauryn and Ralph lay down together, kissed, and slept, unaware what the next day would bring and, in sleep, not caring about a thing.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Someone or something stirred outside her door. Sarah turned in her bed, hoping whoever it was went away so she could sleep. After she left Priss, she had spent the day wandering and doing pretty much nothing. Bored, she went to class, hoping against all hope that Priss would be there, but she wasn’t. She resisted the urge to visit her at her home. Sarah wanted her to rest, wanted to clear her mind. She just wanted to sleep now, sleep in late, and when she woke, she would visit Priss or wander some more.

  Someone coughed. “Be quiet,” a man said on the other side of the door.

  She sat up straight, gripping the sheets.

  “Fucking door ain’t opening,” another man growled in a hush.

  Sarah pulled the sheet aside and got up. She resisted the urge to call out to whoever was at her door. If they wanted to enter her room in silence, they must be up to no good.

  “Get out of my way. You have to use the emergency release. Doors are locked after curfew.”

  Sarah looked around for anything to grab to defend herself. No knives or guns. She had to return the club she took from the guard. From her table, she grabbed a pen. Little good that would do, but it was still better than being empty-handed.

  The lock turned green and the door slid open with a hiss. Two silhouettes stood outside.

  “Oh, did we wake you up?” the guard asked. He had a bandage on his chin where she had hit him.

  The other guard, the one she knocked out some teeth, sniffled and held back a cough. “We’re so sorry, but not as sorry as you are going to be for hitting my balls.” He held his balls to emphasize.

  “You better leave now.”

  “Oh, we will leave, but first we’re going to put you in your place.”

  The first guard stepped forward. She stabbed with her pen. He backhanded her, knocking her head sideways, and she fell on her bed. As he came closer, she kicked his legs, hitting his knee.

  “Bitch!” He staggered back.

  The second guard swung at her, and she drew back in time. The both of them were upon her. The first one held her down as the second slugged her in the face. She tasted blood.

  “Stay still, bitch.”

  Dazed and her ears ringing, she couldn’t make out who was saying. She was hit again. She kept struggling. One guard tore her shirt off as the other held her down.

  “Nice tits.”

  “Pull her pants down.”

  She kicked wildly and got punched again. The guards loomed over; her vision blurred. “Stop,” she croaked. They pulled her pants down. Feebly, she kicked but lacked the strength to get free.

  “Move aside. I want to be first.”

  “Fuck you. She hit me in the balls. I deserve to get her first.”

  “Okay, okay, have your way but just don’t dry her up.”

  Sarah couldn’t believe this was happening. It was so unreal, as if she weren’t there, as if she was watching it on television. A bad show happening to someone else, not her, not after everything she went through.

  “Don’t,” she managed to whimper. The slap knocked her head back. She saw the door, still open. One guard went to stand there to watch while the other climbed on the bed and on her. She felt him fumble with his pants. No, she thought, no, no, no, no! She gathered her strength, pushed hard against his chest, and tried to push her knee forward to hit him in the groin, but he pinned her back down. One hand held both her hands above her head while the other squeezed her breast to hurting. She thrashed. The hand slid up, closed around her throat, and squeezed.

  “Stay still.”

  She didn’t. He kept squeezing, and she choked. Her head felt light, consciousness started slipping away.

  “Hey, go easy on her. I don’t want to do a corpse.”

  She faded into black and her body fell limp.

  It hurt. It hurt all over.

  Sarah groaned as she opened her eyes. Inside, she fell as if her body was burning up.

  “Sarah?”

  She shot up, sitting. The pain inside her head stung her eyes with a thousand needles. She squinted.

  “Sarah, are you all right?” The voice, a man. It sounded distorted to her.

  “Sarah?”

  She felt fingers touch her shoulder. Sarah jumped, slapping whoever tried to touch her away. “Don’t you dare. Don’t you… Terry?”

  He stood in her small room, a worried look on his face. His hands were bloody. She looked at the floor. Both guards lay facedown, their pants down, a pool of blood pooling around them. Unwrapped condoms on the floor near where they fell. It dawned on her what had happened. She uttered a painful groan and hugged herself, feeling dirty. Terry stretched a hand out to her; she backed away.

  “They…they raped me,” she said, tears streaming down her cheeks. She felt dirty, mangled, bruised. She felt downright wrong. Disgust slowly rose, disgust for them, disgust for her allowing it to happen, and disgust for Terry for having witnessed it.

  He stood in front of her, shaking his head. Again, he stretched out his hands to pull her into him. But the last thing she wanted now was his hugs, any man’s hug. No, not true, she wanted Ralph’s arms around her.

  “Please, leave me.”

  He walked in and this time grabbed her, struggled with her, and hugged her. “Sarah, you don’t understand. I got to you in time.”

  She looked up at him, eyebrows high and eyes wide. Hoping and at the same time not daring. “In time?”

  “I stopped them.”

  She pulled away from him, feeling relieved. He stopped them all right; they would never get up again. She felt glad. But why did she feel wrong? She looked at her body, still naked, blood streaks where she was touched by their bloodied hands, her blood on their hands. Her face felt a mess. She covered her breast with her arms.

  “I called a clean-up crew; they are going to fix thi
s. Go clean yourself up.”

  Sarah nodded and went to her cabinet and got a towel and a change of clothes.”

  “We’ll talk after,” Terry said. He gave her shoulder a squeeze. She winced. He smiled and she smiled back and winced again. Even smiling hurt like that. They really got her good. Sarah staggered out of the room and walked to the communal shower, leaving behind her footprints in blood.

  Sarah remembered little of the time she spent showering. She was in a daze, a confused daze about what had happened, what really happened, not what she thought happened, but what really happened. Assault. Rape. Her being powerless against it. A turmoil of feelings went through her as she rubbed herself clean of blood and who knew what else.

  Finished drying herself, she put her clothes on and walked back to her room. Two men in hazmat suits carried a body bag out of her room. Another man walked after them with a bucket in one hand and a blood-drenched cloth in the other. She watched as they disappeared around the corner and then kept staring at the empty corridor.

  “Your room is clean now,” Terry said.

  He stood in the doorpost. She walked over. “I’m sorry I caused you trouble again.”

  Terry drew her to him and led Sarah inside the room. It smelled of disinfectant. The room was clean, the blood gone, the bedsheets gone, everything tidied up, almost as if nothing had happened, though nothing was in its place. The cup on her nightstand wasn’t there before. Her dirty clothes she kept strewn over the floor were folded in a neat pile. Her books were rearranged in a different order. She sat on her bed.

  “I’m sorry, Terry. I only cause you trouble again and again.”

  He sat down next to her. “You didn’t cause this.”

  Terry was wrong about that. She had caused this. She chose to help Priss, and this was a consequence of that. Had she stayed out of trouble, this would never have happened. She would still be sleeping and nothing would be wrong. Terry wouldn’t be here now, in this room, looking worried at her. Terry, who wasn’t wearing a hazmat suit.

  “How did you know I was in trouble?”

  He smiled at her. “Chance. I was just coming over for a quick visit.”

  “This late at night?”

  “I just returned from my mission, and I need to go out again at day break, so now was the only chance to see you before I left.”

  “Luck saved me?”

  “You could say that. You were out cold. I saw the open door, heard the noises, and knew something was wrong and got here just in time. They are dead now and can’t harm you anymore.”

  “Thank you.”

  She had little more to say about what had happened. She wanted to forget it all, get over it, but her body felt wrong. Every move hurt and she felt nauseated. Sarah wanted to lie down, sleep, and forget it all.

  Terry put his hand on hers. “There is something I have to tell you. You won’t like it.”

  She groaned and looked up at him with wary eyes. What else could be worse than this?

  “I found his body, or what was left of it.”

  It was as if someone hit her belly with a sledgehammer. A low cry escaped her lips. Her face turned pale. She felt physically sick.

  “Please go, leave me.” Terry tried to hug her, comfort her, but she pushed him away. “Go.”

  For the first time in a long time, she saw anger flare in his eyes. Immediately, she felt guilty. This man had helped her on many occasions, saved her today, went out of his way to search for Ralph, and now she was turning him away. She felt bad but she needed to be alone. Alone with this pain. She would thank him another day, and maybe in time love him. She liked him a lot, but now wasn’t the time. Not now. Not him. Not anyone.

  “Please go.”

  Hurt, he stood and barged out of her room. He pressed a button on the side panel. The door light went on and switched from green to red as it slid shut, leaving her alone. She threw herself on the bed, biting the cushion to hold it all in, but a cry escaped with such violence it shook her whole body.

  Ralph was dead, the last string of hope she so desperately clung to. Her link to a past before the world turned to shit. Now that she knew what happened, she wished she didn’t. It made the pain she already felt worse. She cried, but the sorrow of loss stayed. With each ache, it intensified.

  Sarah cried until sleep overtook her into reliving the nightmare in which she was raped again and again, and the face she kept seeing was Terry telling her Ralph was dead with each thrust inside her. Finally, she fell in a complete abyss of darkness.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Ralph opened his eyes to a frantic Brenda shaking him. “We need to get the hell out of here.”

  She didn’t have to tell him twice. He heard them. The moans around them cascaded together to a wave building up to a tsunami, which would wash over them if they didn’t make it to higher ground. His knees popped as he got up. His muscles were stiff, slowing him down. He gathered his things as Brenda went to wake Lauryn. Derrick was pulling away the barricade blocking the door to the offices. Ralph joined him clearing the space.

  “The front no good?”

  Derrick wiped the sweat from his forehead and shook his head. “Nope.”

  Lauryn got up, and the first thing she did was grab her axe and hurry over to a window. She peeked outside the little space between the window frame and the cabinet.

  “Shit! There are hundreds of them!” Lauryn looked over her shoulders, close to panic. “What are we going to do?”

  Emma sat huddled in a corner, swaying back and forth while crying silently.

  “You and Brenda take care of her,” Ralph said. He pulled the desk from the door. “Cover me!”

  Derrick stood behind him, his shotgun pointed at the door. Ralph pushed it open. The corridor was empty. With his gun in hand, he went in. It was dark. Derrick followed close by. Brenda and Lauryn and the girl formed the rear. Ralph didn’t bother opening the doors to the sides and went directly to the back, to the lunchroom. It wasn’t much, two large tables with six chairs each. Simple wooden furniture not bought for style but for practical use. Take a break, eat a sandwich, and talk during a long day of work. However, there wasn’t much talking going on now, or eating, unless the zombies found a way inside, and then there would be plenty of eating happening. Ralph didn’t care much for that outcome.

  The moaning was everywhere; he hoped the deaders hadn’t reached the back yet. If they were surrounded, they would be done for.

  Ralph stepped inside the room and immediately felt something heavy land on him. He fell sideways. Lauryn screamed. Emma wailed. Derrick cursed, shot, and missed. Brenda stood frozen. Falling, he saw it all happen frame by frame. He fell on his back, pushing all the air out of his lungs, leaving him breathless. A one-armed zombie jumped on top of him. It smashed its fist against Ralph’s face. It hurt like a motherfucker. Ralph put his arms in front of him, deflecting another blow.

  Boom! Derrick’s shotgun roared. The zombie fell on him motionless. Lauryn rushed to him and pulled him free. “Are you all right?”

  Ralph nodded.

  “Did it bite you?”

  “Don’t worry about that. I’m immune.”

  “Did it bite you?” She stared at him, her eyes searching his body, searching for a bite wound.

  “No, it didn’t. Let’s move out before they catch us.” They ran to the open back door. The zombie must have come in from here. The windows were not broken. They knew to use a door all right. He hoped the others, the slow ones coming in, were not able to.

  Ralph remembered that day they were locked in the storage room, the door handle moving up and down. No, he couldn’t count on that. From behind them, they heard fast footfalls. Another naked zombie closed in in a mad rush.

  “Run,” Ralph yelled.

  Brenda and Lauryn half-carrying Emma ran outside. Derrick was close behind. The sun was rising. Light shone inside. Ralph saw the naked thing pounce, hands like claws stretched out to scratch his face. Its dead face snarled, teeth shinin
g in the sunlight. Its gray skin had steam coming from it. Ralph stepped aside. Grabbed its arm, one hand on its wrist and the other on the upper arm. He swung the zombie outside, pulled his gun, and went after the zombie sprawled in the dirt. The thing screamed as it thrashed in the sunlight. Steam rose from its skin, and it started to burn. Surprised, Ralph stood for a second with his gun pointed at the thing before he shot it in the head, and left it behind. The zombie kept sizzling under the sun. A noise he’d never forget, or the smell of burning skin.

  The zombies came around the corner of the compound at a full trot. One more minute and they would have been unable to flee. There was no stopping now; they had to keep going up and hope they didn’t run into a dead end. Behind them, hundreds of zombies chased them.

  Ralph caught up with Brenda and Lauryn. Emma was tucked between them, wailing, eyes huge with terror. All sense had left the girl.

  “I’ll take care of her. Just catch up with Derrick.” Ralph took over the job dragging Emma along.

  Derrick was ahead of them. He wasn’t looking back, too busy finding a way out. He wasn’t slowing down either. Brenda sprinted after Derrick. Lauryn lingered behind.

  “Go!” Ralph said.

  She hesitated.

  “I’ll be right behind you.”

  Lauryn nodded and ran. Ralph followed as best he could while supporting Emma. It seemed like her legs had turned to jelly, buckling with each step. The moans behind him grew louder, more menacing. He didn’t dare look back. He was lagging behind. If this kept going for another one or two hundred yards, the zombies would catch up to him.

  Ahead, Derrick climbed an incline. Small stones and dirt came down with each step he took. He was about a hundred yards from him. Ralph increased his pace, egging the trembling girl to move faster. Lauryn, noticing he was lagging behind, turned around. Her face grew pale.

  “Keep going. I’ll be all right,” Ralph said.

  She ran toward him, gripped her axe, ran past him, and swung. Ralph glanced over his shoulder in time to see her wrench her axe free from the skull of a zombie barely a few feet behind him. Ten more feet, hundreds were coming in fast. Lauryn grabbed the girl from the other side and together they pulled her into a sprint.