Lord of the Dead

by R. J. Spears

  “There were a few items missing, but I think we’ll be able to get by on what we have. There’s so much here we could use, though.” You could hear the regret in her voice.

  “Yeah, I would imagine so, but this is a quick in and out.” Greg said, but added, “This went fairly smoothly, though. We should be able to make another trip sometime soon.”

  Famous last words.

  Something smacked against the small glass portal window at head height in the lab door. That something turned out to be the hand of a zombie. I was closest to the door which of course meant I jumped a foot in the air when the hand hit the window. Unmanly, yes, but I have my lapses.

  Greg slid past me and went to the door just as a puffy partially decomposed face filled the little window. It wasn’t a pretty preview of what was out there in the hall. A set of hands pawed that face out of the way, and another even uglier face filled the window — this one was missing an eye and had a large gash ran down its cheek. That meant there were at least two deaders in the hallway.

  “I’m going to crack the door and take a peek,” Greg said.

  “Are you sure you should?” Kara asked.

  “What choice do we have? This and the other door are the only way in or out. We have to know what we’re up against. Travis, Joel, come over and get ready to slam into this door if they try to get in,” Greg said. We moved into position with our backs against the door as Greg gripped the doorknob.

  “On three,” Greg said.

  “One, two, three.” Greg turned the knob, and the door immediately swung inwards a few inches as two sets of hands filled the gap clutching at anything they could.

  “Close it, close it, close it,” Greg said.

  Travis and I pushed off the floor with our feet, our backs against the door, but met resistance from the outside. We doubled our effort, as the hands lashed the air reaching for us desperately even as we crushed down on them pushing as hard as we could. I felt a gnarled finger scrape along my shoulder and involuntarily moved against Travis, but he had nowhere to go. Greg brought his ax to bear and went at them with a vengeance. A whole hand and half an arm flopped onto the ground with ugly wet thuds, leaving a stump with bone sticking through the gap, flailing around. I truly don’t know what was worse; the bloodied limbs or the bone sticking out of the flailing stump. The bone tapped against the door jamb like a drumstick played by a spastic drummer.

  Travis and I dug deep and shoved for all we were worth. The door slammed shut, crunching down on another hand and the stump, breaking them off and spraying blackish-red blood onto the wall and floor. The two zombies groaned loudly. It was totally gross, but the door closed. I had limited confidence, though, as I watched the door bow in slightly as the zombies went at it.

  “Kara,” Greg said, “check the other door, but don’t open it.”

  Kara ran down the room to a second door and no sooner did she get there than did a zombie’s face fill the window. A couple of sets of hands slapped at the door insistently.

  “How did I not have one of us watching the hallway?” Greg asked out loud, shaking his head and looking at the floor.

  “It’s not a question of what we did or didn’t do,” I said, “it’s what we do now that matters most.” I rarely spouted words of wisdom, but this must have been inspired from above.

  “There’s really only one thing to do,” Greg said, snapping out of it. “We’re going to have to open one of those doors and see how many we have to face. If it’s a few, we can build a barrier of some sort inside the room— some sort of obstacle, and then take them on.”

  “But what if there’s too many of them?” Kara asked.

  They say the secret of comedy is timing. That works for entering and exiting a zombie-filled hospital complex, too. If there were only a few, we could probably take them out. If there were more than a few, we’d most likely have to shoot our way out when would only bring more of them down on us. That was a recipe for disaster. In these small, dark hallways, I didn’t like our chances.

  “Then, we’re screwed,” I said, cutting through it and saving Greg from having to say it.

  “The longer we wait, the more of them that hear the ones outside door, and come running,” Greg said.

  Chapter 40

  No More Nomads

  “We’ve smoked them out from the front,” Rex said over the walkie-talkie. “The rest’ll probably come your way.”

  “Good job,” Anthony said. “Be ready just in case and make sure none get out to the north.”

  “Will do,” Rex said.

  Anthony and Layla had their soldiers lined up along a brick wall just outside a back exit. The exit door was recessed about fifteen feet from the alley and the parking lot. The regimented order of the zombies was a true sign of the genius and mastery that Anthony had assumed over the undead. While so many had thought these creatures were uncontrollable beasts of hunger and destruction, Anthony had proved otherwise. It was a true tribute to his real genius.

  Anthony and Layla positioned themselves across the parking lot just behind a station wagon. Before the attack, they had run through all the scenarios and had hypothesized that if they hit the front with tear gas, then most of the nomads would try to escape out the back exit. Things were playing out as planned.

  It was only a matter of time before the mice ran out that door into their waiting trap. Only this one wouldn’t snap once in a deadly action, but multiple times with the mouths of their hungry horde. The clock ticked about two more minutes when the door flew open and a man and a woman burst out it, both armed with guns, firing wildly into the parking lot.

  Anthony sensed that his soldiers wanted to pour around the corner and down on the two people, drawn by the sound of the shots, but he applied a little current to their control, and they stayed locked into place. Layla failed to make this accommodation, and several of her soldiers shambled eagerly around the corner. The man had a shotgun and started firing at will, blasting away at the zombies as did his companion who had a rifle. Chunks of grayish and blackened flesh flew through the air as arms, faces, and body parts rained down on the parking lot, and zombies fell.

  “Hold them back,” Anthony hissed.

  Layla’s face, which had been looking on with some sinister expression of satisfaction shifted to a bewildered blankness.

  “The plan was to have them come into the parking lot, first,” Anthony said, not hiding his disgust. He was sorely tempted to give her an object lesson despite her appeal, but decided against that while there were in the heat of battle. Afterwards was a different story, though.

  “Pull them back. Now!”

  She frantically ran her fingers over the buttons, and the zombies stopped and then fantastically, retreated. The pair at the door stood dumbfounded for a moment, then the man turned and shouted back into the building. About twenty seconds later, another woman appeared at the doorway with two children.

  Wendy’s voice squawked over the walkie-talkie, “They have kids.”

  “So,” Anthony said.

  “We can’t go through with it,” Wendy said. She was angled off the alley about a half block away acting as a spotter for the attack.

  “Why not?” Anthony said.

  “Because…” was all Wendy could say.

  “I’ve always found children to be the cruelest,” Anthony said, his memory running over the countless taunts from all the kids from his childhood. All of them directed at his pale skin. No, he thought, children were crueler than adults. They deserved no different treatment.

  “What do think, Layla?” He asked.

  She took a moment to respond, “Yes. Yes, sir.”

  “You can’t do this,” Wendy said, the sound of her tears coming over the walkie-talkie.

  Anthony moved his fingers from his main console and pressed a button on another console and held it down.

  A choking scream filled the air from Wendy’s location just a few yards away and then stopped abruptly. Layla glanced in that direction and saw
Wendy sprawled in the alley, shaking spasmodically. Layla quickly turned away.

  Anthony held the button down and watched as the people cautiously moved forward toward the alley, not trusting their good fortune.

  They were smart not to trust, Anthony thought. Trust was something that came hard. Wendy was learning her lesson the hard way.

  When the small group reached the precipice of the alley, Anthony’s finger left the button and went to another series of buttons that he expertly pressed. His soldiers surged forward around the corner like a flood and poured onto the group. The man barely had time to get his gun up and only managed to get off two shots before being swamped by the undead. The woman had no chance and went down quickly.

  Layla released her soldiers almost simultaneously with Anthony and her’s went for the woman and the children. Frozen in place by fear, the zombies took them in a matter of seconds.

  Chapter 41

  Trapped

  The best-laid plans of mice and men. That’s what was going through my head as I shot the zombie struggling to climb over the pile of zombies just inside the door of the lab. It was a quote from some poem or book that I failed to pay attention to in tenth grade English Literature class. What the quote meant, I couldn’t really remember, but I knew we were living those words.

  We had opened the door twice, attempting the gambit of letting the zombies in so that we could run out the other door, only to find an equal amount of zombies at the door we were trying to exit. Taking care of the zombies, we had let in turned out to be a real chore. We were nearly overrun and had to resort to using our guns, and the sound of the shots only drew in more of the undead.

  “The hallway is filling with them,” Travis said.

  “Kara, is there another way out of here?” Greg asked as he shot a zombie crawling along the floor toward us.

  “No,” she said. I think I heard her voice go dry as she said it.

  No one said anything. It was obvious that we were in trouble. Big trouble. We were in a basement room with a corridor of zombies stacked up outside as far as the eye could see.

  “What about going out the windows?” Travis asked, standing on a lab table and looking out the small windows positioned at ceiling height. Each of the windows was protected with heavy metal bars to keep people from breaking in and, in this case, to keep us trapped inside. “I can see the parking lot, and there’s not too many zombies walking around.”

  “Those bars look thick,” Greg said. “Kara, do you think there’s anything in here we could cut them with?”

  “There’s probably a bone saw, but without electricity, there’s no way to operate it. Plus those bars would probably shred the saw blade.”

  “Can we wait them out?” Kara asked.

  “Between us, we might have two to three days’ worth of food,” Travis said. “The zombies can wait a lot longer than that. Besides that, my dad needs us back yesterday.”

  “Plus the doors look as if they won’t last for long,” Greg said. The smaller door had a crack in it from the zombies’ pressing against it, but it was holding. For now.

  “So, we shoot our way out?” I asked, and it was definitely more question than a statement.

  “I don’t like it, but it may be our only choice,” Greg said. “Everybody count your rounds.”

  It took a few minutes to get a picture of what we had in terms of ammunition, and it turned out to be a bleak looking picture. We had traveled lightly so that we could carry out what we needed. With our current supply, we’d need to have the zombies line up in neat little rows. Then we could shoot the one at the head of the line, and our bullets would carry through the first one’s head and onto the second one and then onto the third, and so on. Zombies rarely cooperated in that fashion, and bullets rarely made it past one skull.

  “We should have run as soon as the first zombie showed up,” Greg said.

  “It doesn’t do any good to look back,” I said. “It is what it is.” That’s the best of my homespun philosophy.

  “But I led us down into a place that had no escape route,” Greg almost shouted, his frustration level rising. I had never seen him so emotional. He had always been our anchor. If he lost it, we were screwed.

  “Maybe, there’s more than one way to escape,” I said.

  “What are you talking about?” Greg asked.

  “Well, we don’t have a saw or any way to get through the bars,” I said, pointing toward the barred windows on the outer wall, but maybe we can get through the wall next to them.”

  “How are you planning to do that?” Kara asked.

  I walked across the lab to a shelf full of oxygen tanks, pointed at them, and said, “With these.”

  “Those are big and heavy, but I don’t see us bashing the wall in or the bars with them,” Travis said.

  “We won’t have to lift them at all,” I said.

  “Then what’s your plan, Mr. Science?” Kara asked.

  This caused me to reflect. Before we were involved, I don’t remember her ever being this sarcastic with me. Maybe it was a bad sign that I was rubbing off on her, but I had more pressing issues to attend to. Such as the door on the other side of the room which was really starting to bulge in from the zombies pushing from outside the door.

  “You guys are just going to have to trust me,” I said, “and this is going to take a few minutes to setup.”

  It was a final Hail Mary sort of plan, but there were no better ones on the table. We scurried around the lab as I explained my scheme to them. I left out a lot of details such as that I had never done this before and I had no idea of what I was really doing. Desperation blinds people sometimes. Once they were on board, the plan went together more quickly than expected because they put in their two cents’ worth and we improvised as we went.

  Travis and Greg broke down two of the lab tables and created a ramp of sorts while Kara and I moved the oxygen tanks into place.

  “So, you’re saying that we put the tanks on this half-baked ramp and knock off the valve, and it will act like a missile and knock a hole in the wall, right?” Greg asked.

  “Yes, that’s what I’m saying,” I said.

  “Where did you come up with this crazy idea?” Kara asked.

  I was really hesitant to give them my inspiration because it would certainly deplete any faith they had in it, but I knew they’d never stop asking because I knew I wouldn’t. As nonchalantly as I could and with my back turned away from them as I inspected our little project, I let the cat out of the bag and said, “YouTube.”

  They let out a collective groan. At least I didn’t say I saw it on Jackass.

  “Come on, guys,” I said, turning toward them, “this will work. Trust me.” As if they had any other choice.

  We fine-tuned the ramp and the plan, but the clock was ticking. The zombies were really applying the pressure to the door now. Even from across the room I thought I saw an actual crack in it.

  “Give me your ax,” I said to Greg.”

  “No way,” he said, “if anyone’s doing this, I am because I got us trapped in here.”

  “No, it ought to be me,” Travis said, “we wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for my dad. I should do it.”

  “Really,” I said, “really. It’s my plan, and I’m doing it. Now give me the damn ax.” I put out my hand and put on my most stern expression. It must have worked because Greg handed over the ax. “Now, everyone get behind something heavy.”

  “I thought you told us to trust you?” Kara chimed in.

  “It’s science, and it’s unpredictable,” I said, holding the ax to my shoulder and waiting for them to find cover. They got the message and found places to hide.

  I got myself into position and grabbed the ax in both hands. I did a slow motion practice swing, gauging the path of the ax to the valve on the top of the tank. That valve was now nearly at floor level as the tank sat upside down. The plan was for the valve to break off, the oxygen to shoot out the end, and then the tank to be propell
ed against the wall, and, hopefully, do some real damage. Maybe even knock a hole in it. At least, that’s what happened on YouTube.

  It was then when I truly reflected on the source of my little inspiration and the doubts started to creep in. YouTube. Really?

  It was time for a massive leap of faith or a terrible failure. I’m an optimist.

  We had over a dozen tanks, so if the first few didn’t get the job done, we’d have some more at the ready.

  I did one more practice swing, pulled the ax back, and took a moment to close my eyes. I wondered if it was an appropriate prayer, but I asked for God to allow me not to screw this up. I heard the door crack again behind me, so I knew there was no more time to waste. I brought the ax down and hit home. There was an immediate cracking noise as the valve broke off, and that was followed by a clank as the valve hit the ground. The room filled with a loud hissing noise as air shot out of the broken valve, and before my very eyes, that cylinder took off just like a rocket.

  Imagine that. One of crazy ideas worked.

  We had aimed just beside the barred window, thinking maybe it was weaker. Our aim was true. The cylinder struck the wall and drove through it like a knife through warm butter, leaving a perfectly round hole in the wall.

  Where the tank went, I couldn’t say, but I could see blue sky through the hole. It helped that the contractor went cheap in this part of the building, using cinder blocks and not concrete, but I wasn’t going there. We had a hole, and that’s what we needed.

  Now, we just had to repeat the process until we had a big enough hole to get our supplies and us out. There was no time to waste. The door on the other side of the room was starting to show the stress of the zombies pressing on it. Our little science experiment seemed to have excited them a bit more.

  We adjusted our aim for the second, and it went off, much like the first one, blasting through the wall into the air, leaving another hole.

  The third one didn’t go so well since it left the ramp at an angle and hit the wall somewhat off-kilter. It actually did more damage than the two previous shots, knocking a larger hole in the wall, but it didn’t make it through the wall. This meant it came back into the room.