by Jeff Olah
Ahead, he was able to make out the silhouetted outline of an intersecting hall. He paused near the right side and narrowed his eyes. For a moment, he thought he’d seen a flicker of light rebounding off the glossy floor twenty feet ahead, but he imagined it may have been his mind just seeing what it wanted to see.
Another five paces and he was stopped in his tracks. He initially figured the footsteps he was hearing were his own and that the second set were simply echoes due to the stark silence that befell the interior. But after the second set continued on, he was certain that it was something else.
Stopped again and only a few feet from the next hall, he would shortly come face to face with whoever or whatever it was. Boone dropped his voice to just above a whisper. “Ethan?”
No response. Only now there was the sound of something being dragged and a deep rhythmic guttural moan.
Run back the way he’d come or take advantage of the fact that he was virtually hidden in the darkened hall? He had the element of surprise, but without anything other than his two hands for defense, he didn’t necessarily like his odds. He’d been in worse situations—that was a fact; however, his lack of sleep over the previous three nights had him second-guessing himself.
One step back and tucking his right shoulder into the wall, Boone called out once again, this time with a bit more volume. “Ethan … that you?”
“No.”
Boone’s heart pounded against the inside of his chest. He thought he recognized the voice, but it didn’t seem possible. There were more than eight ways from the south end of the school to the gym and this wasn’t one of them.
“Griff?”
Without pause, the low gravelly voice again shot out of the darkness. “How ‘bout a little help?”
Out into the intersecting hall, Boone cupped his hands over his eyes and waited for them to adjust. He was only able to make out the first three steps leading to the floor above and what appeared to be Griffin leaning into the wall.
“Why are you here?” Boone asked as he ran to his friend. “What are you doing this far from the gym?”
Griffin took a half step forward and nearly toppled over. He was limping, his left leg instinctively curled back. The two black duffles sat on the ground, one on his left and one on his right. He pushed himself away from the wall and reached for the handles. “We have to get outside.”
Boone shook his head and then pulled the bags away from Griffin, slinging them up onto his shoulders. “What the hell happened to you? And again, what are you doing on this end of the school?”
Griffin looked toward the far end of the hall and placed his left foot on the floor. He slowly leaned away from his right side and increased the weight on his injured leg. Then quickly switching back to his right, he nodded to Boone. “I can work with this, but if we get into trouble, don’t wait for me.”
“What the hell happened to you?”
Starting forward, one slow awkward step at a time, Griffin smiled. He reached into the bag on Boone’s right shoulder and pulled free a mini flashlight. Switching it on, he winced as he again transferred his weight between his left and right leg. “First set of stairs fifty feet back, I think. I don’t know. It was one of the short ones, five or six steps. I missed the first one and blew out my ankle.”
Boone needed to ask, but didn’t necessarily want to hear the answer. What this one thing meant to the survival of not only the two of them, but also the ripple effect it could have going forward could not be understated.
“Is it broken?”
“I don’t think so.” Griffin again sucked in a quick breath. “But we do need to move, gotta get back to the others.”
Even with the hall now doused in illumination, Boone was a bit disoriented. “You got any idea how to get back?”
Griffin had started into a rhythm. Stagger left then back to the right, stagger left, back to the right. He stared straight ahead with his jaw locked down tight and the scowl he wore told Boone that the pain was much worse than he was letting on.
As they reached the end of the long corridor Boone came to a stop. Their pace had dropped off and Griffin now had to use the wall as a crutch. He was on the brink of toppling to the floor with each step forward.
Boone set the bags on the floor, asked Griffin to wait and then checked the intersecting halls to the left and to the right. When he returned, he got close and looked up into his friend’s eyes. Without blinking, he pointed back to the right and said, “That’s it, that’s where we need to go?”
Griffin nodded.
“Okay, but we’re doing it my way.”
Boone took up the first duffle and pulled Griffin’s right arm out away from his body. He moved to place it on Griffin’s shoulder, but the bigger man turned away. “Seriously, you can’t go another sixty seconds?”
“Trust me, that’s not the problem”
Boone placed the strap of the first bag over Griffin’s shoulder and then from the opposite side placed the second bag. The straps now crisscrossing over Griffin’s chest, Boone slipped under his friend’s left arm and pushed aside the bag.
A look of confusion started across Griffin’s face as Boone took the flashlight and urged him away from the wall. “Let’s go.” Before Griffin had a chance to protest, Boone reached to his lower back, took ahold of his belt and allowed him to take the weight off his left side.
With Boone taking the burden of Griffin’s injury, the pair moved in an awkward, but slightly more efficient manner. They resembled partners thrown together in a three-legged race, with the singular goal of staying upright and moving forward however possible.
Boone pointed the flashlight to a spot twenty feet ahead. “We’re going out through the performing arts center?”
“That’s the only place left that—”
Out of the open doorway to the left, the pair was broadsided by what felt like an out-of-control freight train. A group of four Feeders lunged at Boone as he released his grip on Griffin and pushed him forward.
Boone hit the floor, landing on his side and dislocating his right shoulder. This wasn’t the first time he’d suffered this same fate; however, it was never quite as painful. Nor was it due to being attacked by a group looking to end his life.
As the air was forced from is lungs and he fought to take a breath, the largest of the group of four—a former tow truck driver missing a large portion of his face—dropped onto Boone’s chest, pushing him into the wall at his back.
The flashlight flipped end over end as it skipped off the floor and came to rest with its narrow beam focused on Boone’s head and neck. He blinked rapidly and attempted to bring his arms out from under the beast as it clawed its way up to his face. He tried to turn away and gagged as the former tow truck driver wrapped its meaty hand around his throat.
Griffin dropped the duffles and cursed as he fought to remain upright. He grabbed the weapon from his hip, chambered a round and reached for the flashlight, although in the time it took him to line up a shot, a second Feeder had climbed atop Boone.
Gritting his teeth, Griffin pushed away from the wall and started to limp back toward Boone. “DAMN IT … NOOOOO!”
This wasn’t how Boone pictured it ending, and although he still didn’t feel as though he’d become one of them, he also wasn’t ready to die. He’d done things in his former life that he wasn’t proud of, many things that he could never erase from his memory, things he could never tell the others.
Boone was ashamed of the man who he used to be, the man who cornered Ethan in that parking lot in Las Vegas. The man who used a child for leverage. He hated who he was and to some degree, even believed that this was exactly what he deserved.
The large man leaning over Boone clamped down and without much effort, tore a six inch hole from the center of his throat. The monster placed its free hand over Boone’s face and tossed the meaty flesh into its mouth, letting out a celebratory growl. It fought with the others now clawing at Boone’s chest and legs, slowly turning its head towar
d Griffin.
Boone instantly stopped struggling and although he was left without the ability to speak, he locked eyes with Griffin and offered a short nod. As fast as the attack had happened, it was now over. There would be no long goodbyes, no more time to share stories or commiserate over the problems of this new world. He was gone.
With four quick headshots Griffin eliminated the small group of Feeders and leaned into the wall over the man he’d met only a month before. He then pointed the flashlight toward the opposite end of the hall, into the room over his right shoulder, and finally back toward the scene at his feet.
Taking a moment to steady himself, Griffin moved the weapon over Boone’s forehead. There was never a way to determine if those who’d been attacked would return. He hated this part, but realized it to be necessary. “I’m sorry … I really am.” He then closed his eyes, and pulled the trigger.
23
Ethan couldn’t see beyond the wall of Feeders that had come in off the street. They now blocked his view of what was left of the yard and appeared to have doubled their numbers in the span of just a few minutes. His friends were out here, of that he was certain. Now he only needed to locate them. Well that, and somehow manage to find a way around the swelling horde.
Out onto the asphalt and his head on a swivel, his attempt at outrunning the group that had come for him was beginning to look like an absolute failure. Some part of him knew that before he’d even leapt from the window, although that didn’t matter now. That was the past and Ethan was done living in that toxic neighborhood. Now he had only two choices—run or die.
There was also gunfire. Some behind him and some coming from the street. The intensity had increased as he ran from the building, but it didn’t sound close enough that he needed to be concerned. It sounded as if the man who blew in the front door of the school was now fighting with his own people.
As a section of the crowd ahead—maybe twenty or so—broke off from the main group, Ethan had a bad feeling. The three out in front had taken notice of him scampering away from the window and now had started toward him. Three Feeders alone wouldn’t usually pose much of a problem; however, he was blocked in on two sides by buildings and as the trio marched toward him, they were gathering followers.
Ethan took a few strides back to get a wide angle on his surroundings and quickly came to the conclusion that he was screwed. No way to go back and with nearly two dozen Feeders less than five seconds away, he was going to have to fight.
Acting on instinct alone, Ethan ran toward the crowd. He moved left and reached for the arm of one of the larger beasts, a man still dressed in his blue sport coat, and moving a step slower than the others. Ethan used the man’s size against him as he tugged him to the ground and stepped quickly to the side.
Momentarily out of the way, Ethan watched as the next two stumbled over the first and created a sort of domino effect that took down a total of six.
With a moment to breathe, Ethan looked over his shoulder and saw that there was now less than ten feet to the building at his back. He had to somehow get them moving in the opposite direction.
He eyed the next wave and picked out another one of the larger, more slowly moving creatures. A heavy-set woman, who must have been in her early thirties and if her shirt was to be believed, she was once the basketball coach at the very school he was trying to escape.
As he started toward her, another group of four closed off his only escape route to the left and Ethan was again forced to take a step back. He kept his eyes on the woman straight ahead and looked for another way, anything he may have missed. He wasn’t ready to give up, but he also was clearly out of options.
Ethan reached for the woman’s arm just as he was hit from the right and thrown to the ground. He clawed his way back toward the building as the Feeder who knocked him off his feet dropped to the asphalt and crawled after him.
He rolled onto his left side and kicked up, making contact with the Feeder’s chest and throwing it onto its back. And as Ethan scrambled to his feet, he thought he heard his name shouted from somewhere in the distance.
“MR. ETHAN!”
From his knees, Ethan peered through the crowd and saw a miniature pair of legs sprinting toward him. For a moment, the image confused him. He was unsure of what exactly it was that he was looking at. But then when it hit him, it came all at once.
Zach.
Before Ethan was back on his feet, the young boy had begun pushing through the back of the horde. At first the crowd didn’t appear to notice him squeezing through. He moved with such speed and agility that Ethan even had a hard time keeping track of his movements.
“ZACH, NO … GO BACK!”
One by one, the eight-year old pushed his way to the middle of the pack, to an opening at the center, the eye of the infected storm. And when Zach finally came to a stop, those surrounding him turned away from Ethan and looked down at the young child as if confused.
A few started toward Zach only to stop, look around at nothing in particular, and then step away. They’d approached, seemed to sniff at the air surrounding the boy, and then simply moved on in the opposite direction.
Ethan took a half step forward, again gaining the attention of the closest of the horde, and paused. The large woman in the official school t-shirt lunged at him and snagged the sleeve of his left arm. She stumbled over her own feet and as she fell, she pulled him off balance.
Ethan staggered toward her and as he pulled away another much smaller female wrapped herself around his right ankle. She couldn’t have weighed more than ninety pounds, but she was much faster than the others. Her close-fitting three-quarter sleeve blouse tore as she pulled at his pant leg, attempting to bring his ankle in close to her mouth.
Straight ahead and now not more than fifteen feet away, Zach dropped his head and stared down at the asphalt as he walked slowly toward Ethan. Again, the crowd only took a passing interest in him, no more than any of the others they’d walked the streets with for the last forty-seven days.
“ZACH, WHAT ARE YOU DOING, RUN!”
Was he dreaming again? Why had the crowd turned away from Zach, and how did the eight-year old know this would happen? He didn’t look scared and although he continued to walk slowly only looking at the ground, there was something in the way his young friend moved that told Ethan this wasn’t the first time this had happened.
Ethan kicked free of the small female and as Zach cleared the final three Feeders, he hurried to his side and reached for his hand.
“Mr. Ethan, we have to go.”
He took the boy’s hand, looked out over the crowd, and stepped away from the former basketball coach. Ethan instinctively pulled Zach in behind him and darted left, narrowly avoiding the bloodied hands of the smaller female on the ground.
They were coming faster now, and with his back literally against a wall, it was over. There was nowhere to run and although the enraged crowd didn’t appear to have any interest in Zach, Ethan wasn’t so lucky.
A pair of Feeders—both roughly his size—broke away from the others and came at him from the left. He pushed Zach aside and took the hit dead on. He was forced backward and off his feet, his head skipping off the wall and his hands taking the weight of his upper body.
“ZACH, GO!”
Sliding down to the ground, Ethan watched over his right shoulder as Zach stood staring back at him.
“RUN DAMN IT!”
Zach didn’t move, but he did turn away as something to his right now caught his attention.
Ethan’s head felt light and his vision began to blur as he was dragged forward. He tried to push back at the impending darkness, but he was slipping. He blinked rapidly and his heart raced as the two Feeders tore at his legs and waist. He twisted right, took a wild swing but came away with nothing but air.
Now there were voices. Not far off, but also not close enough that he could make them out. He breathed deep and tried to slide backward only to be pulled closer. His legs were going numb, a
s were his arms. He could feel himself falling, dropping into the dark hole of unconsciousness, but couldn’t understand why. The strike to the back of his head hadn’t felt unusually catastrophic, but the feeling was familiar.
He was breathing more rapidly now and began to notice that he was pouring sweat from his hairline. He swallowed hard and as he again tried to pull his arms free, one of the two Feeders climbing atop him brought its meaty hand down on his stomach. Before Ethan could reach up and bat it away, the beast was able to get a handful of his shirt and tear away a wide swatch from his sternum to his belly.
A buzzing began in Ethan’s ears as he looked out through the forest of arms and legs, and saw Zach being pulled away. With his right hand now free, he took another halfhearted swing and this time he struck the Feeder in the side of the head. It sent a spike of pain up through his right arm, but it did nothing to quell the attack.
With his world fading, faster with each second that passed, they were back. The voices from somewhere in the distance, but now closer. And he recognized them, just not their names.
“ETHAN … ETHAN.”
He wanted to respond. He wanted to fight. He wanted to push away from his cramped position up against the unforgiving brick wall. But he couldn’t. He was again slipping. And this time as he tried to call out, his words caught in his throat. Then everything—all at once—went dark.
24
Griffin switched off the flashlight, set it carefully in the bag and leaned back into the wall. Three feet away he was reminded of just how unpredictable this life had become. There were no longer any certainties. No more plans to be made. No reason to set goals or want to accomplish anything. No weight to lose. No gym memberships and no social media. Well, that last part he didn’t care too much for anyhow, but now he found himself beginning to forget what life used to be, as if everything before forty-seven days ago was simply a dream.
