Last Fight of the Valkyries

by E. E. Isherwood

  She moved behind the her, intending to look over the top of the Arch to see into the south leg tram loading area, and was disturbed to see the woman held a pistol at her side. She kept walking to give the woman some room. There was something wrong with her, beyond the background noise of despair and fear everyone shared.

  “My name's Saffron. What's yours?”

  The woman remained stone-still as she looked down through the observation window. Saffron looked out her own window, thinking of better times when she was here. In normal times, parents would be holding young children as they lay on top of the slanted windows. She leaned down to get a better look.

  Outside, she saw…

  “It's the end of the world.” The woman spoke in almost a whisper.

  “Ain't that the truth.” The lush green grass and remaining trees of the park below clashed profoundly with the dead bodies, surging zombies, and running groups of survivors fighting for an extra minute or two of life. To the west, as far as Saffron could see, crowds of infected crammed the streets of downtown St. Louis—heading to the last people left alive in the city. “But at least they'll die out in the sunshine.”

  Saffron turned back to the stranger, and tried to engage her once more. “I'm Saffron.”

  After another minute of silence, Saffron brought up the big guns.

  “Where did you go to high school?”

  The young woman turned to look at her, but remained silent. Saffron took it as a positive sign. “I went to Northwest. You?”

  “Where did I go to high school?” It droned out of her, and she seemed to think hard. “I went to Ursuline Academy. I graduated...a few years ago. Why does it matter?”

  “I'll tell you why it matters. I know who you are. You think I'm a hillbilly from Jefferson County who shops at Walmart, and I think you're a rich snob from the suburbs who shops at the Galleria? Am I right?”

  She tried to be cheery with the stereotypes of St. Louis—she meant it as a joke. It was normally a safe ice breaker. Instead the woman began to sob.

  “It's all gone, isn't it? Walmart. Galleria. High school?”

  The gun hung like damp laundry at the woman's side. For the first time, Saffron understood what was going on here.

  “No, they aren't all gone. I was part of a group. There's help out there. What's your name?”

  “Christine.” She spoke like a robot.

  “Well, Christine, it looks like we both made it to the safest place in St. Louis, huh?”

  Christine slunk down against the wall below the windows. Saffron sat down on the other side of the tight space, facing her.

  Christine explained her situation. “We thought that, too. What was safer than the Arch? My boyfriend and I live downtown—lived—and he was determined to get us here. We found some of his friends, and some other people along the way, and made it to the south leg down in the museum. The doors were blown apart at the bottom, and we were fighting the whole way to the top. The men were armed with shovels and a few guns. They sacrificed themselves to protect me and other women. Eventually, it was just me. I shut the door at the top just like you did.” She sniffled. “So who's coming to rescue you?”

  Saffron considered sugar-coating it, but couldn't come up with anything that would ring true. Instead, she shook her head in the negative. No one was coming...

  Christine set the pistol on her lap, as she silently cried.

  Saffron stood up to get a view out the east side. She'd heard through the rumor mill the Army was patiently waiting on the eastern shore, but she saw no evidence over there. If they were over there watching all of her friends die, including her, she was going to be very angry. Unable to decide if she felt better or worse in not seeing the military, she resumed her own survival effort.

  “Christine. Is there any way to get down the south leg? You said there were zombies following you. How many?”

  The woman looked up to answer, but just shook her head. Tears streamed down her cheeks.

  “There has to be another way down.”

  “There is.” With a shaking hand, Christine pulled the gun off her lap, and vaguely pointed it at her head. “I'm going out on my terms. When I'm ready. I'm not going to die of thirst in this coffin.”

  That's what it was. A sealed stainless steel coffin. Saffron figured they'd both die and be preserved for eternity.

  “Hey, your boyfriend wouldn't want you to give up, would he? My—friends—wouldn't want me to give up either. We have to keep trying.”

  Christine slapped the gun down in her lap again. It was the kind of careless gun handling which got people killed. “Look around. Do you see any doors we can use? Both legs are filled with zombies. The tram cars aren't operational. What else do you want?”

  “To live,” she thought.

  She studied the interior of the observation deck. It was remarkably bare. The only blemishes were the bloody footprints from her own shoes and long-dried smears of blood here and there. The windows didn't open of course...but it gave her an idea. Moving to the very apex of the Arch, she noticed a square on the ceiling above her. It was about as wide as a man, and it gave the lone clue what it was for.

  “Hey, help me up so I can reach this.” She was pointing up as Christine looked at her. “I think this pops away and there's a door to the outside.”

  With wild eyes the girl focused on her, and began to laugh. “Are you serious?” As a response, Saffron jumped up as high as she could, and pushed the square covering. It popped out of its channel, revealing something above it. A hatch was up there.

  Instead of jumping up to help, the girl merely pulled her knees up to her chest and put her head down. She continued to cry. Saffron was about to write her off completely when she froze. The girl had stopped sobbing and froze as well. The floor panel beneath Christine's feet was moving.

  “Oh, Christ. They're under us.”

  Every twenty feet or so on the curved walkway, pieces of the metal were bending upward. Things were trying to push them upward.

  Christine jumped up, and the panel nearly popped open. The eyes of the zombie peeking through were enough to get them both moving.

  “Help me.” Saffron was forceful, but tried to remain quiet. Christine grabbed her around the waist as if to lift her, Saffron pointed out that though they were both small women, she was stronger. She would lift. Her back strained in the effort, but they only needed an extra foot or two so she could pull the ceiling panel down, and then see about the top hatch itself.

  She couldn't look up, as her strength and focus was entirely on lifting. Saffron could hear the growing moans of the zombies sneaking through the gap beneath them. They became agitated once they knew the girls were above them. Banging under the floor also grew louder.

  “Oh shit. There's a padlock on the round hatch.”

  “Of course. Can't have a tourist stepping out for a smoke,” she thought.

  “Can you shoot it out?” It worked in the movies, so seemed a worthwhile thing to suggest.

  “Put me down. I can't.”

  She didn't want to drop her. She wasn't sure she could lift her again. With an “oomf” she let her down. The floor panels moved in several areas. The one closest to them was almost off. The zombies were relentless, but not remotely smart.

  Christine showed her the gun. “This is empty. I spent them all coming up.”

  “I thought you were going to kill yourself.” She said it without emotion, wishing maybe there were two bullets in the thing.

  “Yeah, I probably would have been dead before you arrived if I had bullets left in the clip.”

  Saffron resisted correcting her nomenclature. It was just a steel boat anchor now.

  “Hey! You can use it to beat the shit out of the lock.”

  They both looked at the gun as something brand new. Saying nothing, they both got back into position. Saffron heaved. Christine began to attack the lock.

  The first panel flipped completely up. It was just a little bit too small for the zombie t
o easily climb through. It must have been slinking under the floor and wasn't able to bend enough to get out. But it would eventually. It was able to contort in ways beyond a normal human body.

  “Bang bang bang.” The gun battered against the lock. Saffron was afraid to ask for status reports. The banging was its own report.

  “Please hurry.” She was having trouble holding the girl up.

  More panels popped. Hands and arms began reaching up from the floor in many spots. A zombie had emerged from a panel far down the walkway, nearest the tram station on the south side. It was on the smaller side. An infected young boy.

  “They're coming through. You have to hurry.”

  “This lock is really tough. I don't think—”

  Saffron tightened her grip. She willed Christine to break the damned lock.

  “—I got it!”

  Both tumbled to the floor as Saffron's arms gave out. The lock bounced down the incline of the floor.

  “Give me the gun,” she commanded.

  “But it's—”

  Saffron took it from her. She stood and walked toward the small infected person—she couldn't use the term “child”—as it moved in her direction. She swung the butt of the gun with as much force as she could muster, ending at the boy's cheek. Her first swing broke the jaw but took another horrible pair of cracks to damage the head for good. She stepped around the grabbing hands of the crawlers as she made it back to the hatch.

  “Get ready. I'm going to lift you to the top.”

  Christine moved as instructed. Other panels were completely off. The biological hazards below were straining in unnatural ways to free themselves from the conduits.

  Saffron put the gun in her waistband, then made as if she was going to lift the smaller woman.

  “What?”

  Christine looked up through the hatch. “What are we going to do up there?”

  There was no time to consider whether it was a good idea. It was the only idea that would allow them to stay alive.

  “Sunbathe.” She said it as calmly as she could.

  “Sunbathe?” A long hesitation. “Yeah, OK.”

  She grabbed the other woman around her thighs and hefted her up. Christine was able to gain leverage on the hatch, but Saffron had to really push her to get her through.

  From above, “Oh my God. It's windy up here,” she yelled.

  “Yeah, well, as long as you aren't getting bit,” Saffron grumbled to herself.

  Another zombie had snaked out of the subfloor. It appeared to be a small-framed teen boy. He'd lost his shirt along the way, but his black chest and side was drenched in fresh blood. A recent victim of the virus—probably from the crowd directly below.

  It gained its feet as Saffron jumped for the hatch. She was able to grab the outer lip, but she panicked as she realized she couldn't pull herself up. Not after the exhausting climb and fight in the stairwell coming up. She hung for a second.

  “Think girl. Think!”

  “Are you coming up?” From above, Christine seemed oblivious.

  “Yeah, why don't you come down and lift me up,” she muttered softly.

  She pulled out the pistol, intent to do harm to the teen boy. She was getting slow, however, and her swing was a second too late to make solid contact with the zombie's head. Rather than hitting it with the gun, she hit the thing's head with her wrist. The gun got loose and tumbled to the floor. The zombie winced too, but kept its feet.

  A panel directly below her rattled. She didn't fall over, but the shock almost made her lose her footing.

  The teen re-oriented on her. On a hunch, she dropped to a squat and pulled up the floor panel. It was light, probably aluminum, and was about a twenty inch square.

  She noticed the woman squished into the narrow space, trying to turn to look up at her. The thing wore a bright red shirt, which did a remarkable job of camouflaging the blood on it.

  From a crouch, she swung the panel like a banshee. With a heavy grunt from a place in her soul she was unaware existed, the sharp edge ripped into the teen zombie's stomach. Blood and parts spilled out.

  Again the zombie was forced to the side, its muscles damaged but its body unbroken.

  She stood, gripped the panel, and swung it again as hard as she could. This time it cut into the boy's neck. It was already damaged from the boy's own encounter with a zombie, and it allowed her to make a good, solid, cut.

  “I don't believe it.” She panted as her strength continued to wane.

  The boy's throat was indeed severed, but the spine held it in place. His noggin was canted unnaturally to one side, but he was still coming back for her.

  She threw down the panel. It slid on the floor, loosely covering the red shirt woman. She was close to getting out. Many were close to escape now. Hands reached up from many panels on the floor.

  “The panels,” she shouted to herself.

  The windows of the Arch sit on what are effectively small shelves, so people can look down. Saffron hopped onto one shelf and then pushed herself off with all her strength and grabbed the boys neck—and twisted.

  The thing cried out until a satisfying snap occurred on its neck. With nothing left to hold it in place, the momentum carried the head from the body. Surprised, Saffron threw it while the rest of the body collapsed at her feet.

  She was mesmerized as the head rolled down the incline of the floor, bounced off the side a couple times, hopped over some of the open panels, and then rolled into the darkness toward the tram loading area. Gone.

  She shook her head vigorously to clear her mind of what just happened.

  “The panels, girl. Get the panels!”

  She found the panel she had tossed down, and pulled it from the red shirt woman—now facing up from the floor—and placed it under the hatch to the outside.

  She repeated the process several more times until the panels were stacked about a foot high. She dared not try more as she could see two or three zombies far down the walkway standing up and starting her way. The crawlspace was more spacious farther away from the apex.

  “Just a little more time. You got this.” She told herself.

  Christine's face was up in the hatch, looking down with terror.

  With a tentative first step, she placed her foot on the stack of panels. It immediately tipped over.

  “No. No. No.”

  She looked closer at the stack. The panels had a slight curve to them, to match the curvature of the top of the Arch. She didn't notice it in her haste. She rearranged the panels, then chanced a look over her shoulder.

  “This is it,” she shouted up to Christine.

  “Or I'm dead,” she said to herself.

  The stack was steady. Her legs, thought wobbly from exhaustion, held her in position. She grabbed the hatch above. The sunlight drizzling in through the gap was heavenly.

  With a final grunt, she jumped. With her arms, she pulled at the same time. Christine grabbed her shirt and pulled, too. It got her just enough leverage she could get her elbows outside the hatch. For a moment, she hung with her legs dangling inside the Arch. Her torso outside.

  The view was spectacular.

  Something brushed her below. She spun her legs and was horrified to make several contacts. Multiple zombies were on her. She heard the moans as she pushed them back with a weak kick.

  “Help me up,” she screamed. Christine looked surprised and frightened by her tone. Instead of helping, she slid away, toward the big warning lamp next to the hatch. She hugged it, looking away from Saffron.

  She had no time to plead. She'd have to do it herself.

  More hands on her legs. She strained to pull herself up with her arms. She was normally a fairly strong teenager, especially for her small frame, but her strength had been stolen from her.

  She swung her leg backward. She made contact with something.

  Then she put her feet forward and found something standing almost next to her. She decided it was her last chance. She raised one of her feet, ris
king a bite, and found the shoulder—or maybe the top of the head of a short zombie—and pushed off like a step.

  Her ploy worked. With the extra support of her leg, she shimmied up through the hatch. Rather than hoot and celebrate, she spun around to look down.

  A half dozen people looked up at her with bloody mouths, bleeding eyes, and outstretched hands.

  “What have we wrought?” She peered down for many minutes as more came out of the gaps in the floor. Soon the entire space was filled. She was about two feet beyond their reach. She didn't think there was any way they could figure out a way up, but to be safe she knew she had to get out of their view.

  When she finally looked up, Christine was gone.

  She didn't bother calling for her. She took over the spot on the warning lamp. It provided the only handhold on the upper surface of the Arch, beyond the lip of the hatch. The warmth of the metal in the July sun was a firm reminder that she was still alive. Below her, in the Arch, the moans and longing grunts of the infected continued unabated. It was like radio static blaring from the tiny hatch.

  She lost track of time. A couple days. A couple nights. The pangs of thirst were as constant and withering as the wind.

  “Christine saw this coming. She took the easy way out,” she said to herself.

  The view was incredible. From her perch on the top of the structure, she could see the entire city of St. Louis for thirty miles in any direction.

  “A beautiful way to die.”

  In the distance, she heard the whine of aircraft. She changed direction and saw a spectacle taking place inside Busch Stadium. Two large ungainly looking helicopter-planes were taking off from the field. The first to rise hovered near the ground, then slid sideways into the stands where it appeared to take a seat. Even from up there she could see the people and zombies scramble toward it.

  The other aircraft had similar issues but the people hanging on the back ramp were pushed out by someone on the inside. The machine stabilized, then rose.

  Saffron began to yell, though she was terrified to realize her voice was gone. She was so thirsty her throat wouldn't respond. Instead, she wheezed for help.