Remains of the Dead

by Iain McKinnon

  Cahz had wanted the woman to go upstairs with the others so that he had a clear run if he had to leave the door. But Cannon and the man called Ryan could be anywhere by now. He thought for a moment of ordering her up the stairs, but what if she missed the two men and went wandering off into the

  building? It was best to keep a close eye on her, keep her under control. That way there’d be no surprises.

  “Okay, lady,” Cahz said in as reassuring a tone as he could muster. “You stay down here with me and we’ll wait for the others to come back.”

  “Samantha had picked out Rebecca or Lucy as girl’s names but I told her to wait and see,” Elspeth said, lost in the child’s gaze. “You were going to be called Emily until the moment the midwife asked if I told…”

  There was a squeak and a thump and they both looked round.

  Pressed against the grubby window, a blurred face peered in. Not much more than a shadow through the dirt smeared glass, the zombie pressed its face and hands to the glass, drawn by the movement and the sounds.

  The thuds from the door were now joined by the slap of dead palms battering against the glass. The thunderous booms of the thumps echoed up the stairwell and the baby redoubled her wailing.

  Against his back, Cahz could feel the constant pounding and now his ears rang with the reverberant thuds of fists on glass.

  A bitter, acidic taste still polluted his mouth. He tried to spit it out but even a further rinse of water couldn’t shift it.

  “What’s keeping them?” he muttered.

  “Will that glass hold?” Elspeth asked nervously. She looked at Cahz for reassurance as she stepped back against the wall.

  “I don’t know,” Cahz admitted in a flat tone.

  He tried to listen for Cannon and Ryan’s movements but it was impossible above the noise of the besieging zombies. He looked at his watch to gauge the time then realised he had no idea when the pair had left. He told himself they’d only been gone a couple of minutes; it was simply the adrenaline and fear that made the time pass more slowly.

  The door behind him still groaned with pressure. Not enough yet to worry him. The pounding wasn’t coordinated but the weight of numbers pressing in was growing. In increments the pressure would build and there would come a moment where he’d have to start pushing back rather than just bracing it. If that happened it wouldn’t take much for him to lose his purchase and for the door to swing open. He decided that would be his point of no return. If the door started to jar open he would abandon this position and try to find a secondary point to hold. But was there such a place in the building?

  “You been in here before?” he asked Elspeth.

  “I don’t know… I don’t think so. They all look alike, these new office blocks.”

  Elspeth was right. Even if she could have given him a detailed plan of the building, he doubted it would be much different from his imagination. Stairwells either side of the elevator shafts, open plan offices on each floor. The only surprises being the ingénues places where the undead would choose to hide.

  “I didn’t do much of the scavenging. Jennifer, George and me would wait outside when the others went in.”

  “That’s fine, lady. We’ll just wait here for the—”

  A loud crash from above cut Cahz’s sentence short. For an instant his muscles tensed, ready to run before he checked himself. He pressed his full weight against the door and listened.

  “What was that?” Elspeth asked.

  “Be quiet,” Cahz whispered.

  Again came the booming crash, closer this time, sharper and less muffled. Elspeth took a step away from the stairs, sliding her back along the wall, trying to distance herself from the sound.

  The dead at the windows and behind the door heard the noise, too. They paused their incessant banging and listened.

  The respite wasn’t long, for within moments a moan rose above the silence and the frantic hammering began anew.

  Long seconds passed in the empty corridor as the sounds of shuffling and groaning grew louder.

  Elspeth looked at Cahz. He could tell from her eyes and nervous curl of her lips that she wanted to say something, anything to break the terror.

  Over the noise of the pounding and the moaning, emanating from the landing, came a snarling.

  Chapter Four

  Des-Res

  “Ali!” Ray screamed.

  Ali was furiously battering the zombies around him—too many for him to pause but Ray kept screaming.

  A hand touched Ali’s shoulder. It was a strangely gentle action, not at all frenzied like the normal clawing. Ali turned, half expecting to see a familiar face, but instead all he saw was the chewed up remains of something that might once have been human. The decrepit cadaver sported ugly chunks torn out of its body like it had been run over by a speed boat, its feeble grasp the result of the disintegrated tissue wrapped around the splintered bones.

  The faceless wretch loomed in to try to bite. Too close for a killer blow, Ali swiped his elbow into its temple. Thrown off balance, the zombie fell, but its fingers clamped shut, trapping a handful of Ali’s jumper. And as the zombie toppled over it dragged Ali with it.

  Ali hit the ground hard.

  It was dark. Only small chinks of light penetrated the thick forest of overhanging dead flesh. Behind him came a satisfied chomp and slurp as a zombie took its fill.

  Ray’s screams were high pitched and childlike in timbre. There were short breaks in the shrieks as Ray guzzled down the air to fuel his cries. Each gulping scream punched into Ali’s chest and crushed his stomach in its tight clench. Ali gasped for breath as the terror laden screams pulsed and climbed an octave. Suddenly the cries became stifled, slipping down to a wet gargle.

  Within moments a gasping and choking was all that remained of Ray’s protests. Gradually even those dull sounds abated until all Ali could hear were the moist smacks of the undead feasting and the agitated moans of those jostling to get their share of the kill.

  A zombie shuffled forward to join the sweet banquet and stamped on Ali’s beard. As it ploughed forward a clump of hair was wrenched from his chin. Ali clamped his lips shut and rode out the pain, desperate to avoid detection.

  The creature, drawn by the smell of blood or the noise of eating or whatever macabre sense drove them, stumbled forward. It kicked at Ali’s thigh before sideling away for its meal.

  Ali slid onto all fours and looked out at the multitude of dead legs ahead of him. There were innumerable zombies in front of him, too many to fight.

  I don’t stand a chance.

  Then it struck him.

  Still on all fours, Ali gingerly eased himself forward.

  I may not be able to stand, but I can sure as hell crawl.

  Ali pushed forward, his head down, shuffling forward on his forearms like some religious supplicant.

  A zombie brushed past him on its way to sup on the feast of Ali’s fallen friends. The corpse’s leg brushed close enough for Ali to smell it. It was the fusty smell of gangrene, a pungent tang that sucked the hope from the air.

  Still edging forward across the broken tarmac of the street, Ali heard something change: the constant beating of chopper blades that had echoed around the dead city. The noise had suddenly shifted pitch.

  Ali wanted nothing more than to stand up and to see what was happening, but he knew he couldn’t. Instead he continued his penance-like crawl.

  He was only a few more inches forward when he collided square on with one of the walking dead.

  Ali froze.

  The zombie brought its left leg even with its right, shins flat against Ali’s head. It nudged forward sheepishly, testing the resistance with its palsied muscles.

  Ali held firm, not moving but not actively resisting either. All he could see were the scuffed rubber toes of a pair of ruined trainers. Once these shoes would have been bright white; now the plastic was torn and stained yellow, the soft leather buried under a layer of filth. An accent of thin red could still
be made out under the grime, and above it a logo that once meant something to the dead man wearing them.

  Inside the zombie’s mind a simple calculation was taking place. All the billions spent on brand recognition, market penetration and mass media brain washing didn’t mean much now, to the living or the dead. Like the brethren of cadavers around him, only the deepest primordial sense remained. Through the stodgy infected brain matter it finally came to the conclusion it had met an impasse. And so after an age, the cadaver pivoted and hobbled away.

  Ali breathed a sigh of relief as he watched the trainers trudge off.

  Shuffling forward himself, he came to a storm drain clogged with rotting vegetation and the flotsam of urban decay. The drain meant he wasn’t far from a building and the possible safety within its walls.

  Past the drain, only a few short metres of pavement and a dozen or so zombies separated Ali from a derelict apartment building. He and his fellow survivors had long ago looted all the surrounding buildings, but Ali hoped he could find sanctuary inside. The doors had all been forced open during their scavenging, and as long as the wood hadn’t swollen shut in the subsequent years he could secure it and take time to think. He just had to crawl to the side of a building and follow it until he found an entrance.

  Ali placed his hand on the kerbstone and eased himself on. Slowly crawling between the zombies, Ali desperately tried to stay calm, fearful his laboured breath would attract attention.

  His concentration was snapped back to the square as the sound of gunfire barked from behind him.

  The helicopter sounded more distant now and he guessed it was airborne.

  But the shots sounded closer than the chopper. That could only mean there were people on the ground—well-armed people. Now an impossible thought clawed its way into his mind. Was there still the chance of a rescue?

  Ali let a smile take control of his lips. There was a way out of this. He just needed to be smart and—

  A bony hand clasped his own. Hauling itself forward with its tattered arms, the legless zombie was at eye level with Ali. The narcotised jaw slumped open to utter a moan. A thick black tongue flicked behind punctured cheeks, but instead of the dry howl nothing came out. No rallying call to alert its fellow undead.

  Ali cast his eyes over the crippled ghoul. It had been dragging itself along for so long that its chest was a ragged pulp of grated flesh. And where the ribcage ended so did the zombie. The docked stub of its spinal column whipped excitedly like a Dobermans stumpy tail. And like an attack dog its teeth were bared.

  The zombie pulled closer. But still there was no wail from its dusty throat, its lungs presumably left behind somewhere along its crawl.

  Ali planted his hands on both sides of the zombie’s head. He grabbed hold of the matted and greasy hair and slammed the creature’s head down with all the force he could muster. The jaw cracked on the curb and a thick slab of knotted hair and scalp ripped free in his grasp. Teeth and bone spilled onto the road followed by thick black ooze. But the bone shattering force had done nothing to deter the monster. It used all its pathetic strength to try to draw closer. Ali dropped the chunk of flesh in his hands and grabbed hold again. Lifting the cadaver up, he thumped the skull down for a second time. With a sharp crack the zombie’s jaw fractured and dislocated, hanging split in two like the mandible of some giant insect. The two halves dangled, anchored to its skull by the infection-wrought mastic muscles. Lashing out between the broken bones, the zombie’s tongue flicked and lapped, seemingly unaware it had lost the ability to bite. As it tried to push forward, Ali clasped its head tight between his thick hands. The creature fixed Ali with an unblinking stare. Its eyes were ice white but they burned with insatiable malice. Again Ali battered the head against the ground and again there was the sickening crack of bone, but still the zombie was animate.

  Before Ali could attack again there was a focused moan from above. The zombies in the crowd had never stopped moaning, but this one was different. Ali and the rest of the survivors had grown used to the constant low groaning, the low moan of frustration as the dead called relentlessly for food. But there was a second type of call, a quicker louder wail when they caught a glimpse of prey. Ali’s ears heard that excited moan. He looked up, knowing he’d been spotted, and as he turned a zombie fell upon him.

  Ali pushed off with his legs and lunged ungracefully away from the attacking zombie. But his clandestine escape had been detected. Above, a circle of zombies had turned their attention to him. As each corpse spotted him they too let out the excited moan. In turn the moan rippled out, drawing more and more in.

  “This is bad,” Ali said as he stumbled to his feet.

  He craned his neck up as if offering his throat to the zombies, and then jumped into the air. With the extra few inches height the pogo afforded him, he could see the doorway into the apartment block just metres away.

  With their customary moans, the zombies pressed in.

  Ali lowered his head and charged. Barging his way past the gathering zombies like a running back, he knocked them flying. With a few pounding steps Ali successfully ploughed his way through the crowd.

  Like most of the buildings near the warehouse, this one had been looted by the survivors. He knew that the door would have been prised open and easy to get into.

  Throwing the last cadaver out of his path, Ali used his momentum to shoulder the dark blue door open. The lock had indeed been jimmied and it flew open with unexpected ease. The door clattered against the entrance wall and swung back. Ali skidded across the slime coated floor and, thrown off kilter, he flailed his arms desperately trying to retain his balance. With no purchase underfoot and too much forward momentum, Ali’s feet slid from under him and he toppled over.

  His knees buckled and he came crashing to the floor, smacking his head against the first step. As the pain from the strike found him so did the returning door. The metal runner on the leading edge slashed down his leg, scoring deep into his shin. The pain burnt out his vision, leaving him blinded in agony.

  A scream burst from his lips as the pain boiled out of him. Like a rallying call, the zombies gurgled back their own tainted response. The light from outside was devoured as the first wave of ragged assailants stumbled for the door. Forced by the mob behind, the lead zombie lost its footing to the pressure and fell. Unlike a living human being, the creature never tore its gaze away from Ali as it fell. It hit the ground chin first, splitting the rotting flesh from the bone. The creature fell just short of Ali. Unconcerned by its injuries it immediately thrust out with its gnarled arms to seize it prey.

  With a primordial scream Ali lashed out with his good leg, battering the zombie away. He backpedalled, kicking as he went scrambling on his backside up the stairs.

  The light from the street outside was rapidly disappearing as the zombies crowded in on the doorway. The zombie that Ali had just battered away was proving an effective, if temporary, barrier. The undead fighting their way in were tripping over themselves, their necrotic brains unable to compensate for the hazards underfoot and the shoves from behind. Once down, their withered limbs proved too weak to pull themselves free of the growing stack.

  Still facing the pileup of dead flesh, Ali eased himself up using the handrail on the stairs. The gash in his leg was bleeding. Thick rivulets of blood trickled down his ankle and pooled amongst the slime on the floor.

  In the close confinement of the hallway the moans of the dead reverberated off the hard walls. The discordant cacophony clawed at Ali’s ears. It was the same chorus of desperation that had surrounded the warehouse but here the walls weren’t muffling the sound. Here the walls were containing them, amplifying them, making the noise infinitely more disturbing.

  Holding onto the handrail, Ali hobbled up the steps. As he turned on the first landing he looked back at the heap of bodies in the hallway. A pair of zombies had untangled themselves from the pile and was making a painful crawl towards the stairs. They would take a while to get themselves upright
and shamble after him. He had a few seconds to think, time to find somewhere defendable and work out a strategy.

  He looked around the stairwell desperately trying to recall when last he was here. Did he remember the layout? Was there another exit? The noise from the dead driving into the building flustered him. He couldn’t think. But he had to act.

  Hands supporting his weight on the banisters, he eased his injured leg onto the floor. Careful to test the pain, he straightened his foot out and planted it on the first sodden carpet tile. A whip of pain shot up from the wound. Ali winced against it but kept his balance. With slow, wary footsteps to avoid slipping in the slimy carpet, he made his way to the first door. The hallway smelt damp and rotten; the crumbling plasterboard walls, the decaying household fabrics all mixed with the unmistakable stench of decomposing flesh.

  Ali tried to listen for the sounds of a trapped zombie up ahead, but the moans from the horde downstairs drowned everything out.

  The door ahead of him was slightly ajar with a strong shaft of golden yellow sunlight visible on the wall inside. Tentatively Ali pushed at the door. It didn’t budge. The wooden frame had warped from the water damage and sat snugly in its jamb. Ali pushed harder and when that didn’t work he took a step back and charged.

  With a screech the distorted door reluctantly swung open a few degrees. Ali wedged his good leg into the opening and levered his body against the door, and with a series of short shoves he managed to push the door far enough to squeeze in.

  The apartments hallway led off ahead for a few metres. The wooden flooring was strewn with the former owner’s possessions, a woman’s blouse, a black kitten heeled shoe, a hairdryer, its red plastic case cracked open exposing the hard mechanical innards, and a dozen other innocuous remnants. The dank smell was stronger here.

  Ali resisted the natural urge to call out, “anyone home?” as he inched forward.

  The corridor lead into what looked like a dining/living room from Ali’s narrow view. Between here and there were three closed doors. He decided to ignore the closed doors and check out the living room. He stalked through the debris, trying in vain to stay quiet when every footfall made the warped wooden floor groan.