The Complex

by Brian Keene

  Struggling to stay upright, Grady guides Adam forward as the insane throng closes in on them again from three sides, herding them toward the apartment building. Grady realizes the crowd are doing the same thing to Phil and Beth. But in truth, there’s nowhere else to run. He hears gunshots in the distance, over the mob’s cries and Mendez’s car. He realizes that whatever is happening here is taking place all across town.

  “Head for my apartment,” he shouts, realizing the newlyweds are already cut off from theirs.

  Phil swings the bat, smashing an attacker in the face, pulping the man’s lips and shattering his teeth. Phil uses it again to strike another pursuer in the stomach. The woman doubles over, immobilized. Beth claws and punches, fighting alongside her husband. She shrieks, and to Grady, she sounds both panicked and furious. He’s heard men make that same noise, in the war. Now, the war is happening right here.

  “I’ve got to get home,” Adam mutters.

  “Bullshit. You stick with me if you want to stay alive.”

  “But…”

  A young boy, maybe ten or eleven years old, breaks free of the rest of the group and charges toward them. The kid clutches a broken glass bottle in one hand, and his lips are curled back in a snarl. Grady’s attention is drawn to the braces on the boy’s teeth. They seem strangely out of place. The boy closes the distance quickly, and Grady raises the Smith & Wesson, still staring at the orthodontics. He tries to aim, but his arms wobble. At the last minute, deciding he can’t shoot the kid, no matter how murderous, he lets go of Adam’s arm and sidesteps the young attacker, sticking out one foot and tripping the boy. The boy falls face first onto the grass. Grady winces when he hears the broken bottle being crushed beneath the kid’s body.

  Adam lopes away in a running, stumbling gait, heading back toward his building. Shouting his name, Grady steps over the fallen kid and reaches for him. That is a mistake. The boy rolls over and slashes at Grady’s ankle with a shard of glass. Yelping, Grady teeters on one foot. Then, without thinking about it, he shoots the naked boy in the face. He realizes what he’s done a split second after he pulls the trigger. Grady wants to take the action back, but it’s too late. The boy’s face implodes right between his nose and his left eye, collapsing into his head. Grady’s stomach churns.

  Phil shouts something—Grady can’t understand him. He glances up and sees the two newlyweds still fighting off the frenzied attackers. Then, even though he doesn’t want to look, his eyes are drawn back down to the dead boy. Grady notices that his shoes are spattered with the child’s blood. The kid’s brains cling to the blades of grass like chunks of red and gray cottage cheese.

  “I’m sorry,” Grady sobs, and he is.

  Feeling his sock turn wet with blood, he limps after Adam, feebly gesturing for him to come back. Grady shouts, but if the younger man hears him, he doesn’t turn around. Instead, Adam weaves back and forth in a sort of Z-formation, keeping his gaze fixed on Building-C. As a result, he doesn’t see the mob rushing toward him until it is too late. Grady watches in horror as they quickly overwhelm him, dragging Adam to the ground and delivering countless vicious blows with fists and feet and various weapons. There are bricks and rocks and a hockey stick, and all of them are quickly slicked with blood. Adam’s screams are horrific.

  Shuddering, Grady raises the pistol, unsure of how many shots he has left. He takes aim, then hears someone growling behind him. He turns and sees a dozen more naked people closing in. Instead of helping Adam, Grady heads for his apartment again, leaving a trail of blood behind in his wake. His eyes dart from Adam to his front door and back again, but he doesn’t turn around, afraid that if he does, he will falter and that will be it for him.

  Adam’s shrieks become muffled as a naked woman stuffs a fistful of crumpled paper money in his mouth, effectively gagging him. Grady frowns, thinking that the woman bears more than a resemblance to Adam himself. She could almost be the young man’s sister. He decides that can’t be possible. Instead, he must be going into shock—not thinking clearly, seeing things that aren’t real. He takes two steps toward Adam, then stops again as the woman begins clawing up handfuls of grass and dirt, and shoves that into Adam’s mouth, as well. Grady blinks his eyes but the woman still looks like she’s related to her victim. Another naked man pinches Adam’s nose shut. Adam squirms and wriggles, but is unable to break free.

  Grady realizes that he can’t outrun his pursuers. Even if he wasn’t injured, they are younger and faster than he is, and their stamina seems to be fueled by their insanity. But neither does he have the courage to face them—to face his own demise and stare into their insane eyes. Keeping his own gaze fixed firmly on Adam, he watches as the younger man twitches and then lies still. Grady raises the pistol to his temple and hopes he has at least one bullet left in the gun. Then he closes his eyes.

  “I’m sorry,” he repeats, but this time, Grady is apologizing to himself.

  Then, the car horn wails again. Grady opens his eyes in time to see Mendez smash through the attackers with his car, squashing both them and Adam underneath the grille. The young man’s head bursts beneath one of the front tires. The other tire ruptures the stomach of the woman who looks like his sister. Broken ribs punch through her flesh, and she vomits blood, writhing in the car’s wake. For a moment, Grady is reminded of a mortar attack he survived in Vietnam, and sees the faces of friends who died screaming, writhing in agony on the jungle floor as they bled out, mangled and torn.

  The car’s engine thrums, and Grady realizes that Mendez isn’t slowing down. He screams as the vehicle veers toward him. Then, Mendez turns the wheel and it swerves away. His brake lights flash as he slides to a halt in front of Grady’s apartment door, using the car as a partial blockade. He motions at Grady to run. Astonished, Grady does just that, moving as fast as age and his injury will allow him. Out of the corner of his eye, Grady spots Phil and Beth careening toward the car, as well. He reaches the vehicle first, and clambers over the hood. The hot metal burns his hands, but Grady barely notices. He slides off the other side into the narrow space between his front door and the car’s passenger door.

  “I hope you have your keys,” Mendez yells through the shattered passenger window.

  Grady nods, because he’s too winded to speak. He fumbles with the keys, pulling them from his pocket, but his hands are shaking too badly to select the correct one from the ring.

  “Mr. Hicks,” Phil shouts. “Mr. Mendez!”

  “Hurry up,” Grady yells. “Damn kids are gonna get themselves killed.”

  “Just get the door open,” Mendez urges him, slipping out of the broken window. “They’ll make it okay.”

  Grady slides the key into the lock and turns. The latch clicks and he throws the door open. Mendez nearly knocks him over rushing to get inside. Grady is about to rebuke him when Beth screams.

  The horde has caught up to Phil and Beth, surrounding them, and cutting them off from Grady’s front door. He takes aim with the pistol, but realizes that if he fires into the crowd, there’s a good chance he’ll hit one of the newlyweds instead.

  “Drop down,” he bellows. “I can’t get a shot!”

  “What are you doing?” Mendez yells. “Shut the door and get inside!”

  “It’s Phil and Beth. We’ve got to help them, goddamn it.”

  “We can’t help them now. Don’t be an idiot.”

  Before Grady can argue with him, he realizes that his neighbor is right. Phil swings the baseball bat savagely, trying to defend both his wife and himself, but he is quickly overwhelmed by the sheer number of foes. Someone hits him on the back of the head with a flashlight. Phil slows, and his shoulders slump. Another attacker lobs a broken cinder block, which cracks him in the ribs. Phil stumbles, reeling, and the crowd pulls him down. He desperately reaches for Beth, but she’s wrenched away by more naked people. She slams her head backward, breaking one of their noses, and stomps on the arch of another’s foot, freeing herself. Then, she tries to run toward the car,
but the naked people shove her back into the fray. One man picks up Phil’s baseball bat and swings, smashing Beth in the shoulder. Screaming, she doubles over, cradling her injured arm. A second blow knocks several teeth from her mouth, and her cries turn to gurgles. Someone else grabs a fistful of her hair and yanks her head up. The veins in her neck stand out like tree roots.

  “No,” Grady cries. “Oh God, no. Goddamn it…”

  He raises the pistol again and fires a shot, hitting a nearby crazy in the chest. The wounded attacker topples backward, but five more are going to work on Beth with shovels and knives and chunks of masonry. One of her cheeks hangs down like a bloody mud-flap. Her eyes are wide. She’s staring right at him.

  Weeping, Grady realizes there is nothing he can do for the couple. He lowers the gun and closes the door behind him. When he closes his eyes, he can still see Beth’s stare.

  “Lock it,” Mendez says.

  Grady opens his eyes and wipes snot from his upper lip. “What good is that cheap little lock going to do against this shit?”

  “It will buy us some time.” Mendez speaks matter-of-factly, as if he were discussing how to program a DVD player, rather than referencing the army of killers marauding outside. “Even a few seconds can make a difference. And my car will slow them down, as well. They won’t be able to get any leverage to beat your door down. We just need to barricade the windows. Hurry up.”

  “Phil and Beth are dead,” Grady yelps. “So is Adam from across the way. Those people butchered them. Don’t you care, Mendez? Don’t you give a damn?”

  Mendez shrugs. “People die every day, Grady. Tonight, it was them.”

  “That’s some callous bullshit.”

  “Maybe so. I apologize if you are offended, but the fact remains—they’re dead. I’m still alive. And I intend to stay that way.”

  He rushes into Grady’s kitchen, and begins to push the refrigerator toward the windows. Shaking his head in dismay, Grady sets the gun down and goes to help him.

  “Trust me,” Mendez grunts as the heavy appliance scrapes across the floor, scratching the linoleum, “I can’t die.”

  “What do you mean you can’t die? Everyone can die. Nobody lives forever.”

  “I don’t mean immortality,” Mendez says. “I’m talking about here. Tonight. I can’t die.”

  “Why the hell not?”

  “As bad as things are right now? If I die, they’re only going to get worse. Believe me.”

  “How so?”

  “If I die tonight, then those people outside won’t be the only things we have to worry about. There are things out there in the universe—things that want to exterminate us. I’m the only one that can keep us safe from them.”

  Grady decides that his neighbor has cracked under the strain. He doesn’t exactly know Mendez well. The man travels a lot—always on the road. Grady thinks he’s a salesman or something. But they greet each other in passing, and make small talk on occasion. Mendez has always seemed like a decent sort. Charming, smart, occasionally funny. He’s never struck Grady as mentally ill—or what his daughter would call a whack-job.

  Yes, Grady decides. It must be stress. The poor man has snapped.

  “Let’s just get this fridge moved,” he says. “We can worry about dying later.”

  Eleven - Sam, Terri, Caleb, Stephanie, Mrs. Carlucci, Shaggy, and Turo: Apartment 1-D

  Sitting on the floor in the corner of Sam’s bedroom, Terri cradles Caleb in her lap, kissing the top of his head and rubbing his back and trying to reassure him. She hasn’t held him like this in a while. He used to be cuddly when he was younger, but ever since he turned six, he’s been less inclined. Sure, he still wants a kiss goodnight and he still hugs her on occasion and tells her that he loves her and that she is the Best Mommy Ever, but cuddle time has grown sparser. Terri dreads the day when it stops altogether. She wishes he would stay this age forever. She’s terrified of him growing up. Terrified of him becoming a man.

  But right now there are more immediate things to be terrified of.

  She keeps her eyes on the hastily constructed barricade in front of Sam’s bedroom door. All of the bookcases in the room have been stacked against it, as have his dresser, mattress, headboard, and box spring. Sam had a toolbox stored on the shelf in his closet and he, Stephanie, and Turo are currently nailing the headboard into the wall. Shaggy (Terri doesn’t know if that’s his nickname or his real name, and there hasn’t been time to ask) stands guard, keeping his pistol at the ready. They can hear the group of crazy people on the other side of the door, beating at it and hammering on the walls, but so far, the blockade remains strong. Luckily, the chainsaw has stayed silent.

  Mrs. Carlucci stands next to Terri and Caleb, peeking out the bedroom window. A few moments ago, the car motor fell silent. Now, that silence is filled by the sounds of breaking glass and pounding, and guttural growls and yelps.

  Caleb stirs against her. “I want to go home, Mommy.”

  “I know, baby. I know.”

  “Not here. I mean home to Grandma’s.”

  Terri wants to respond, but she can’t. Her throat feels thick, and she begins to tremble, choking back the sobs welling up from deep inside of her.

  Sam, Stephanie, and Turo stop hammering. All three are drenched in sweat. They step back and check their handiwork. Terri hears Sam murmur something about it holding. Shaggy mutters that it damn well better. Then he hands his gun to Turo and stretches, flexing and swiveling his arm, as if he has a cramp.

  Mrs. Carlucci turns around and then slowly kneels. Terri can tell that the action pains the older woman. She grimaces, then smiles.

  “Your name is Caleb, isn’t it?”

  Caleb nods. “Yes, Ma’am.”

  Mrs. Carlucci smiles again, but now Terri sees the fear behind her expression. “And very polite, I see. Well, Caleb, I’m Mrs. Carlucci. And you know what?”

  “What?”

  “I want to go home, too.”

  “Where do you live?” Caleb asks.

  “Three doors down, with my little ones.”

  “Are you a grandma, too?”

  Mrs. Carlucci laughs, and for a moment, the fear, pain, and unease are gone from her eyes.

  “Bless your heart, no. No, I’m not a grandmother. But I have four kitties—Hannibal, King, Queenie, and Princess.”

  “How come Hannibal has a different name than the others?”

  “Well, because I got him from a shelter. The people who had him before me named him that. I didn’t think it would be right to change his name.”

  “Why did they take him to the shelter? Did they die? Maybe the Tick Tock Man got them, too.”

  Mrs. Carlucci frowns.

  “The leader,” Terri explains. “The…fat man.”

  “The ugly one who’s head goes from side to side?” Mrs. Carlucci nods in understanding. “That’s a good name for him. But no, Caleb, he didn’t—”

  “I agree it’s a good name,” Sam interrupts, “but it’s about all we know right now. We need to figure this out.”

  “Maybe we should talk about it later,” Turo says, his eyes and gun pointed at the barricade.

  “I think it will hold,” Sam replies. “I don’t hear the chainsaw, and the hallway isn’t wide enough for more than two of them, side-by-side. They might be able to get through, but it’s going to take a while, and we’ll hear them long before they do.”

  “I don’t know about anybody else,” Stephanie says, “but I could use a break.”

  “He’s right,” Shaggy agrees. “I could use one, too.”

  “She,” Stephanie corrects him.

  “What?”

  “I’m a she, not a he.”

  “You’re a he-she, more like it.” Shaggy chuckles. “Ain’t you still got a dick?”

  “Hey!” Turo glances at him. “Dude, chill the fuck out with that shit.”

  “What? I’m just asking. Does he have a dick or don’t he?”

  “I don’t know what Stephanie h
as,” Sam says, stepping toward him. “But I’ve got this axe I stole from one of the fucks on the other side of the door. So why don’t you lay off her?”

  Shaggy puffs out his chest and flexes his arms again. “That supposed to be some kind of fucking threat? Look at you, all out of breath and wheezing. You gonna hit me with your pot belly? You gonna kill me in a fucking story?”

  “Mommy,” Caleb whispers. “Please, can’t we leave here?”

  “Excuse me,” Terri interrupts, as Sam and Shaggy square off, “but my son is scared and so am I. Can we please figure out what we’re going to do? What’s happening?”

  Everyone stares at her, not speaking. They glance at each other, and then back to her. Terri begins to feel very uncomfortable. Outside the bedroom, somebody pounds on the door.

  “I want to go home,” Caleb complains. “Right now!”

  “I’m with him,” Stephanie says. “What do we do?”

  “We can’t go out the window,” Mrs. Carlucci informs them. “It’s a twelve foot drop, and even if we don’t break our legs, the backyard is full of them.”

  “Not if we land on the roof of the car,” Turo says.

  “The car is parked in front of the next apartment over. Only the trunk is under Sam’s window.”

  “So, I’ll land on the trunk.”

  Mrs. Carlucci shakes her head. “And then what? They’ll surround you before you can get down.”

  Sam crosses the room, raises the axe, and points it at the wall. “We go through there.”

  Turo glances nervously at the barricade, as the sounds on the other side grow more insistent. “Say what?”

  “Terri and Caleb’s apartment is on the other side of this wall. And we all know how thin these walls are. We tunnel through, come out in their apartment, and hide inside until the coast is clear.”