by Brian Keene
“Coward? Don’t talk to me about being a coward, Mendez. I saw shit that makes what’s going on outside look like a goddamn Disney cartoon.”
“I’m not saying you didn’t.” The Exit keeps his tone calm and flat.
“Listen you weird fuck. I don’t know what the hell you were on about earlier—all that you can’t die bullshit, but if you want to stand here and call me a coward, then you’re welcome to go wait outside with the other crazy bastards. If not, then back up off of me.”
“I’m not doing anything, Grady. Indeed, you’re the one holding my shirt.”
Grady stares into his eyes, lips pulled back in a sneer. The Exit remains calm and unflinching. Sighing, Grady lets go.
“I’m sorry that I offended you,” the Exit apologizes. “I didn’t mean to imply that you’re a coward. Obviously, you’re not. You proved that just a few minutes ago. I just never saw suicide as a viable solution. But I’m also willing to admit that maybe it’s just me. I personally won’t choose that. I have too much to do. I’m too important.”
Instead of responding, Grady shakes his head.
“Are we okay?” the Exit asks.
Grady shrugs.
“What are you thinking?”
Grady sighs again. “I’m thinking that these days, we don’t really know most of our neighbors. And even when we think we do know them, we still don’t. Not really.”
“How so?”
“Well, take you for example. All this time, I thought you were just some traveling businessman. Nice enough guy. Quiet. Kept to yourself mostly. I had no idea until tonight that you suffer from delusions of fucking grandeur.”
“I’m not crazy.” This time, the Exit can’t keep the edge from his voice.
“Then get a little crazy,” Grady whispers. “Because you might need it to survive tonight. Trust me on that. I’ve been there. You think you’re so important that you’ve got to live? Then get in touch with your crazy side. I…”
He trails off, closing his eyes. When he opens them again, the Exit sees tears forming.
“You’re thinking about Phil and Beth and that other neighbor?” the Exit asks.
“Adam.” Grady nods. “But not just them, though.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I…I shot that kid out there, Mendez. I killed that boy.”
“A boy who was trying to kill you, Grady.”
“I know…” Grady chokes back sobs. “But still…shit…”
The Exit frowns, wondering what to do. He knows that he should offer his neighbor some sort of comfort, but he’s not sure how. It has been a long time since he’s had a conversation like this—since he’s interacted with another human being in any matter other than closing doorways. His dealings with other people are mostly trivial—thanking a waitress for bringing more coffee, telling a store clerk he’ll be paying cash, giving directions to a lost motorist at a highway rest area. The only lengthy conversations he has are with his sacrifices, and those discussions are always the same—the sacrifices plead for their lives, and he tries to gently reassure them that their death is important, and noble, and unavoidable. For too long he has granted comfort and consolation by sliding a blade across the throats of the grieving. He has trouble remembering what other ways are considered acceptable in society.
“It’s going to be okay,” the Exit says, because it seems like an acceptable thing to say, even if he doesn’t believe it.
“No, it’s not. I’ve seen some shit in my life, but this…”
“I agree, things are bad. But let’s stay focused. You were in the army, right?”
Grady nods sadly.
“Then you know it is best to stay occupied. You need to keep your mind from wandering. Let’s get the bedroom secured so you’re not dwelling on what happened outside.”
Grady wipes his nose with his shirt sleeve. “Okay. You’re right.”
He retrieves the pistol from the kitchen table and limps out of the kitchen. The Exit follows him. They’re halfway down the hall when a loud bang startles them both. It’s the sound of metal on metal. Both men spin around, and then stare at each other.
“What the hell?” Grady whispers.
The Exit motions at him to stay there. Then he returns to the living room and peeks out of the barricaded window. A cluster of naked people have gathered around the car. One of them has a sledgehammer. As the Exit watches, he swings it over his head and brings it smashing down on the car once again. His compatriots cheer, fists raised triumphantly, and waving their weapons over their heads. All four of the car’s tires have been slashed, and the windshield and windows are completely shattered now. The Exit backs away from the window.
“Mendez,” Grady calls. “What is it?”
The Exit hurries down the hall and grabs the old man by the arm. “Come on. We’ve got to get to work. We are running out of time.”
Grady closes the bedroom door behind them, and fumbles around in the dark. The Exit pauses, letting his eyes adjust to the gloom. The chaos is louder on this side of the apartment. The light dangling from the ceiling shakes back and forth as feet pound above them. They hear wood breaking and the sound of hammering. The walls seem to reverberate from the blows.
“They’re in Sam’s apartment,” Grady says.
“Yes, which is why I don’t think you should have tapped on the ceiling. What are you doing?”
“Reloading,” Grady says. “And pocketing the extra bullets. Hang on a minute.”
The Exit hears him shuffling around some more. Drawers open and close.
“Keep the noise down,” he warns. “We don’t want them to hear us.”
“I’m trying to find some matches,” Grady explains. “I’ve got a candle on the nightstand. Some scented thing I’ve never used. My daughter got it for me.”
“Don’t,” the Exit warns. “Granted, this is a basement level apartment, but they might still be able to see the glow from the parking lot.”
“Not through these curtains, they won’t. Believe me, I know. I peep through them all the time, with nobody the wiser.”
The Exit suspects that the old man is doing exactly what he suggested—keeping busy in an effort to avoid thinking about the kid he shot. Still, lighting a candle seems like a foolish thing to do.
“Later,” he says, trying to stay patient. “First, help me barricade this door. And let’s do it quietly.”
They strip the mattress and box spring off Grady’s bed and stand them up against the door. Then they try to lift the dresser, but it’s too heavy and unwieldy, and the Exit finds that he’s doing most of the work. Instead, they inch it across the floor. The carpet muffles most of the sound, for which the Exit is grateful.
Groaning, Grady crouches down in the dark and slumps against the wall.
“Now what?” he asks.
“Now,” the Exit replies, “we wait, and try to come up with a better plan before they get inside.”
“It doesn’t bother you, does it?”
“What?”
“All those people you ran over with your car.”
“No,” the Exit admits. “It doesn’t bother me.”
“I’m not judging you,” Grady explains. “I knew guys like that in Vietnam, too. They just shut down. Block it out. To be honest, I was always a little envious of that.”
The Exit shrugs. “We do what we have to do to stay alive. Like I said before, I’m not dying here tonight. I can’t.”
Then he starts thinking about a way to make sure that happens.
Thirteen - Sam, Terri, Caleb, Stephanie, Mrs. Carlucci, Shaggy, and Turo: Apartment 2-D
Clutching her butcher knife and the hammer, Stephanie stands with the others, waiting quietly in the darkness of Terri and Caleb’s unoccupied bedroom, while Sam sneaks forward and closes the apartment’s front door. She grips the tools tightly, holding her breath until her pulse pounds in her throat, positive that at any minute, they’ll be discovered and their attackers will charge in after them.
/> Instead, Sam creeps back into the bedroom. He’s got the axe in one hand and his pistol tucked in his waistband. His expression is one of shocked relief.
“They see you?” Shaggy asks.
“No.” Sam shakes his head. “They’re so preoccupied with my apartment that they didn’t even notice.”
“Tick Tock?” Stephanie asks.
“No, I didn’t see him. And I wasn’t inclined to look further.”
“So,” Terri asks, “are we safe here?”
“Safe?” Sam laughs—a dry sound, more like a cough. “Hell no. I locked the door, but that’s all. If I started moving furniture to block it, they’d have heard me. And sooner or later, they’re going to get into my bedroom. Then they’ll know where we went.”
“So,” Stephanie asks, “what do we do now?”
“Stick with our plan,” Sam says. “I think it’s solid. When I shut the door, I noticed that the parking lot in front of Mrs. Carlucci’s apartment is empty. They’re all clustered on this side of the building, and—I guess—out back in the yard. If we can make it through the walls to Mrs. Carlucci’s, and the coast is still clear, then we can run into the woods.”
“That’s a lot of ifs,” Turo replies. “I’m starting to think Shaggy is right. Maybe we should jump out the fucking window into the backyard.”
Sam sighs. Stephanie can tell he’s annoyed and exasperated.
“If you guys want to do that,” he says, “then I won’t stop you. But can you at least wait until we’ve tunneled through the next wall?”
“How come?”
“Because the moment you jump out of the window, they’re going to see which apartment you came from. Give us a head start, for God’s sake.”
Turo nods. “Alright. That’s fair enough.”
“Yo,” Shaggy says. “If they start mobbing up in here, I’m out the fucking window, head start or no. Just so we’re all clear on that.”
“Chivalry is not dead,” Stephanie quips. “Come on. Let’s get started.”
She heads toward the bedroom door. A pyramid of boxes are stacked against one wall. All of them are marked as belonging to Caleb. She realizes this would have been the little boy’s room. She wonders what this must be like for him—to have gone through all the excitement and uncertainty of moving to a new place, and then having that shattered by a murderous mob of crazies led by a fat man with some sort of nervous twitch. The only other items in the room are some clothes hangers in the closet and an air conditioner in the window. It’s the same one Stephanie has in her apartment, provided by the Pine Village management. She wonders if they got a discount for buying the units in bulk.
Pausing, Stephanie looks back at Shaggy. “You pulled the bookshelf over the hole in the wall?”
“Yeah. Why?”
Ignoring him, she turns her attention to Sam. “Maybe we should stack some of these boxes over the hole on this side? Help slow them down?”
“Good idea,” Sam agrees. “Turo and Shaggy, can you guys do that while we get started on the wall?”
Both men grumble about it, but nod, conceding.
“I’ll help,” Terri volunteers. “Caleb, you go with Mrs. Carlucci.”
“But I want to stay here,” he insists. “They’re my toys, Mom.”
“Do what I asked. It’s safer for you to go with them. Go on now.”
“Come on, Caleb.” Mrs. Carlucci takes the boy’s hand. “You can watch me dig through the wall.”
“Are you sure you’re up for it?” Stephanie asks.
“My cats are alone, and we’ve got two more walls to go through before I can get to them. Stand back and watch me. I’ll out-dig all of you. I’ve got no time for nonsense.”
She winks, and Stephanie can’t help but smile at the old woman’s spirit—and her concern for her cats.
Caleb takes the elderly neighbor’s hand. “Do you think your cats are okay?”
“King, Queenie, and Princess have been pampered their whole lives. They’re sort of…soft. But Hannibal will take care of them. He’s a wily one.”
“Like the coyote?”
It takes Stephanie a second to understand the reference, but Mrs. Carlucci picks up on it right away. Chuckling, she leads Caleb out of the room. Stephanie turns and spots Terri, box in hand, watching her son go. There are tears in the young mother’s eyes.
Then there are tears in Stephanie’s eyes, as well.
“It’s going to be okay,” Sam tells them as they enter the other bedroom.
Stephanie nods, afraid that if she tries to speak, she might break down and wail instead. Her chest aches, and each heartbeat feels like a hammer blow. She thinks about her parents, and hopes they are okay.
Terri’s bedroom is much like Caleb’s, except that there are more boxes. A disassembled bed has been stacked against the wall, but there is no mattress or box spring. Stephanie assumes they must still be outside in the truck. The window holds another identical air conditioner.
“Stand back,” Sam says, approaching the far wall. “I’ll get us started.”
Mrs. Carlucci guides Caleb over to the window. Stephanie follows them. As she does, she realizes that the room isn’t as dark as it was a moment before. She glances at the window and sees a flickering light reflected in the glass. She leans her forehead against the window and peers outside. The smooth surface is cool against her skin, but there’s no time to enjoy the sensation. A naked woman is running across the yard with a red metal gasoline can. Crazies on both sides of her clear a path and cheer wildly. Stephanie’s eyes go wide as she sees another nude man trotting along behind the woman. He holds a blazing torch high over his head.
“Um, Sam?”
A solid thunk echoes as the axe blade strikes the wall.
“What, Steph?”
THUNK
“You might want to see this.”
He turns to look at her, axe half-raised for another blow. Then, shoulders sagging, he crosses the room.
“Better hurry,” Stephanie urges.
Sam stands next to her and peers out the window. “Oh, shit…”
“They’re going to light the car on fire,” Mrs. Carlucci says.
Sam nods. “And the complex will follow. Everybody stand back.”
He yanks back the curtains and raises the axe. Stephanie is about to ask what he’s doing, concerned that the mob in the backyard will spot the movement. Then Sam begins running the axe blade along the rubber molding between the air conditioner and the windowsill, slicing through it. The unit trembles as he does so. Stephanie notices the framed photograph Sam tucked into his waistband earlier. It looks like it is about to fall out. She’s about to mention it when he grunts with exertion. He slams the axe against each side of the air conditioner, smashing the plastic supports that bolt the unit to the wall. The air conditioner tilts forward, gouging the windowsill. The frame shakes.
“Give me a hand,” he grunts, glancing back at Stephanie.
She sets her knife and hammer aside, and glances out the window as she rushes to Sam’s side. Outside, the woman with the gas can has clambered up onto the roof of the car. As the other attackers cheer, she begins to unscrew the lid. The runner with the torch has almost reached the vehicle, as well.
“Push!” Stephanie digs her feet into the carpet.
The air conditioner groans, its metal casing squealing against the windowsill as she and Sam shove it free. Too late, Stephanie realizes that the unit is still plugged in. The black power cord snaps tight against the wall, and the air conditioner dangles for a second. Then, the cord rips free from the electrical socket and the air conditioner plummets below, followed by a sickening thud. The sound reminds Stephanie of after Halloween, when her parents would allow her to drop the starting-to-rot pumpkins off the porch roof.
She leans out the open window and peers below. The woman’s head looks much like those splattered pumpkins used to. It’s smashed flat, and spread out. Brains and blood and skull fragments are scattered like pumpkin seeds and p
ulp.
“Out of the way,” Sam barks, pushing forward.
He aims his pistol out the open window and fires two rounds at the torch runner. Both shots miss. The mob roars in anger. Gritting his teeth, Sam fires three more rounds. Over Sam’s shoulder, Stephanie sees the torch bearer fall. The flaming brand tumbles from his hand, setting the grass on fire. The naked people crane their necks upward, gnashing their teeth and glaring.
“They know we’re here now,” Stephanie mutters.
“Yes,” Sam shouts, running back to the wall, “they damn sure do. Let’s dig!”
Startled, Stephanie stifles a scream as Terri, Shaggy, and Turo run into the room, glancing around wildly.
“The fuck is happening?” Shaggy demands.
“They tried to set the building on fire,” Stephanie says.
“Those crazy motherfuckers in Sam’s apartment heard the shots,” Turo shouts. “They’re coming through, and them boxes ain’t gonna hold them.”
Sam attacks the wall, swinging with wild abandon. Stephanie starts to help him when she hears the boxes come crashing down in the other bedroom. Simultaneously, somebody begins pounding relentlessly on Terri’s front door.
“They’re in!” Stephanie rushes across the bedroom and slams the door. “Help me block it!”
Except for Sam, the others stand frozen with panic. Stephanie isn’t even sure they heard her.
“I’m through,” Sam yells, standing back from the hole. “Everyone hurry!”
This seems to snap them out of their stupor. They begin running for the wall.
Stephanie locks the door and stands with her back to it, hyperventilating. The walls shake as, out in the living room, the front door is smashed down. The apartment echoes with the sounds of pounding feet and wild, inarticulate cries. Seconds later, someone slams into the bedroom door. Shrieking, Stephanie runs away from it. The knob is jiggled violently, and the door rattles in its frame.
Orange light flickers from the open window as the fire in the yard slowly spreads. Stephanie smells smoke, and hears people roaring outside.
Sam ducks down and clambers through the hole in the wall. Mrs. Carlucci, Terri, and Caleb follow. All of them are screaming. Wide-eyed, Stephanie glances at Shaggy and Turo as more blows rain down upon the door.
