The Demon Dead

by Arthur M Wyatt

  THREE - DAY ONE: ESCAPE

  Bam, bam, bam! Someone was at the door of John's hotel room banging on the door.

  “Fire department!” came a muffled voice from the other side.

  Groggily John raised his head from the pillow and looked at the clock. It was 05:30 a.m.

  He got up, walked to the door, and opened it as far as the chain would allow. There was a fireman in the hallway wearing bunker gear. On the bedside table his cell phone began to ring.

  “What’s going on?” John asked, “Is the hotel on fire?”

  “Just stay in your room until further notice. No one is allowed out of their rooms or out of this building. Stay put until you’re told otherwise,” the fireman said.

  “Can’t you tell me what’s happening?” John asked.

  “We’ll explain later,” The fireman said.

  With that the fireman pulled the door back slamming it shut. The phone stopped ringing and beeped to alert him to a message.

  Still half asleep and dazed he walked over to the bed and sat down. The phone rang again. It was Susan.

  “Honey are you ok?” he said as he answered.

  Gunshots could be heard outside the hotel.

  “John, something terrible is happening you have to come home!” she was hysterical.

  “What’s happening?” John asked.

  “The police just came around ten minutes ago with loud speakers waking everyone up and telling us to stay in our homes and keep the doors locked. John I don’t know what to do,” she said, “what they’re saying on the TV is horrible.”

  “Same thing here. I’ve been told to stay in my hotel and not to come out,” John told her. “Honey do you know what’s going on?”

  “Turn on the news John, they’re talking about it now. It’s awful,” she said beginning to sob.

  John told her to do exactly as the police said and to stay inside and by her phone.

  “Don’t worry Susan everything will be alright, I promise,” he lied.

  John knew he had no business making such a promise but it made him feel better anyway.

  “John you have to come home!” Susan sobbed into the phone, “oh God…this can’t be happening: Not now!”

  As tears welled up in his eyes he told her again that everything would be ok, said he loved her and hung up. Had he known all communications would be lost soon he would have stayed on the phone.

  He picked up the remote and turned the TV to cable news. The anchorwoman was saying that there was a worldwide pandemic of some kind. People were dying in the streets only to rise again minutes later and attack the living. Anyone bitten by one of the creatures would suffer the same fate.

  “My God!” John said out loud, “this is straight from a horror movie.”

  Whatever the cause, it had begun while John slept. He thought of how everything had been perfectly normal just seven hours ago.

  Suddenly the screen switched to a civil defense warning then a man in a military uniform appeared. The secretary of defense, the head of the department of homeland security and a representative of the Center for Disease Control, stood behind the podium. Just as the uniformed man began to speak, screaming and the sound of scuffling could be heard in the background. The officials ducked for cover then the screen went black. Within a couple of seconds the lights in the hotel flickered then the power went out.

  John picked up his cell phone to call Susan. All circuits were busy. He checked the hotel phone. Dead. He looked at his watch. The time was 06:00 a.m.

  He walked over to the window and looked down onto the scene below. John was on the top floor. There were fire trucks and police cruisers in the street. He saw barricades being set up blocking Main Street. He saw only a few of civilians.

  He went into the bathroom and turned on the faucet. There was still water pressure. Showering quickly he then shaved as best he could in the dim light and dressed. He checked the cell phones again. Still dead. He lay back on the bed to wait.

  An hour later he woke with a start to gunshots in front of the hotel. Rushing over to the window, a scene of chaos greeted him as he gazed down on the scene below. A crowd of twenty or more people had emerged from a side street and was advancing on the policemen in front of the hotel. They came on slowly and walked unsteadily. John realized these must be the zombies they were talking about on TV.

  At first they just shouted at the crowd to halt. When they didn’t, the policemen opened fire. The gunfire seemed to have little or no effect. The people in the crowd lurched and jerked to the hits but kept coming. Occasionally a bullet would strike one of them in the head. When that happened the body would go lifeless and drop to the ground. Unmoving.

  He couldn’t look away from the carnage. Walking dead, he thought, that’s crazy.

  In the back of the group was one who seemed to be acting differently from the others. Fascinated, John watched as it crouched behind the zombie in front of it. There were six of the creatures left now. Plus the one crouched in the rear.

  Suddenly it rushed the car. Ten feet from the car he launched himself at the police officers on the other side. They scattered as he came over the hood and landed on the back of an officer who had turned to get out of the way. In one swift movement he grabbed the policemen by the hair and jerked his head back. Sinking his teeth into the man’s throat, he pulled back with a mouth full of flesh, blood and cartilage; the windpipe dangling from his lips. He dropped the dead officer to the ground and turned on the others. He was immediately met with a hail of gunfire. Blood erupted from the back of his head as he fell to the ground. Stunned, the other officers stood in a daze, staring at the body of their fallen comrade. Realizing now that it took a head shot to down theses things, the officers quickly dropped the remaining attackers.

  Once this was finished, a policeman walked over to the body of the officer on the ground and put two bullets in his head. A precaution to ensure he didn’t rise up again as had been reported. John looked at his watch. It was 7:30 a.m.

  On the bedside table his cell phone beeped. Somehow he had received a text message. He opened the phone to check. It was from Susan.

  “John they’re here,” the text said, “I’m hiding in the attic with Mr. Thompson. We can hear them outside. Please help us!”

  Pushing the reply button he keyed in a response and hit send. The message failed. John tried to dial 911. The phone was dead. Once again he had no signal. Tears welled up in his eyes as he sat on the edge of the bed. A feeling of complete hopelessness overcame him. Lying back on the bed, he tried to calm himself.

  His wife, the woman he loved, was trapped two hundred miles away in the attic of their home with an elderly man who could do little to protect her. John resolved to get to Charleston as soon as he could get away from the hotel. Closing his eyes he tried to clear his mind for the moment but couldn’t. He kept seeing the text in his mind, “They’re here.”

  In the lobby of the hotel the policemen had barricaded themselves inside as best they could. An occasional stray zombie would stagger up and try to claw his way in. Soon there were close to a hundred of them pressing against the glass. Weakly beating at it with bloody hands.

  As John lay on the bed, the crowd of zombies outside the hotel grew. Unnoticed in the crowd of the undead was another one of them. One of the different ones. In his hands were two bricks. With a blood-curdling scream, he loosed the bricks at the plate glass. The first brick knocked a hole in the center of the window and caused spider Webb cracks. The second shattered it. The glass rained down and fell to the ground. There was now a ten foot by ten foot gaping hole in the front of the hotel. The undead creatures poured in as the policemen opened fire but there were too many of them and they were soon overrun.

  John jumped up and ran to the window to see grotesque figures streaming in. He went to his door and opened it enough to look out into the hallway. Several other people were doing the same. They gave each other nervous glances. Before anyone could speak, the sound of movement accompa
nied by screams from several floors down drifted into the hallway from the stairway. John walked the ten feet to the stairway and looked through the window of the door. He saw nothing. Opening the door slightly, the sound of the undead mob ascending the stairs met his ears. Slamming the door shut he screamed at the other people in the hallway to go back to their rooms and barricade the doors.

  Running back to his room, John moved the dresser in front of the door and stacked furniture on top. He pulled the gun from his bag and stuck it in his back pocket. Peering through the peephole in the door he saw nothing. The sound of death and destruction drifted up through the vents. He knew from their screams that the people on the floors below were dying.

  Feeling trapped, he went to the window to try to find a means of escape. There was none. He was at the front of the hotel, which was a sheer glass wall from the ground all the way to the top.

  Looking around the room he saw that there was a two-foot by two-foot hatch in the middle of the ceiling. It was metal with a large handle.

  Being on the top floor John thought this must certainly lead to the roof.

  He pushed a small desk to the center of the room and climbed on top. The hatch had a sturdy pad lock on the latch. He set the desk chair on top of the table so he would be able to reach it.

  The noise on the floors below continued. After a while the screams stopped. But then he heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps coming up the stairs. The door leading from the stairwell to the hall creaked open. John looked through the peephole again and watched as three zombies wobbled by his room. Finally one stopped, faced his door and weakly kicked at it.

  John stepped back and took the gun from his pocket. He turned and set his small bag with the extra ammo on top of the chair on the table. He didn’t want to forget to take it if he had to leave. Peering back out the peephole, he saw that even more of them had gathered outside his room. Pushing and shoving and trying to get in. They knew he was there. He didn’t know how but they did.

  He knew soon he would need to escape. Turning back toward the hatch in the ceiling, he raised the gun and took aim. He fired once completely missing the lock and blew a hole in the ceiling beside it. Taking more careful aim this time he fired again. This time the body of the lock exploded and the lock fell to the floor. He climbed up on the table, pulled the latch and the door swung up on its own. Carefully he climbed up on the chair and stuck his head out. The roof was deserted. There was a cooling tower and what appeared to be an equipment room on the other side. Beside the equipment room was the door leading into a stairway. He hoped it was locked.

  Just as he dropped back onto the floor of the room he heard footsteps again. Louder and more determined this time, they came down the hall and stopped in front of his room. The kicking and knocking stopped. Creeping up to the door, he slowly rose up and looked through the hole. Staring back at him was one of them. Like the one he had seen out front earlier. Wide-eyed and glaring back at him. Not like the gray droopy-eyed zombies that had been there. It came closer putting its eye up to the hole. Blood and foam dripped from its mouth. It looked like pure evil to John.

  Backing up to the wall the thing launched itself at the door. The wood cracked with the force. The dresser was knocked back a few inches then there was silence. After a couple of minutes John tip toed back to the door and looked through. It was still there. John heard a low growl emanate from the creatures throat as it leaned in toward the door to look through the hole again. John raised the gun and fired. The door splintered and blew apart in an explosion of wood leaving a four-inch hole. With ears ringing John took a quick look. The wall on the other side of the hall was covered with blood, smeared down to the floor where the thing lay motionless. A gaping eyeless bloody socket stared back at him. The others who had been standing by took up their previous positions and once again began beating at the door. John pushed the dresser back. As he did the stairway door opened again as another one of them came running.

  “Jesus!” he said, “what the hell are these things? Demons?”

  It pushed the others out of the way and began slamming it's body against the door. John stuffed his cell phone in his pock then rushed back to the table, climbed up on the chair and opened the hatch. He picked up the bag with the ammo and set it out on the roof. As he pulled himself up the door gave way. The demon zombie crashed into the room and climbed up onto the table. John tried to slam the hatch shut but lost his balance and fell backward. A pair of bloody hands gripped the hatch frame. It was trying to pull itself up onto the roof. At point blank range john pointed his gun at the top of the zombie’s head and pulled the trigger. The gun jerked in his hand as the top of the thing’s head exploded. It fell back to the floor in a heap knocking one of the slower zombies down as it fell. Suddenly that one jumped to its feet, climbed on the table and launched itself up grabbing onto the side of the hatch. John aimed carefully and pulled the trigger twice. It dropped back to the floor, landing on top of the other. The contents of its skull littered the carpet around the bodies. These two wouldn’t be bothering him again.

  John stuck his leg down through the hatch and kicked the chair off the table. The other zombies piled into the room, looking up at him and groping at the air. Bloody foam dripping from their lips. He knew they wouldn’t be able to figure out how to climb up so he didn’t waste any more bullets on them.

  Slamming the hatch down, John retrieved his bag and reloaded the gun. There was no latch on the outside of the door. Looking around the roof he spotted a quarter inch bolt lying in the gravel. The hatch hung over the lip of the frame by about four inches. Holding the gun up to the side of the hatch, John fired one round. There was now a clean hole through the hatch and the frame. The bolt fit through perfectly. This should prevent the door from opening should one of them appear and try. To make sure John sat quietly on the hatch for an hour until the room became quite. Putting his ear to it he listened. They were gone. He looked at his watch. It was 1:00 p.m.

  Very thirsty and hungry by this time, John seriously contemplated going back into the room to get some water out of the mini fridge and the cheese crackers from the bedside table. He decided that wouldn’t be a good idea and set off across the roof to check the equipment room. At the very least there should be water there. Finding the room unlocked he pulled his gun out, held it at the ready and slowly opened the door. The inside was dark but enough light came in for him to see the equipment in the dim light. There was a small boiler on the left and a large turbine chiller for the air-conditioning on the right. In the far corner was a deep industrial type sink with an old office chair beside it.

  “Hmm, found the maintenance man’s hiding place,” he said out loud to himself.

  With a bar of lava he found lying in the sink he washed up to his elbows, then cupping his hands, drank his fill of the cool water.

  “Hey buddy,” came a voice from behind the chiller, “don’t shoot.”

  John spun around raising the gun as he did. “Stop right there.”

  “I’m not one of them,” the man said. “I’m the maintenance man here.”

  “How long have you been in here?” John asked.

  “Since early this morning. Who are you?”

  “Name’s John. Just a guest here. I was supposed to check out this morning.”

  “I’m Fred. Where you from?”

  “Charleston.”

  “You're a good ways from home?”

  “Yeah, my wife’s there now. I need to get back. I’ll be leaving just as soon as I get a chance.”

  “Well, good luck with that, I’m not going anywhere. Not for a while anyway. And if you were smart you’d stay put too.”

  “Don’t you have a family to get home to?” John asked.

  “No. I’m from up north. No family down here. No family up there. I’m the only one left except for a few cousins I haven’t talked to in years.”

  “I guess under the circumstances that’s probably a good thing.”

  “Probably.�
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  “Do you know if that door over there is locked?”

  “No. It can’t be locked from the outside.”

  “Great,” John said, “we need to figure out a way to secure it.”

  They left the mechanical room and walked over to the door leading to the stairway. Putting his ear up to it to listen, John heard nothing. It was a double door with handles to the inside of each one. There were no windows. He tried the door, it was not locked. After walking back to the equipment room, John found a three-foot length of chain. He looked further but could find nothing with which to lock the chain.

  Taking the chain and pulling it through the handles, John wrapped it around two more times. He then tied it in a knot as best he could. Pulling on the doors he thought even if it didn’t hold it would at least buy them some time if they needed it.

  Going back to the equipment room, they went inside and checked the doors. These could be locked from the inside. Fred closed the doors and locked them. There was enough light coming from under the door for them to see. He rolled the chair by the sink over to the boiler and sat down. Fred sat on the floor and leaned against the wall.

  Leaning back against the still warm boiler John closed his eyes to try and get a little rest. He knew soon he would have to find a way off of the roof and to safety.

  Trying to plot his next move John sat in the dark and waited out the rest of the afternoon. Fred sat quietly. Neither saying much.

  They heard gunshots and sirens over the next few hours but decided to stay put. John tried to fight sleep but finally around 6:00 p.m. gave in and dozed off.

  A couple of hours later they woke to the sounds of someone trying to get through the chained door. John opened the door and looked over at the chain. So far it was holding. Through the crack of the door he could see a gang of the dead behind it.

  John implored Fred to leave with him but he wouldn’t budge. “I’m not going out there to die,” he said.

  “Fine then,” John said. “Stay here and die.”

  Getting his bag, John ran out of the room and headed for the hatch. He could hear Fred closing and locking the door behind him.