A Spring of Sorrow

by Arthur Mongelli

  After a few minutes, the sounds of the undead piling up and slamming on the heavy doors started growing.

  “Lin, you have to move away from the doors with the baby,” she urged. “It's just going to keep drawing them to us if it keeps screaming like that.”

  Nala began moving whatever furniture she could manage to further bolster the defense that the heavy doors offered. She finally moved away from the ramshackle pile of end tables and dorm beds once the windows inset into the doors were blocked, hoping that if they remained quiet that the undead would move on.

  *

  Will caught up to Tim at the edge of the lot and the two men immediately made a beeline for the building, cutting across a wide swath of grass and conifers on the east side of the lot. They made their way uphill through rocky pine woodlands across the half-mile gap that lay in between them and the clinic. That half-mile took much longer than they anticipated. It took some time for them to find a place to cross a narrow but deep creek and they had to backtrack numerous times to find a more manageable way up the rocky slope that led up top to the driveway. As they drew closer to the clinic they shot many nervous glances in the direction of the road below. It was gradually filling with the chaos of fleeing people and the pursuing undead. As hard as the climb was, neither of them mentioned the idea of taking the main road.

  The situation in Donner seemed to be deteriorating quickly, lending a sense of urgency as they climbed the rocky slope. The sound of roars split the air and the low moans of the slow undead drifted over to them between blaring blasts from the siren. Though, with the blood pumping in their ears and the pained grunts and groans of exertion, they were fairly oblivious to any of the sounds. The final climb up the coarse stone took nearly fifteen minutes and required their total concentration, lest they slide back to the bottom in a hail of fist sized chunks of rock. When they finally crested the slope, the air-raid siren sounded weirdly one last time and died out altogether.

  When the persistent drone of the siren faded, they could hear the sounds of moaning and many shuffling and scraping feet from just above them. Both men froze and looked at one another with their eyes wide with panic. Tim struggled forwards on his stomach until he could see the roadway from beneath the guardrail. The two-lane drive that led the last fifty yards to the clinic was heavy with the forms of the undead. He let his eyes drift down the length of the access road, back to where it met the main road. From the vantage on top of the hill he was able to get an idea of the scope and scale of the town and the disaster it was undergoing.

  Tim could see for the first time that the area that the people of Donner had been able to secure was massive. If the fires raging far to the west indicated the far end of town, he immediately understood why so many thousands of people were waiting to get inside. The view also gave them an idea of the extent of the attack. The undead seemed to be everywhere in the town below. Hundreds of them, staggering around, some with purpose, some aimlessly milling about. The screams of terror and pain came from all about. As he was turning back to Will, he spotted something directly below them. At the base of the climb that had taken them so long to mount, a handful of undead milled about. Their heads were turned upwards, staring at the two with their milky eyes, reaching and mouthing hungrily just thirty feet below. Will followed Tim's horrified gaze, and with his own recognition of their predicament, the fear settled on his face also.

  *

  Hearing a heavy slapping thump from behind as he hurdled a run of barbed wire fence, Yen decided to take a chance and fight when it seemed like it might be a one-on-one. He glanced over his shoulder and took measure of the scene. One of the two undead still giving chase had gotten hung up on the barbed wire and was lying face down on the ground. Its leg was suspended in the air, twisted between two strands of the wire. The other undead bore down on him on the near side of the fence. He was reaching the end of his endurance and knew he needed to take a chance. He cut sharply to the right, coming around in a spin. He stopped, crouched and at the ready. He had no chance for cautious evaluation as the sole remaining pursuer roared and dove in at him. Its milky eyes showed no emotion. Its hungry mouth came in, aimed towards his stomach. Its arms were splayed wide to wrap him up.

  Yen faked left and jumped right, barely moving clear. The undead thing's hand slapped him on his hip as it lunged past, collapsing face down into the muck. With a nervous sound coming unbidden from his lips, he leapt atop the thrashing, snarling thing. He drove its face deep into the thick, wet spring mud with his hand gripping the back of its neck. He knew he couldn't drown it, but he also knew that there was no better place for him to have the rabid thing's hungry maw than in the thick, viscous muck. He stared at the blade of the pocketknife for a long moment, trying to figure out the best place to stab the undead. He knew that the blade would never make it through the skull, so he figured his best option would be eyes. Those were six inches down into the muck and there was no way he was going to let it pull free.

  Seeing no other available options, he carefully slid the blade into the back of its head, upwards from where the spine meets the skull. The thing stopped its thrashing almost immediately, but Yen waited there for the span of a dozen heartbeats, holding it in place. He was a bit nervous that the three inch blade wasn't enough to get the job done and wanted to make sure the thing was dead before releasing his grip. Finally, spurred on by the sounds of the other one furiously struggling to pull free of the fence, he stood and pulled the knife free. He stepped cautiously away, spinning to face the other one. It still hung from its ankle from the fence while its upper body crawled and pulled relentlessly forwards, digging deep furrows in the mud as it tried to continue pursuit.

  He wiped the mud and moisture off his hands and the handle of the blade as he crept cautiously into range of the other one. Its fury redoubled as he neared, wrenching and heaving itself to get at him. Yen waited just out of its reach like a poised snake. All at once he struck, moving in with a solid stomp to the side of its head before coming down with his weight fully atop its back. He shoved its face down into the muck and repeated the killing blow from the first one. The undead dispatched, Yen stood, shivering from the cold and his wet, muddy clothing. His breath erupted in great plumes of steam in front of him.

  Yen cleaned the knife and his hands in a standing puddle in the mire before turning to scan his surroundings. His eyes panned across the pastures both near and far, watching around intently as dozens of the fast ones propelled themselves eastward and the writhing mass of slow undead inched further into the protected areas. He took an extra few moments to catch his breath, making sure that no more of the things were coming after him before starting off to the northeast. Gunfire started to sound to the east, lighting the fires of desperation in him. He needed to get to his people and get them out of Donner as quickly as possible.

  Nearly twenty minutes later he staggered up the drive that led to Harold's house. His stride trudged and dragged with the added weight of a few pounds of mud that covered his feet and lower legs. Upon seeing the empty driveway, his hopes were dashed that somehow Harold had made it out alive. He slammed on the window of the workshop door and two sets of scared eyes drifted out of the darkness, moving towards the door. Yen beckoned and tried the knob, only to find it locked. As Mark twisted the bolt and opened the door, Yen spoke, belching out the words and moving off without waiting for a response.

  “Time to go. Get your shit and follow me, now.” Then he was off in the mist and gloom, moving to the barn.

  When he drifted out of sight Amber started babbling.

  “What did he mean? Go where? I don't want to. I can't. What should we do?”

  In a rare moment of bravery, Mark grabbed her by her arm, scooped their coats up and physically dragged her out the door, rushing to catch up to Yen. They had been cowering in the dark, by the woodburning stove for what seemed like an eternity, listening to the steadily increasing sounds of roars and gunfire. His whole body quivered with fear and anticipation a
s they followed the bloody, wet man back to Harold's barn. Yen paused a moment at the door, waiting for them to get within earshot.

  “Wait out here, yell loud if any of the undead come,” he barked before sliding the huge door open and disappearing inside.

  Mark and Amber were both shocked to see what looked like a homeless shelter operating inside the barn. Smells of cooking and a great deal of noise spilled out from within as the door slid open. It was fairly bright inside, illuminated by a number of candles and was accompanied by the strong smell of body odor. The two turned away embarrassed, as they realized they were staring into people's homes. The semi-dressed forms of a number of people rapidly getting dressed inside became visible. It was an anxious few minutes before people started filtering out of the barn, carrying whatever they could. In most cases a blanket and a small bag of food was all they carried. There were twenty six in total, the original seventeen had increased as some took lovers and a handful of others from different tribes sought shelter with them. Yen scanned the crowd as he slid his hatchet into his belt and slung his pack on. He locked eyes with Mark, his look asking a question. Mark responded with a shake of the head to the negative meaning 'No problems'.

  “Okay, we're gonna move across the open land and avoid the roads for now. We'll try and keep to the trees as much as possible. This isn't a rescue mission, this is survival, plain and simple, so no knocking on doors or even moving near buildings. Where there are people there will be undead. We are going to head for the school and see if we can get a bus to drive out of here. If possible, we will drive through the west barricade, it's fully opened, that's where the undead are coming in. Move as fast as you can and shout if any of the undead start converging on us.”

  Yen looked concernedly around at everyone, Mark and Amber included, taking measure of each person before turning and starting the procession, moving along the length of the barn to the east.

  *

  Just below the crest of the hill where the guardrail and roadway sat, there was a relatively flat area atop the piled rock. Tim helped Will along that narrow path, staying as low as the two could muster. While they crept ever closer to the main structure of the hospital, the path kept them behind the guardrail and some unkempt brush, mostly obscuring them from sight of the undead. The path carried them past the open doors of the emergency entrance where a great many undead converged. Will hazarded a few glances to the parking lot to their right as he dragged himself painfully forwards on his worthless knee. In order to remain low and out of sight he edged along in a sideways crawl, dragging his injured leg painfully behind. The guardrail came to an end at the end of the small parking lot, where an ell of the building protruded toward them.

  With the guardrail gone, it made no difference if they crawled or stood, they were plainly visible to anything that happened to glance in their direction. They moved quickly around the corner of the ell and huddled at the corner of the building, taking a moment to get a better idea of their surroundings. The undead streaming up the road filed straight into the emergency doors of the clinic, as if drawn by something. There were no signs of struggle issuing from inside the building, no screams or gunshots or telltale sounds of human activity coming from within, so Will supposed that they were just following one another.

  Tim kept an eye on Will as much as he did their surroundings. The presence of so many undead and the absence of people was bound to have an emotional effect on the man. He was worried Will might do something foolhardy, like scream for Jen or run off in search of her. He watched Will stiffen and his demeanor change as the reality of their surroundings settled in on him. Dozens if not hundreds of the undead must already have entered the clinic, leaving the ramifications of what that meant for Jen and Christine hanging in the air. Tim reached a hand out, taking Will by the shoulder and locking eyes with him.

  “Jen is a survivor,” he said sincerely and sternly.

  Will knew Tim was right, Jen was the only reason he had survived to meet the group. She was also one of the major reasons that they had all survived the winter. As much as he struggled to accept Tim's reassurances, the panic had already settled on his heart, pushing reason out of its path. The hospital was tiny in comparison to every other one he'd seen in his life. It was a two-story T-shaped structure, its longest side was barely a hundred feet. Despite its small size, Will recognized that there still had to be at least a hundred or more rooms inside of it. He knew that even if Jen and Christine were still here, their chances of finding them would be minuscule. Their odds of finding them grew even slimmer if they were holed up, hiding from the undead. His hopes sank at their prospects for success.

  “We have to do something. Let them know we are here or lure the undead away, something,” Will said at length, his eyes full of panic and sadness.

  Tim was scanning the second floor windows of the structure, hoping for the small chance that the women might be lurking somewhere in sight inside. He was concerned that Will was going to get desperate and insist that they enter the building. There were bound to be too many rooms and too many undead lurking about. Before he could respond to Will's statement or try and stop him, Will took off on his crutches. Tim moved to stop him but paused once he moved around the corner and into the open of the parking lot.

  Within the span of a few heartbeats, the undead tracked his presence and started moving from all areas of the lot and roadway, converging on him. Tim froze where he stood, peering out from the corner of the building. He wanted to call out to the man, tell him to come back, warn him about the advancing undead. He simply couldn't force himself to shout, not with dozens of undead lurking about. If Will noticed the undead converging on him, he gave no indication. His pace remained constant as he moved to the side of a half-destroyed Chevy Silverado. His crutch-bound gait slowed as he approached the driver's side door, and stopped altogether when he reached for the handle, pulling it open.

  Tim was transfixed on the scene as the undead flowed around both sides of the bullet riddled truck, converging on Will. Will spun about on the crutches and sat inside the vehicle. As he spun, Tim could finally see his face. He wore a mask of terror. He dropped the crutches from under his arms and gracefully slid back into the vehicle, pulling the door shut just as the first undead reached for it. Tim watched in helpless panic as Will took a rifle off the gun-rack behind him and checked the breach.

  Inside the relative safety of the truck, Will did his best to ignore the multitude of undead that slapped and scratched at the vehicle trying to get at him. He took two deep breaths to steady himself and lay his hand on the middle of the steering wheel. The horn blared throughout the parking lot, echoing off the steel and glass building and the mountains behind it. The sound seemed to grab the attention of nearly every one of the undead in the area. Faces turned from the lot, the roadway leading to the hospital, and even a great many undead spilled out of the clinic. In the span of the sixty seconds that he watched before moving off, Tim watched as hundreds of undead pressed in between cars across the small lot, all of them converging on Will in the Silverado. Sickened by the sight and what it meant for his friend, he finally backed away, moving along the side of the wing of the hospital.

  The knot of despair in his stomach wouldn't loosen. He was alone and injured, miles away from his family. What was worse for him than the mystery of Jen and Christine's fate was the sight of the truck Will sat in getting swarmed by a sea of hungry undead. He made up his mind in that moment to leave this cursed town and head back to his family. He knew that Jen could handle herself and if she happened to find herself in a spot where she couldn't, he wouldn't be much help in the state he was in. He looked for an easier path down to the berm at the northwest and started down the sloping path. He pulled up short at the sounds of banging from behind him.

  In his panicked state, he whipped his head around towards the noise, sure that it would be the undead in pursuit. Fresh agony tore through his back and thigh at the effort. Thirty feet behind him, where the wing of the hosp
ital connected with the main building, two sets of hands slapped at the windows. Tim's heart sank, expecting the windows to burst outward, spilling a mass of undead onto the ground before him. He resigned himself that the final pursuit was about to begin.

  Then he caught sight of a familiar face, Jen's face. He stared at her quizzically for a long time before the understanding of that recognition settled in. He walked over as quickly as possible in the agony he was in. A few seconds later he stood in front of Jen and Linda, the doctor who had visited them the day previous. The doctor was furiously rocking a newborn in her arms. They stood with a short-haired black woman, and an older man who was missing a leg. Great, another fucking anchor to drag us down. The thought came unbidden and he couldn't be sure that he didn't roll his eyes.

  “Open the window,” he said loudly.

  “We can't,” Linda replied. “This is the in-patient psych wing.”

  A moment later, seeing the dumbfounded look on Tim's face she added:

  “It's a lockdown wing, people who are elopement risks, on suicide watch . . .”

  “Where's Will?” Jen blurted out, interrupting Linda.

  The horn continued blaring incessantly from the front lot, though the body of the ell blocked and quieted the sound. The look on Tim's face alone told Jen all she needed to know. She took a chair and smashed it violently against the glass, her face twisting in angry purpose. The chair rebounded, clattering on the floor after making a huge quivering racket. The sound echoed off the building and the landscape seemed to amplify it. Tim looked around nervously as Jen wrestled with the others as she moved to retrieve the chair for another swing. They argued for a few moments before the man rapped on the window with his knuckles, drawing Tim's gaze back. The man displayed a gun in his hand.