by David Moody
Running low on energy. Absolutely knackered.
He shoved Charlie back once again, and Charlie came straight at him.
Maybe fighting and leading and surviving just doesn’t suit me? Maybe I shouldn’t try so hard...
He thought about giving up, and this time when Charlie attacked, he slumped against the bannister.
Too slow to react, Charlie kept running and flew straight over the top. Howard immediately scrambled back to his feet, just in time to watch the dead man arc perfectly through the air like an Olympic high-board diver. His trajectory was sublime, his performance a solid 9.7. He unwittingly performed a somersault followed by a double twist before being impaled perfectly by the top of the Christmas tree, skewered on the Kaplan Industries star. The tree shook for a moment, its whole trunk wavering, but it held steady. After a couple of seconds struggling, Charlie fell completely still, splayed out like a cross between a decorative angel and a cocktail sausage.
Howard leant over the bannister, vomited with nerves and effort, then relaxed. Jessica was going crazy in the phone box outside – huge grins and thumbs up and everything.
A round of applause.
This is perfect, he thought as he looked around, the stars have aligned. Debbie saw the whole thing.
EIGHT
‘You were amazing, Howard,’ she said as he ushered her back into the CCTV room. The building was secure and Howard was so overcome by the fact that Debbie knew what he was capable of and was talking to him – no, complimenting him, even – that he was happy to let certain facts slide, even when they were blatantly obvious. For example, the fact that despite a hurriedly applied layer of bright lip gloss and other splashes of colour, Debbie’s skin was ashen grey. The fact that she had yellowish watery liquid (was that blood? Pus?) dribbling from one of her ears and both nostrils. The fact that she was clearly, definitely, unquestionably, unarguably dead.
She was all over him, and it wasn’t as pleasant an experience as he’d imagined. And he’d imagined it quite a lot.
‘You feeling okay, Debbie?’
‘Fine.’
‘Warm enough?’
She shrugged. ‘I’m okay.’ She didn’t feel warm enough to him. Her hands on his vest-clad torso felt uncomfortably unnatural, like cold rubber.
Howard took a second to compose himself. He couldn’t believe the situation he suddenly found himself in. A survivor in a brutal, post-apocalyptic world. A leader. The kind of bloke who now found himself casually chatting to the woman of his dreams. It was like he’d ended up starring in one of those movies he loved so dearly. He was Bruce Willis, bloodstained wife-beater and all, a bloody action hero, no less!
He left Debbie perched on the edge of a chair and began checking the myriad of screens at his desk. ‘What are you looking for?’ she asked.
‘Other people. Other zombies. This place is massive. I’m just checking no one else managed to get inside.’
‘Is it just the two of us then, Howard?’
Her comment made him catch his breath. Just the two of us. ‘Yes, Debbie. Just us.’
‘Good. What are we going to do?’
‘I think we should start by finding a more comfortable area to base ourselves in. Maybe the boardrooms on the top floor? There’s showers and all kinds of things up there. We’ve got plenty of food and there are water dispensers and coffee machines on every level. We’ll be safe here.’
‘Sounds like you’ve thought of everything.’
‘I wouldn’t go that far, but I have given scenarios like this a lot of consideration. You know, from watching movies and stuff.’
‘I’m glad it’s you I’m stuck here with.’
‘Thanks.’
‘I loved what you did to Charlie. That was really cool.’
‘Thanks,’ he said again.
He allowed himself to look back at her. She was watching him intently. Her eyes, though less bright than usual, were fixed on him.
Conscious he was staring (but, come to think of it, so was she), he turned back to his screens. The cameras outside played across scenes of ever more chaos and confusion. And out there, still stuck in a phone box right in the middle of it all, was Jessica from Product Development. He could see her face in uncomfortably clear ultra-HD. She was looking terrified now. Completely trapped. Much as he liked the idea of being alone here with Debbie, Howard was struggling with his conscience. ‘There are other survivors out there. I should help them.’
‘It’s too dangerous.’
‘I know, Debbie, but I can’t just leave them.’
‘You can.’
‘There’s room enough here for more people.’
‘They might bring trouble in with them. Besides, I like it just being the two of us.’
There. She said it again. His heart skipped a beat. Hers wasn’t beating at all.
‘I like it too.’
‘That settles it, then. Just you and me, okay?’
Debbie got up, dead legs stiffening, and walked over to where he sat. She wrapped her increasingly inflexible arms around his neck and hugged him. Debbie’s touching me, he realised, feeling the impact of her closeness in his head and his heart and his crotch. Debbie likes me! She pecked him on the cheek. It was cold and hard, but that didn’t matter. Debbie kissed me!
But then he saw Jessica on the screen again. And there were other folks out there. Some fighting. Some hiding. Some running. All terrified.
‘No. I can’t just sit here, Debbie. I’m sorry.’
And he got up and walked away.
‘You can, Howard.’
‘I can’t. Those people out there need me.’
‘I need you.’
‘They’ll die. No, I have to go out there.’
He looked for the grey key fob. He’d left it here on the desk, he was sure he had.
‘Lost something?’
‘My key fob. It’s the master fob. It controls—’
‘—all the doors and locks in the building,’ she said, finishing his sentence for him. ‘I know. You already told me.’
‘So where is it? I left it here, I know I did.’
Debbie smiled and walked over to the door. When she pressed her (now distended) belly up against the panel, Howard heard it unlock. Did she have it in her pocket? Wait, that dress didn’t have any pockets.
‘What have you done with it?’
She pushed her belly against the door panel again, locking it. ‘I’m sorry, Howie. I know you’re a decent bloke and all, but I couldn’t risk you going all soft on me. I need this place. I know I’ve got whatever it is that’s doing all the damage out there, but I don’t want to end up like one of them. I want to stay nice. I can stay nice for you, Howie.’
Never in a million years did Howard think he’d turn Debbie down. ‘No… I don’t think I want that,’ he said.
She smiled (as best she could). ‘Oh, Howard.’
‘Give me the key fob.’
‘Can’t do that.’
‘Yes you can. Give it to me.’
She leant back against the door (sending the locking mechanism into overdrive) and patted her stomach. ‘I swallowed it.’
NINE
Howard stared at the image of the phone box on the screen. Jessica had sunk to the bottom now and was sitting there with her hands over her head, doing everything she could to ignore the rotting masses currently amassing nearby, to block out her inevitable fate.
‘Give me the fob, Debbie.’
‘And how am I supposed to do that? I’ve eaten it, remember? Dumbass.’
Everything undone in a single throwaway comment.
‘What did you call me?’
‘Didn’t mean anything by it.’
‘There are people out there who need our help, don’t you get it?’
‘There are people in here who really couldn’t give a shit. Seriously, Howard, you could have it so good here. I’ve seen the way you watch me... I know you’ve always wanted me.’
‘That was before..
.’ he said, his anger rising by the second.
‘Before what? Before the zombie apocalypse.’
‘No, before you died. Before I realised how cheap and shallow you are.’ There, he’d said it. The thing that everyone else had known about Debbie all along, the thing Howard had been trying to hide from himself - despite Brian Boyd and that graduate and all the other people she’d used and then cast aside. Howard had finally admitted the truth about Debbie, to himself and now to her. And it felt good.
‘How dare you,’ she said, ‘I’m not shallow.’ In her anger she let out a sudden and very gassy belch. She thought it was the buffet repeating on her. It was, in fact, a side-effect of her body beginning to digest itself from the inside-out.
‘Bloody hell, Debbie. You smell rank.’
She looked hurt. Angry. He could tell she wasn’t impressed, even though a palsy seemed to mute her scowl. She shook her hair and ran her fingers through her hair, pruning her mane, though much of it came out in her hands. She wiped away more bloody mucus which dribbled from her nose, and adjusted her short dress which had ridden up because her body was beginning to swell and stiffen and she was struggling to walk properly. ‘Don’t throw away this chance, Howard. I’m everything you’ve ever wanted, and more besides.’
‘You might have been once, but not anymore.’
He went to leave, pushing her out of the way, but the door was locked. She laughed at his predicament, but when she came to push him back into the room, the fob in her belly opened the lock. ‘Ha!’ he said as he made a swift exit.
She came lumbering after him.
‘You’re not thinking straight, Howard,’ she said as she lumbered after him.
‘I’m talking to a zombie and I’m the last man standing after an end-of-the-world office Christmas party, I think I’m entitled to not be thinking straight.’
‘Slow down,’ she said (because she herself already was), ‘and think carefully. I’m your future, Howard. You can’t go anywhere without me now.’
Her words echoed around his head as he reached the foyer. It felt like a morgue. Blood and bodies on the floor. Charlie impaled on the top of the tree, bits of him occasionally dripping down from a height. Everything ruined. And outside, nothing but bodies. There were hundreds of them, drawn to the building like moths to a flame. He couldn’t see the phone box anymore, let alone Jessica.
Debbie was right behind him. She put a cold and heavy hand on his shoulder.
‘Come on, Howard. Let’s go have some fun. I’ll let you do whatever you want to me.’
By his reckoning, he was at least the third bloke she’d said that to already today.
‘Anything?’
‘Absolutely.’
‘Can I get something to eat first?’
‘What?’
‘I’m hungry.’
‘At a time like this?’
‘Got to keep my energy levels up. What about you?’
‘What about me?’
‘You hungry?’
‘Not yet.’
He didn’t like the glassy-eyed stare he got when she said that. He walked towards the dining room, steeling himself for the godawful scene he’d left in there: the blood and the gore and the bits of people he used to know. He tried the door but it was locked. ‘Do you mind?’ he asked, gesturing at the panel.
She came towards him, increasingly peg-legged, and leant against the sensor. The door unlocked with a satisfying clunk and he went inside. The room was as foul as he’d imagined, perhaps even more so. The stench of death seemed to hang heavier in the air here than anywhere else. It was choking, suffocating. Almost unbearable. But still, a piece of cake wouldn’t go amiss. He cut himself a generous slice of gateau (which had been out in the open for a few hours too long). He nibbled the corner and watched her.
‘You’ve always wanted me, haven’t you, Howard?’
‘Yes,’ he said through the cake, keeping hold of the knife.
‘And you know you can have me now, don’t you?’
‘Yes,’ he said again.
‘So what do you want?’
‘To see you naked.’
She smiled (almost). ‘That’s more like it.’ In the middle of the room now, struggling with fingers which were becoming more numb by the minute, she undid her dress and let it drop to her feet. She tried to take off her bra, but the coordination just wasn’t there. ‘Give me a hand,’ she said, and Howard obliged. He put what was left of his cake down and wiped his greasy hands. Standing behind her, he undid the fastenings of her bra. It took him longer than it should have. He was nervous. He hadn’t done this for a while. Not for a long time, actually.
‘You look nice,’ he said, but she really didn’t.
‘Like what you see?’
‘Yes.’
But when Howard looked at Debbie, he saw Jessica instead. And all the other people who’d lost their lives this evening. Hundreds of them. Thousands. Maybe even more.
‘So what do you want?’
‘Lie down on the floor,’ he said, and the tone of his voice had changed. He sounded more definite now. Masterful. Debbie picked up on it.
‘I like a man who knows his mind.’
She obliged, slowly lowering herself down. Howard watched and did what he could to hide his revulsion. She was leaking from every visible orifice. It wouldn’t be long, he knew, before Debbie stopped being any version of Debbie and became something else entirely.
‘What now?’
‘I’m thinking,’ he said, and he was. He was trying to work out how best to do what he had to do with the minimum fuss.
‘Don’t keep me waiting, Howard...’
And he didn’t.
He moved quicker than she could watch. He got down quickly, backside in her face, and put his knees on her arms to stop her moving. She was numb with death, and didn’t immediately realise she was restrained. The hunger was beginning to gnaw at her rotting guts and she was suddenly preoccupied with Howard’s butt. She craned her neck as far forward as she could. Howard could feel her nose and chin brushing against his trousers, but her teeth were far enough away not to be a concern.
‘Sorry about this, Debbie,’ he said, and he meant it. Sort of.
Howard still had the knife he’d used to cut the gateau. He wiped it clean on the carpet, then held it clasped in both hands high above Debbie’s bare mottled belly. She couldn’t see what he was doing (she couldn’t see anything other than his posterior), but she knew it wasn’t good. Howard felt like he was a devil-worshipper sacrificing a virgin in a 1970’s Hammer movie, but how could he sacrifice something that was already dead, and anyway, this was no virgin, this was Debbie.
He plunged the knife down into her belly before he could talk himself out of it, then drew it towards him, tugging and sawing as it snagged on various more gristly parts of her innards. He stopped when he reached the bottom of her ribcage, figuring he’d need something more substantial than a cake knife if he needed to dig any deeper.
‘What you... doing... Howard?’ Debbie wheezed, a combination of Howard’s bulk of her chest and her advancing decay making it increasingly difficult for her to talk.
Howard threw down the knife, took a deep breath, then plunged his bare hands into Debbie’s guts. ‘Looking for my fob,’ he said.
‘Don’t... spoil... me...’
‘You’ve taken care of that yourself.’
He moved a leathery-feeling bag of something gross, then punctured another part of her, wondering if it was her stomach. Her insides flooded with green-brown liquid and it splashed all over his Die Hard vest. Something like this might have affected him previously, but Howard had seen far worse in the last few hours. He took a handful of her slippery intestines and began spooling it over, squeezing the putrescent tubing between his hands, feeling for the outline of the fob. He felt plenty of things in there – squidgy, squashy stuff, mostly – but no fob. He got off her in disgust, shaking his hands clean.
Debbie was furious.
&n
bsp; ‘What... you... done?’
Howard paced the room, trying to summon up a little more courage to dive inside her for a second look. He could taste bile at the back of his throat (mostly because he was covered in the damn stuff).
Debbie started to get up.
Her legs were stiff and unresponsive, but she managed to get halfway up before everything Howard had disturbed began to slip out of the ragged hole he’d carved in her belly. She tried desperately to hold herself all in, but whenever she moved a hand to stop something slipping down, something else would slide out through a different hole.
Every word took real effort now, but she did it just the same. ‘You... fucking... bastard...’
A face off.
Howard at one end of the room, what was left of Debbie standing at the other. Howard could see the infection increasingly beginning to take hold. She was becoming less Debbie and more zombie with each passing moment.
‘You still in there, Debbie?’ he asked, but she wasn’t.
The dead-Debbie-thing raised its arms and charged at him. The sudden movement was a real mistake. In widening its reach, the ghoul also inadvertently managed to widen the rip in its gut. It stretched into something resembling a sideways smile, then a rancorous yawn, allowing everything still in there to tumble out and splash onto the ground beneath dead Debbie’s legs.
Including Howard’s precious fob.
In a move Bruce Willis himself would have been proud of, he dived down between her feet, snatched the blood-covered fob off the ground with one hand, then grabbed a loop of her intestine with the other. He slid through the mire beneath her then stood up on the other side and gave her gut an almighty yank, virtually turning what was left of Debbie inside out, tying her up in literal, as well as figurative, knots.
Howard left the dining room and locked the door behind him.
He returned to the foyer and surveyed the chaos outside. Hundreds of ravenous corpses, but nothing that Howard Stanton couldn’t handle. He felt different now... uncharacteristically confident. First job, he decided, was to cause some kind of distraction to throw the dead off his scent – maybe something thrown off the top of the building or an improvised bomb or a vehicle driven right into the middle of them. The possibilities seemed endless. He had the key to the kingdom again. He looked at the little grey fob in his hand, spat on it, then wiped it on his once-white vest to remove all traces of Debbie.
