I took a quick look around the lobby. A security desk, a metal sign post with a sign that said, “Show ID” and a fake potted tree. That was it.
The rattling of the door handle started to get some unwanted attention. Two more of the creatures lumbered over to our building. Mr. Cul-de-sac was backing away from the glass, his eyes wide with fear. The janitors started to fight over the broom handle. They decided to break it in half. The dip shits screwed it up though, creating one side that was much smaller than the other was. As they fought over who got which piece, a few more creatures crowded around the glass door.
Most of the people just stood still, watching as the dead started to push on the glass. Kyle walked over to the “Show ID” sign and broke the rod off, creating a nice 4-foot metal weapon.
I took off my suit coat and threw it on the floor. They were coming and we fucking knew it.
Patty, the HR Clerk, let out a scream when the glass finally gave out. The Dead flooded through the shattered door and spread through the small lobby. I watched as the janitors charged the horde as if it was a fucking bar fight; punching, brawling, and hitting them over the heads with their makeshift weapons. Not terribly effective. A creature bit right through one of their uniformed arms. That janitor plopped to the floor, stunned, as he watched the zombie throw his arm, still holding half a mop handle, towards me. It left a smear of blood across the polished floor stopping just at my feet.
Mr. Cul-de-sac used the diversion as an escape. He took off towards the elevator. I’ll never really know if he intentionally set those two idiots off to die so he could save his own ass. I don’t know if it even really matters.
Most of the leaders in our world are in it for themselves. A sad truth those two idiots learned with their lives, and one that I would learn myself in the weeks ahead.
Our group was ripe for the picking. Weakness embedded into our very fabric. Any sort of primal survival instincts were bred out of most of our gene pool long ago. On the other hand, the survival instinct is a bitch of a thing. When everything was said and done, it was little Patty, the HR clerk, who put up the biggest fight.
As the others in the room all but stood there as the horde ripped them apart, I watched in amazement as she rolled towards the potted plant and tore the small plastic tree from its base. She was throwing and flinging that thing around, knocking the lifeless mass of creatures back.
Just before two of the bastards tripped her up and tore into the soft flesh on her neck, I remember thinking that if more of us had put up the fight that little Patty did, we might have made it out that front door.
In fact, we had all taken a very specific test that first day. That test was pass or fail.
My test was when two of the Dead knocked me down onto my back, and then pulled me through the lobby by my feet as I kicked, struggled and fought for life. With a deadly precision, Kyle took one of them out with the metal rod he was wielding. The second one pinned me down when my test happened. Adrenaline shooting through my veins, I gripped the broomstick from the clutches of the dead janitor’s arm, and thrust it forward, driving it toward the creature’s face. The wood struck the eye socket bone, reverberating all the through my body. My hand thudded against the zombie’s face and I involuntarily jerked back, withdrawing the broomstick. It pulled out, creating an audible pop as the eye ripped from the socket. The creature dropped to the floor in its own dark pool of bloody mess. I shoved myself backwards to get out from underneath it and panted heavily. Feeling a cold sweat sliding down my back, I realized that I had destroyed that thing.
I had passed the test.
I was a killer.
Chapter 3
When it’s all on the line, we have to make the hard choices. Sometimes they work out, but sometimes they don’t.
I was still sitting on the floor, not trusting my legs to hold me up. I was trembling violently, gripping on to the broomstick for dear life. Kyle grabbed me by my shirt collar and started dragging me towards the elevator. He was covered in blood, not his.
I scrambled wildly for my footing when I heard commotion behind us. I twisted around as my shoe skid through a patch of blood, finding my boss standing above me. We both stopped as I finally got to my feet. We made eye contact. For a moment, I could have sworn I saw a glimpse of recognition in his eyes as he reached out to grab me.
A dark splatter of blood shot across the elevator door, as Kyle took a hard swing that literally sent the metal pole crashing right through his skull. The zombie’s body thudded completely lifeless to the floor. I nodded to Kyle as I reached down and unclenched my fat boss’s dead fingers from around the Hummer keys. I didn’t have a car, and he wouldn’t be needing his anymore.
“Thanks for three great years,” I let slip out.
The elevator dinged, and we jumped in, watching the door close just as the rest of the zombie horde charged toward it. We could hear the heavy thumps as they ran into it. An audible scream from the lobby let us know that they were still finishing off some of our group. Nothing could be done, I told myself. Nothing could be done.
We headed straight for the top of the building. Standing just seven stories tall, it was far from the tallest building in New York. The elevator only went to the sixth floor, and we had to take a set of steep, dark stairs to the rooftop. The sun was starting to set as we pushed open a metal door, which led to the fresh air atop the roof.
Mr. Cul-de-sac spun around, holding a makeshift club that he had created from a broken office chair. He was clearly surprised to see us, or anybody for that matter. He looked guilty, as if he’d done something wrong. We didn’t exchange any words, just glared in each other’s directions for a moment before going our separate ways.
I followed Kyle over to the edge of the building, peering over. There were dozens of those things roaming the streets. I was still trying to get my shit together, breathing a little easier to avoid passing out. A noise behind us made my heart leap into my throat and I spun around. Mr. Cul-de-sac was jamming another piece of the broken chair between the door handle and a metal pipe by the door, buying us some time in case those things figured out how to climb stairs. This proved to be the smartest thing that I ever saw him do, but in the end, it didn’t work for shit.
Walking around the perimeter, we looked for some sort of fire escape. No such luck. However, we did learn that there was a parking garage right next to us. A narrow alley filled with garbage cans and trash bags stood between our building and a possible escape. With the right wind and a little luck, we might be able to make it, if it came down to that. Exploring all options, even the suicidal ones.
We stood silently on the roof for what seemed like an eternity, watching the mayhem below. Things would be quiet, and then all of a sudden, there would be an eruption of screams and crashes as the dead found their next victims.
Mr. Cul-de-sac was standing near the door when we heard what sounded like large artillery fire. It was in the distance, as if it was coming from the middle of the city. Flashes from the streets were lighting up buildings. It was surreal. The army boys were putting up a good fight. We could see four helicopters flying above the war zone. A couple of them looked like green military choppers; the other two looked more like news helicopters.
Kyle was commenting about the caliber of the bullets when we noticed that the streets were beginning to clear. Like mice following the scent of cheese, the mindless creatures began moving in the direction of the noise. While the fight raged on, Mr. Cul-de-sac mentioned something about waiting for help, a slightly different tactic than he was talking about in the lobby.
Kyle speculated about what the army was doing. Something about laying down a steady stream of munitions fire. Pausing for a bit, waiting for the streets to fill back up with zombies, then lighting them up again. Made sense, but it was all a guess.
It was getting darker out, the sun low behind the buildings. We decided to sit tight on ours. None of us wanted to go wandering around in the dark.
I don’t know i
f part of the power grid was down, or if people were too afraid to turn on their lights. Were there even any people left to turn them on? With the exception of the stoplights rhythmically changing colors, there were really no other electric lights running in the area. However, the army’s constant barrage of artillery and the fires blazing rampantly down below created plenty of visibility.
Slipping my hand into my pocket, I decided to turn off my phone. I needed to conserve as much battery power as possible. I turned and slid my back down the wall to the stairwell. I was still numb, not wanting to think about what might lie ahead. Kyle joined me, making a comment about needing a break. I glanced up as Mr. Cul-de-sac was wandering hesitantly over. Reluctantly moving, making room for him, I realized we might have safety in numbers.
As the three of us sat there, I learned that Mr. Cul-de-sac's name was actually Ron Chauffer. He was a CEO of an insurance company that dealt in catastrophic events like hurricanes and earthquakes. He made some snide remarks about how his company wouldn’t be covering this event when the claims came flooding in.
Lucky us, I thought repulsively. Stuck on this roof with a real special son of a bitch.
Chauffer eventually fell asleep, curled up with his chair leg. Kyle and I stayed awake, watching the glow from the streets.
His thoughts were on his military service. He explained to me how he decided to enlist as soon as he was able. He didn’t have any family to speak of, except for an estranged father who lived somewhere in San Francisco. He seemed indifferent about whether he was alive or dead. I didn’t know whether the indifference was toward his father, or himself. And I didn’t press for a reason.
Jersey was his home because it was too expensive to live in the city. Not anymore, I thought to myself, as I glanced out towards the glow from the firefight.
Deciding not to share too much about myself at that point, I exchanged the basic story about how I was up in New York on business. Talked a little about my wife, Jenn, still in Atlanta, and that I needed to figure out how to get back to her.
When I mentioned Atlanta, Kyle turned toward me and said that he spent six months stationed at Fort Gordon in Augusta, a city on the Georgia and South Carolina borders, about two hours east of Atlanta. They would fly out of the Hartsfield-Jackson Airport in Atlanta from time to time, and some of his best buddies were still stationed down there.
He told me a story about how one year; three of them went to Atlanta to watch the peach drop during New Year’s Eve. Too much celebrating, and a shit ton of drinks later, landed one of the guys in bed with three prostitutes. According to Kyle, it was the best night of the guy’s life.
It gave us a good laugh, and helped break the tension and fear of the day. We both sat in silence for a while, watching and listening to the firefight raging several blocks away.
I just lay there, nervously playing with my wedding ring. My wife would always yell at me for fidgeting with the thing. I tended to play with it when things got tense. I’d say the last few days or so counted. Facing the sky in and out of consciousness for most of the night, I noticed a mask of dark smog covered the stars. From time to time, the cloud cover would pass by just right, revealing a nearly full moon. I finally fell into a deep sleep in the early morning hours, the dead were still roaming around in my dreams.
When the sun began to peek through the buildings, it became evident what we had to work with on the roof. Chauffer had stumbled across a red toolbox while taking a piss in the middle of the night, and pulled it over to where we were sleeping. We figured someone had abandoned it while fixing the nearby satellite tower, which stood roughly ten feet tall at the peak of the roof, when the carnage started below.
In the early morning, Kyle had worked out a plan to use the tools to unbolt the tower, and use it to bridge the gap between the office building we sat on and the parking garage next door. Between the three of us, we were confident that we’d be able to pull it down. While it would be close, it looked just long enough to reach all the way to the other side of the alley.
While Kyle and Chauffer started to work the screws, I took a survey of the streets. The sun was fully over the horizon, making it easy to see the destruction. We could still hear the gunshots in the distance, reminding us of the battle raging just blocks away.
There were still creatures in the streets. For the most part, they were unorganized, and seemed to be scavenging. I noticed that they didn’t appear to be moving terribly fast, certainly not running as we had seen yesterday afternoon. I figured that the majority of the undead were still drawn to the noise of the firefight.
To the south, I could see the waterfront of Battery Park, where tourists could catch the ferry to go see the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island. Chauffer was right; we really were not that far away. Once past those couple of blocks of car-filled streets, it’s nothing but an open grassy park.
Kyle came up beside me, his gaze following mine. We could see boats moving up and down the river. One of them appeared to be docking and taking up passengers.
“There can’t possibly be a ferry service still running,” Kyle muttered in disbelief. My thoughts exactly.
We watched as the barely visible drivers jumped off the ferry and set up a small perimeter at the water’s edge. As people rushed for the boat, the drivers would provide coverage with short bursts of gunfire until they were on board safely.
So close, but so far away, I thought, looking down at the street as more zombies emerged. Chauffer caught my attention.
“If this thing is bigger than just New York, we gotta head for the country. Less populated, means less of these things.”
Nodding in agreement, I said, “Yeah. We just have to find a way to get there. Lots of populated ground to cover before we hit Sticksville, USA.”
Kyle lifted his chin a little, not committing either way. He asked me to give them a hand, and prodded me to stand below the small metal tower. He and Chauffer would lower it to me. Catching it at the top, I was surprised to feel how light it was. Probably some sort of titanium metal. It was a foot and a half wide at my end, a little wider on the opposite end, with a ladder running up the entire length.
Chauffer snorted sharply, “Is this thing going to be sturdy enough?”
His question was an echo of my own. I hoped we wouldn’t have to find out.
“Finally, a lucky break,” Kyle said as we slid the tower in place. It was just long enough to fit between the rooftop and the parking garage.
Admiring our work, I reached down for a hammer that was in the tool kit. It had a traditional wood handle, with an over-sized metal head. Clearly, it had seen its fair share of nails. It felt comfortable, as if specifically made for my hand. I hung it in my belt.
Little did I know that the hammer would save my ass more than once.
Chapter 4
The enemy of my enemy isn’t always my friend.
The gunfire had gotten louder, drawing our attention back to it. The army had pulled out the heavy artillery. Immediate booms followed sharp cracks. Dust and fire were visible in the air above the war zone. Kyle was staring in that direction. I scrutinized his expression, hoping to learn what plan he might be conjuring.
We all spun around at the racket in the building across the street from us. One of the windows on a floor a few stories up was cracked, spider webbing like ice. Suddenly, a chair flew through it and crashed to the street below. My heart raced wildly as a woman rushed to the window ledge. Her screams were audible even as she turned back into the room.
Seconds later, she turned and leaped. Her black dress flapped in the air as she fell to a certain death. Two of those things followed her. Their arms waved frantically as they plummeted to the earth, landing with three consecutive thumps. No pause, no care for their own lives; these were the creatures that we faced in the streets below. I felt the vomit in the back of my throat as we watched a group of the undead crawl through the splattered remains.
My thoughts went back to watching the news on 9/11. People
trapped in the towers were jumping from the windows and rooftops of the burning buildings. When faced with certain death, people will do anything to escape, while the whores of network television will show anything to get a bump in the ratings.
Chauffer began pacing around the rooftop, glancing over at our makeshift bridge. What was that bastard up to?
The artillery fire was closer, almost deafening. Kyle was muttering about the army boys finishing them off as they made their valiant last stand against the abominations. We watched in utter silence as one of the larger buildings several streets away begin to shift.
“Oh my God,” Chauffer squeaked, wringing his hands. I barely heard him. No doubt weakened by shellfire, the skyscraper swayed back and forth a few times before we saw dust and debris shoot up all around it. The rumbling shook our entire building, shook us to our very cores. The entire thing came crashing down in slow motion, reverberating and ricocheting off the surrounding buildings. The dust cloud was carried away from us but it still left the air thick.
Then silence. The firefight was over.
Reaching into my pocket, I clutched my phone with my cold, clammy hand. I could hear my heart thudding in my eardrums. Taking a deep exaggerated breath, I finally pulled out the cell phone and turned it on. Still zero bars. Was it over? Did we win? The thoughts plagued me.
We continued to stare in the direction of the ruins for what seemed like an eternity. Then we saw them. They were dressed in military gear, heading our way. Chauffer let out a whoop in relief.
“We won!” he yelled. I was a bit slower to share his enthusiasm, but let the grip on my phone ease ever so slightly.
Kyle was the first to notice it.
“Wait a minute. Wait a minute!” he snapped, still glaring down at them. Chauffer and I quieted and turned to see what he was going on about. The uniformed soldiers were moving erratically. There was no gunfire at the monsters still below us either. As they moved through the streets, nobody put up a fight. We watched in disbelief as the dead soldiers simply absorbed the rest of the creatures, adding them to their ranks of this literal army of the dead.
900 Miles: A Zombie Novel Page 2
