by Alan Spencer
He disengaged the lock belonging to the final door between them and their job. “Follow me.”
The first area was the break room. Another group of workers hung out in their underclothes, exhaustion printed on their faces. They smoked and ate, or slept on furniture. The place reeked of desperation and broken hope.
There was an itch behind her eyes; she wanted to cry. It would be easy to fold to her emotions, but the looming shape of the showers and the strange fence barrier looming in the distance snapped her from that option. The showers had high-pressure hoses from top to bottom. She watched a group stand in place as they were doused. Next, they walked past wet tiles up to a scary perimeter fence. A security guard stood, bored and indifferent to them. He was older, maybe in his sixties. He chewed on a wet cigar and wore a headphone set. His job was to survey the row of ten TV monitors around him for anything suspicious.
Douglas asked the man, bending down to his level, “Everything safe, Andy?”
“They’re still dead,” Andy griped, pointing at the screens. “And I’m still alive.”
Andy looked at them, his face unchanging. “Newbies, huh? This is a helluva place to start working.”
“I started here.”
Andy yukked it up at Douglas’s expense. “You stupid shit, and you’re still here!”
He unlocked the gate. A machine conveyor pulled it open. Douglas walked in, ushering them to follow. “Come on, people. Move.”
The area was now a concrete square surrounded by twelve-foot-high fences. They stood on a raised platform. She couldn’t see to the bottom, they were so high up. The walls in the far distance beyond the gates were concrete and painted black, the walls themselves at least twelve feet from their standing position.
The stench was awful, the air thick enough to leave condensation on their faceplates. Her father had worked at a meat-packing plant for five years before quitting. The only part of his work uniform he’d brought home were his boots. They stank of concentrated beef, a sickly sweet smell, and this stench was far advanced. Flies buzzed below by the thousands, a constant background din. There were movements from below, a constant shuffle, like hundreds of feet tramping in mud puddles.
Gutters were carved out of the concrete floor, each slit five feet from the other. A metal slide extended from each slit. The opening was large enough for a person to slip through. Blood caked the gutter slits in a thick gruel paste. Flies and worms and maggots writhed in the mess. She turned her head away when she caught the human head wedged in the corner. Male or female, it was impossible to distinguish. The pulped skin was mostly peeled from the skeleton.
Jesus Christ.
Douglas’s mask was on, his words were muffled. “Okay people, there’s the rack of shovels. Take one. Stay clear of the dumping zone.”
The dumping zone was blocked off by a hip-high fence with caution tape, orange cones and blinking lights. It was fifteen by twenty feet. Over the dumping zone, on the ceiling, a square tube that resembled a giant air duct was aimed at the concrete. A digital clock on the wall counted off from ten seconds.
“Don’t move, people.”
Nine, eight, seven, six…
The air duct grumbled like a beast dislodging phlegm from its throat.
Five, four, three, two, one…
Blood dripped down by the gallon. Addey’s body was doused from head to foot from the splashes, as was everybody else. And then the load arrived: WHOMP! It was spit out in a compressed pink, red and purple square. The concussion rattled their feet. The landing loosened the compressed material. It slithered against the walls of the fence, a slippery, wet noodle sound. Human organs, muscle tissue, flesh, arms, legs and heads in various stages of decay unfolded. Worms and maggots stewed in the mess in heavy masses. There was an audible group sigh of repugnance. Disbelief locked Addey in place. There had to be dozens mixed into that square. How many of them were shot from the ceiling a day?
Douglas explained to the dismayed crowd when the mess settled, “They’re corpses from murder scenes, leftovers of horrible car accidents, state executions, Jane and John Does and your loved ones out of caskets. Yes, get over it. It’s fucking happening, and it’s not your call. It’s not mine either. If you’re disgusted by it, shovel it down into those gutters that much faster. How else do you keep dead people happy? They eat flesh. It’s a primordial instinct. Resurrected with decaying brain matter, that’s all they can compute: eat human flesh. We’re all cavemen when it comes down to it, and they’re demented Cro-Magnons. Now get to work. The next batch is coming in,” he studied the digital clock, “twenty-five minutes. Shovel it up fast. Hurry, or else we’ll have a really big mess on our hands. You’ll be swimming in the shit if you don’t step up the work speed. Make it a game, a competition—I don’t give a fuck. Get it done!”
The group scrambled for the shovels, including Addey. She shoveled up a wad of mixed organs and dumped them down one of the four slides that channeled below them. She kept having to clear the condensation from her mask, though blood smears obscured her view.
Five minutes later, she was coated in sweat that clung to her skin in a cold gel.
I can’t keep doing this.
Eight hours a day? For how many days?
Animosity crept into her mind with the thoughts to match. Damn you, Deke. If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t be here. High school dropout. Heroin junky. Fucking idiot.
She shoveled harder, fiercely dumping each load. She collected a mandible and a collection of tongues in one scoop, half a female torso the next time that crawled with insects and a slithering snake. The shovels penetrated wet meat in staggering unison. She breathed in the noxious odor, hoping eventually for a clean breath.
Break time was two hours away. Twenty-three minutes until the next square of compressed remains shot down.
“I can’t…do this,” she mumbled.
She was growing dizzy. She couldn’t breathe. She gasped and choked, about to hyperventilate, when a pair of hands grabbed her. “We’ve got a fainter.”
Her burning-hot breath blocked the faceplate. She couldn’t see who carried her out of the work zone and through the showers. She was pressure-hosed, pink water covering the floor and running down the drain.
“You’re going to be okay,” a man’s voice assured Addey, clutching her tight. “I have just the thing for you. This happens to all of ’em at some point. It’s no fault of your own. Death isn’t something we’re used to seeing.”
“No, it’s not,” she replied. “It’s…too much.”
“There are special ways of coping,” was his final comment.
She was carted into a room in the corner of the showers. The room was dark until an overhead lightbulb flicked on. The person removed her mask; he was Douglas. He’d already stripped from his suit. He wore only a sopping wet undershirt and a pair of boxer shorts. The room contained four lockers, one of them Douglas’s. He opened it and retrieved a vial of white powder.
“I’ve come to powder your nose.” He stuck out the tip of his tongue and bit it softly. “It’s gets your mind off of the corpses real fucking quick. What do you say?”
A surge of white-hot heat coursed up her back. Something wasn’t right. “I want to leave this island.”
“Coke will do that. Come on, I know all about you, Addey Ruanova. How else do you people work shitty jobs? You drink, you shoot up, you fuck around—we should fuck around.”
She leaned against the wall, weak in the body. The room was air-conditioned, and she breathed in as much air as she could. How did the rest of them survive? Fear, self-control or did some of them simply not care anymore?
He unzipped the back of her suit and unsnapped her bra. “Let’s have a look, shall we?”
She shook her head, unable to react quickly enough to stop him. “I don’t want you to touch me.”
“I’ll trade services. I’ve read your file. I know you. Your brother was a dope dealer. I’m sure he hooked you up. Camden, New Jersey, isn’t a walk in
the park either. Piss-poor ghettos. I’m sure you’ve serviced yourself out. Imagine me as a customer, you the merchandise. You’re here forever, so why not be out of your head and feel good?”
“I said no.”
He kissed her neck. “I say yes.”
Nobody will hold it against me!
She came alive the very moment his lips touched her neck. She slammed her fist into his nose. She heard the distinct snap and shift of cartilage. Blood mushroomed from his nostrils. He stumbled three steps back and lowered to his knees, blood oozing down his face and lips.
His eyes burned into her. “You—stupid—bitch.”
He raced at her and zipped her back into the suit. “You won’t play nice, then you won’t get to play at all!”
He worked his suit back on himself, then grabbed her arm in a tight clamp. He pushed her through the door and then through the showers. “You might’ve broken my nose, but what happens to you will be worse. If you won’t be my fuck buddy, then you’ll be my example.”
She was forced back onto the work floor. Andy, the gatekeeper, opened the gates without the command being issued. A smile was in his eyes. He’d seen Douglas’s attempts at sex succeed and fail, and the man obviously enjoyed one outcome over the other.
“Show her a good time?”
“Go to hell, Andy!”
She searched for a place to run, but there were no options. As they entered the work zone, the workers were disturbed by their arrival. They watched her, nameless and faceless in their suits. Douglas twisted her arm behind her back. “Listen up, people. I tried to make this woman’s job a bit easier. All the females in the room take note: if you want hardcore narcotics, it’s perfectly legal. The cops won’t bust you. I’m your dealer. Every shift manager has access to serious shit, so if you want some, come and get it. I’m nice to you, you’re nice to me, comprehend?
“You can work the same job for months, perhaps years. I’ve supervised you bastards for nine years. Nobody’s going home. And if you think this job is bad, imagine what else you could be doing on the island complex?”
He twisted Addey’s arm. “This is Addey Ruanova. She assaulted me when I offered her drugs. When I make an offer, you be polite. She was very rude, and to assault a shift manager, that merits punishment.”
He shoved her toward the metal slide. “Down you go!”
The other workers stood by in helpless fascination.
She thrashed and tried to slip out of his hold, but it was no use. He kicked her in the back, and she tumbled to the edge. On the ground, inches from the slide, he shoved her the rest of the way down by a kick to her head. “See you in hell!”
Spinning, pivoting and speeding down the slick metal, she careened into the pit of the dead.
Chapter Fourteen
The blood-lubricated steel incline kept flipping her body. She was an article of clothing in a washing machine, spin-cycle style. Slamming both shoulders and the back of her head repeatedly, she was stunned before landing at the bottom of the slide. Crashing and splashing into a thick puddle, her landing was cushioned by liquid. Collecting herself, opening her eyes, coming to a higher form of alert, though dizzy and panging with hurt, she came to realize she was wading in human jelly. Her faceplate was smeared in gore. The tramping of steps, something or somethings were closing in on her. She had no choice but to remove the head part of the suit. The rancid stench was so powerful, it caused her eyes to water and her throat to close up.
The scene was expansive and disconcerting. She couldn’t take everything in at once. Details filtered in despite her shock. Clean bones were discarded and heaped in cast-off piles. The stacks were six feet high. They formed shelters, a labyrinth for the undead to hide in. She caught sight of shadowy figures moving about within the strange hideaways, many sneaking inside with handfuls of human organs and choice appendages to enjoy in private.
Blood saturated the floor inches high everywhere. The drains were clogged in the middle of the floor with flesh and drowned flies. Mealworms and maggots and night crawlers and snakes were also in the mix, creatures that had partaken of the delicacies that would ultimately snuff their lives. The walls were festering with green mold and fungus, among other mushroom sprouts and growths unknown to her.
The walking dead were another sight to behold. There was no range of decay or freshly dead; everybody down here was a festering mess. Fat—white blobs, what Addey could only describe as mayonnaise—worked out from the flesh in gleaming wads. The flesh itself was completely blackened, near liquid and threatening to melt from the bones. Some approached with gaping jelly eyes, while others sensed her with opened sinus cavities and hollowed-out eye sockets. For many, clothing kept their internal organs from sliding free from their torsos and slopping to their feet. Together, the collective society treaded the blood at their feet to corner her.
Where could she go? She looked up, but she couldn’t see the platform above, only the gates. No escape exit or ladder to climb. Nobody was coming to save her.
Douglas had delivered her to certain death.
More of them were disturbed from their activities and coming right for her. Many were hunched over the piles of remains at the end of the chutes, ready for the next payload to pick, sort and eat up. There were hundreds of them now, and their attention was completely on Addey.
The chute was inaccessible. One problem, it was blocked by the dead. The other issue, it would be impossible to hike up the slick surface at such a steep incline.
“Hey, I won’t hurt you.” She scrambled for words and breath. She continued to choke on their wretched stink. “You won’t hurt me, right?”
Gore-smeared faces twitched and smiled in disgusting delight. Putrid maws opened, shoving aside their fly-ridden meals for a living, walking, talking meal.
She heard the distinct echo of laughter ricochet from above.
I’ll throw you down here too, Douglas, and then we’ll see how funny it is.
The closest dead thing was a woman in a wedding dress, the dress itself literally sinking into her seaweed-textured body. She bobbed after Addey, walking on nubs instead of flat feet. Without processing it, Addey punched her in the chest, her arm breaking into the sternum and out through the shoulder blades. She struggled to reclaim her arm, now caught between two ribs when she reared back. The woman seized her head, the teeth champing at empty air as she tried to bring Addey’s face into her mouth.
Addey jerked back hard enough with her arm that the woman’s spine broke in half, causing the rest of the anatomical tower to dismantle itself. Addey shook off her hand, flecking blood, flesh and goop in the air. The woman lay in a dozen pieces. She continued to twitch, still alive. This was a human being, what used to be a thinking, loving, living person. All of them had been at some point, and here they were, closing in after her to devour her flesh.
Losing hold of the sentiment of humanity in seconds, she raced to the far wall, away from the wave of the dead, but they were coming at her in a line. She was surrounded. Strategy and running were useless.
There isn’t anywhere to escape.
She was tackled from behind, driven to the ground and smothered by a wet and oozing body. Teeth clicked and clacked in her ear as bone hands tore at her clothes. A set of teeth bore down on both shoulders, digging divots into her flesh. Wicked conflagration set her nerves on fire. She elbowed and kicked through the attacker, easily dismantling the enemy, the body so soft. So fetid. The dead man faltered with a wet gargling of the throat, sinking into his failing body.
Absorbing the pain of her bite wounds, she caught a face form on the pool of blood beside her. The face beckoned her, speaking to her. “Reach through. There’s an opening!”
She realized it was Deke. His face was bent in horror. He was simply a reflection.
A three-hundred-pound butterball threatened to topple on top of her. The zombie was obese in life and obese in death. She’d be smothered and picked clean in minutes.
Razor-sharp pain coiled at
her legs. The assault happened in less than thirty seconds. Her calves had been chewed up by two zombies per appendage, their faces slick with fresh blood. She kicked at their faces until their heads were sunken, putrid pulps.
“Reach through and open the door!”
Deke’s reflection was disturbed by fresh ripples in the blood. She had seconds, maybe no time left at all, to enact Deke’s command.
Below the surface, she heard a distinct click.
“I’ve disengaged the lock. Open it now!”
She delved into the blood. She traced a handle, and then she felt the outline of a doorknob.
The butterball zombie collapsed, splashing blood on her entire body and coating her in the surprisingly ice-cold substance. Its face was next to hers, its yellowed eyes staring her down. Adding to her hysteria, it gagged on fluids, what sounded like eggshells being chopped up in a garbage disposal. The phalange-bare hands seized her hair, twisting it to force her into its working mouth. She edged ever so closer to those teeth that resembled half-dissolved pills, the purple-white tongue danced with fervor, hungry and perked for a taste of fresh, living flesh. Her flesh!
She couldn’t force back the handle of the door because it was rusted closed.
“Addey—no!”
The roots of her hair were stretched to near breaking; each new tug blinded her with fresh agony. The rotting face was inches from hers. The cold death breath reeked, ending her ability to breathe, giving her a preview of death itself through her nose.
“Hold on, sis! I’ll save you.”
She called out to nobody after hearing her brother call out to her again. “Hurry up; they’re eating me alive!”
