Odium II: The Dead Saga

by Claire C. Riley

  “What for? It’s not practical, and it looks like it would need ironing. I didn’t like to iron pre-apocalypse—that shit ain’t happening now.” I shrug. “It is pretty, though. My husband would have liked it.”

  “Mikey?” Rachel smiles, her eyes leaving the dress, and I feel her gazing at the side of my face.

  I shake my head but don’t say anything else, and neither does Rachel. Instead we move on to the next window: a health food shop. I used to shop in these all the time—pills for this and pills for that. And what for? Never did me any good. So what if my skin was acne free and I had an inner glow? That’s not helpful at the end of the world.

  “We should get vitamins to take back,” Rachel says, and goes to catch up with Michael and Nova.

  I didn’t even think of that. “Yeah,” I mumble, putting a hand to the glass to get a closer look at the inside. “Good idea.”

  Actually now that I think about it, there’s lots of useful stuff in there—really useful, in fact: vitamins and supplements, nutrition shakes, creams, natural pain relief. I make it a point to stock up on everything I can from this shop.

  I walk faster to catch up with the others, passing some children’s clothing stores and a jewelry shop with smashed out windows. Some people are total idiots. Who thinks that way? End of the world—oh, I know, let’s go rob a jewelry store. Because that shit is going to be really useful to someone? Assholes.

  I step over the crunching glass, the sound especially loud in the quiet. Everyone else walks around, but not me: I’ve just traipsed my pretty self right on through the center of it. I’ll be picking this crap out of the bottoms of my boots for days. Awesome.

  We round a corner, and up front I can see a wide staircase that leads to the lower floor. I watch my feet as I walk, my mood a typical mixture of my Gemini star sign: one minute upbeat at the prospect of gaining new, clean clothes, and the next wanting to cry because of a stupid flowery dress. I’m pathetic.

  Nova puts a hand up in the air, halting us all in our hurried steps. She juts her chin out and I hear her taking a deep breath. I take a breath, too, smelling the problem way before we see it. My nerves jangle and tiny invisible ants crawl up my arms and back, a warning that yes, I was right, something is definitely very wrong here. I take small, quiet steps to the edge of the balcony ledge and take another look down. There’s nothing at first, and then I see them: deaders. Snarling, rotten fucking deaders. Wait, not fucking deaders—that would be all kinds of fucked up—but aggressive, mood-spoiling, life-destroying, rotten deaders.

  I look back at the others, who are all still frozen in place and looking at me in eagerness. I nod and point down to the lower level, and I see their shoulders visibly slump in disappointment. Disappointment that no, we didn’t catch a break, this place is infested with the dead too. I look back down. The deaders are completely oblivious to our presence. Where normally they are quite vocal, there is only the low slap of rotten bare feet on the cold granite flooring from one of them, the weird shuffling sound of clothing, and the occasional gargle of something in the back of one of their dried-out throats. I count ten, but even as I count, more come from underneath the balcony where I can’t see.

  I look back at the others and show a hand, flashing it twice to gesture ten, and then I flash my hand again with a shrug, to give them a rough idea of ten plus however many more I can’t see. Michael cricks his neck to one side, fixing a grim look on his face, and pulls out a second gun from the holster on his hip. Rachel does something similar, a snarl on her face and two long-barreled silver guns, one in each hand. Nova is grinning, and I raise my eyes in a what the fuck gesture, to which she smiles some more, like it’s her birthday and I’ve presented her with a giant cake. I shake my head and grip my sword, edging away from the ledge so I’m not spotted just yet.

  We all back up against a storefront—a music store at one time. “Plan?” I ask quietly.

  “Rip these fuckers a new asshole,” Nova suggests helpfully with a nod of her head.

  Michael looks toward the wide staircase that we were just approaching. “I don’t think they can climb up, so I guess we go down to them, and,” he looks at Nova, “we do more than just rip them a new asshole. Let’s take their heads.”

  Rachel nods in agreement, ever the quiet one of our group. Me? I’m not a coward, but I’d prefer to hide up here than go down there and risk possible death. But I’m outnumbered and I’m hardly going to wait up here while my friends do all the hard work, am I? As much as I’d like to. Jesus, did I just consider them friends?

  “Fine,” I agree, with as big of a pissed off look as I can muster. It’s not a pretty sight, I’m sure, but it does nothing to change everyone’s minds. They walk forward, continuing to be as quiet as possible and I presume not ruin the element of surprise, and I roll my eyes and follow them.

  My heart feels like it’s in my throat, choking me and stopping me from taking a fulfilling breath. My muscles twitch in eagerness to swing my blade and take rotten heads from rotten bodies. Stupid fucking muscles, don’t they know what’s coming? It’s going to be a bloodbath, one way or another.

  We all reach the stairs and begin to descend, crouching as low as possible as we do. The staircase swings around in an arc, and as we find ourselves on the large step that provides a view over the length of the lower floor, we see what we’re up against.

  Not ten or twenty deaders, but somewhere close to fifty. And lucky fucking us, as we see them, they see us, their eyes igniting with cold, hard fury and an eagerness for a feast. They groan, moan, and hiss, gargling on their dried-up, torn-out throats, and increase their shamble toward us.

  “Holy shit,” I yelp. Yeah, I yelp, like a little puppy about to piss itself.

  Chapter 37

  “Michael!” I yell. Not sure why his name out of these three is the one I choose, or what the fuck I expect him to do, but it seems like a moment to shout someone’s name.

  Rachel kneels down on the floor and begins opening her bag and taking things out. “Distract them,” she says without looking up.

  Nova and Michael set up shop, dropping their pistols and pulling their rifles from their backs. Michael leans against the long brass railing and fires a shot. I jump, not expecting him to just shoot into the horde right away.

  “A foot over, low and left,” Nova says loudly.

  Michael adjusts what seems only a fraction and fires again, and when I look into the horde, one of them is on the floor with its head exploded.

  “Shit,” I say quietly.

  Rachel glances up at me and smirks. “That’s their thing.” She looks back down and continues doing whatever it is she’s doing. “Michael used to be special forces and Nova is—well, she’s just Nova: bad-ass and proud.”

  I take my gun out, but really, I know I can’t shoot them from here, and I’m not heading down into the horde on my own. So I stand here feeling awkward with a gut full of dread, with Michael’s rifle blasting every couple of seconds.

  “Fifteen inches out of center,” Nova says mechanically and Michael fires and puts another down. “Okay, close enough,” she says and raises her own rifle and begins to shoot into the horde too.

  I raise my own pistol, but I know it’s still pointless. “Can I do anything, Rachel?” I ask, wanting to feel less like a useless piece of shit and do something to helpful.

  “Not right now,” she replies distractedly as she twists some different colored wiring together and inserts it into a small black box.

  I look around us, irritation building in me. As soon as we get back, someone needs to teach me how to shoot a fucking gun. I look into the horde, seeing the same rotten, disgusting faces of the dead I see everywhere else. I feel useless—less than useless. If these deaders got a chance, they would rip out our throats, and I can’t do anything about it from the safety of my position. And for some messed up reason, my flight-or-fight response isn’t working and I’m not happy sitting up here in the safety of the stairs watching everyone else
save our sorry asses. I want to help, damn it.

  “Fuck it,” I say, and run down the stairs, taking them two at a time. I vaguely hear Michael shout at me, but then he’s drowned out by his own gunfire and the close proximity growls of the dead.

  I aim for the small pocket of deaders that have reached the base of the stairs. They came from a different angle and are separate from the larger herd, which now have their eyes on a new prize: me.

  I swing back hard and then let the blade drift forward under its own momentum, keeping my stance light and my grip firm as I aim to hit the deader’s neck roughly a quarter way up the sword, like Mikey had shown me. The sword cuts through the flesh of the first and second deaders with ease. I feel every stringy sinew being cut through, and then the subtle crunch of bone breaking ricochet up the sword and through my arm, before the blade reaches the other side of their necks and their heads fly off somewhere to the left. I swing back as another one comes at me from behind, and I only just manage to jump out of its way and chop its head off before it grabs me. I back up a couple of steps as three more come forward, their hands reaching for me like they want to give me the world’s best hug. The great thing about this sword compared to my machete is that it puts a little more distance between me and the dead.

  I’m petrified, beyond fucking frightened out of my mind, but somewhere deep down inside of me, I feel alive: putting an end to these monsters’ misery feels right and just. I continue to swing and sever heads from bodies until the bigger horde gets too close, and I head back up the stairs and out of their reach.

  I’m panting and sweating as I head back up to my friends. I don’t make eye contact with any of them, not wanting to get a lecture about being an asshole and heading into danger, yada yada—you know, typical Mikey style. Instead I put my sword away and take out my pistol. From here I can hit the deaders; that’s how close they are now. Well, I can shoot at them and hope for the best, which is better odds than a couple of minutes ago.

  We’ve made an impressive dent in their numbers in a matter of five minutes: between my kills and Nova and Michael’s, we’ve at least halved them.

  “Ready, stand back,” Rachel yells calmly.

  Nova and Michael lower their weapons, grab their stuff, and head back up to the top balcony. I don’t need asking twice and do the same, crouching down next to them behind the low railing. “Clear,” Rachel’s voice sounds out.

  I count eight before an explosion goes off and the world goes silent for a split second. Then it rains gore and marble flooring, and my ears ring loudly. I dodge large slabs of the marble, which clank next to my head, and then Michael is pulling me up by the back of my shirt. I grab my sword from my back and dizzily stand. A cloud of dust is still in the air, making it hard to see clearly.

  I cough and waft a hand in front of my face. “Rachel?” I yell and look around. Nova and Michael have headed into the dust cloud and down the stairs, but I can’t see Rachel anywhere.

  I stand still for a moment and try to get my bearings. I rub at my eyes, trying to get rid of the dust that’s landed in them, but the action only seems to make it worse as they stream tears down my dirty cheeks and I continue to cough on dust.

  A cry for help comes from somewhere ahead of me and I run forward, letting the cloud of dust descend around me. A minute or so later and I can finally see a little more clearly. Nova and Michael have headed down the stairs and into the bloodbath—see? I told you it would be—and are dismembering the last of the dead that still stand, or crawl. They never fucking give up, no matter how many limbs they lose; deaders are like the most persistent thing on the planet.

  I still can’t see Rachel, though, and am about to go down the steps and help out with the last of the deaders when I hear her voice.

  “Nina.”

  I look down at my feet, my eyes traveling the ground quickly. Between rubble and dust and chunks of rotten flesh, I can’t see anything, and I again head to go down the stairs, hitting the first one before I hear Rachel again.

  “Nina!”

  I glance back up. “Rachel? Where are you?” I look around me in confusion and go back to stand where I had last seen her crouched down over her little bomb, but I still can’t see her. I lean over the barrier and there she is, hanging onto the railings as she dangles the twenty-foot drop to the lower level. “Aah crap, how’d you get there?”

  “Long story,” she says grimly.

  “Really?” I ask as I look for a way to help her.

  “Not really,” she replies tensely. “Little help please?”

  She’s dangling from the opposite side of the balcony, and I can’t see a way to help her get back up. My shoulder isn’t strong enough to take her weight.

  “Michael!” I yell, coughing again as more dust flies into my mouth.

  Michael looks up, his eyes going wide, and nods as he runs over to us.

  “Well, this is new,” he says with a low chuckle as he leans down, grips Rachel’s wrist through the bars, and begins to pull her up. “Fancy seeing you here.”

  “Yeah, real fucking hilarious, Michael,” she grunts as he pulls her to standing, still on the opposite side of the balcony.

  “You think you can climb over?” he asks, still trying not to grin now that the immediate danger is over.

  Rachel nods and climbs, though Michael keeps a hand through the bars and on her waist in case she slips. When she’s back on the right side of the railing, we finally survey the damage. There’s still one or two deaders, but Nova is quietly hacking away at them—almost nonchalantly, a cigarette between her lips. There’s a crater-sized hole in what was once the perfect marble flooring, and dead—or should I say re-dead—bodies lie scattered both in and out of it. Body parts are everywhere, and when I take a closer look at Michael, I see that he’s no exception.

  “Gross,” I say with a grimace and point to a flap of something on his shoulder, not sure exactly what the something is—or was, to be more precise.

  “You, too,” he says and picks what looks like an ear off my back.

  “Oh God, that’s disgusting.” I jump up and down and shake my head to remove any debris. I feel something dislodge from my hair, but don’t look to see what. I don’t want to know. Michael snickers, enjoying my discomfort. Asshole.

  “I think we’re good,” Nova calls up to us. Her cigarette is gone and in its place is a lollypop.

  I head down to meet her. “Where did you get that?” I ask almost aggressively and look around us, trying to find the source. And then I spot it: a candy store. It’s like the holy grail beckoning me to it.

  I jog over to it and walk inside, all thoughts of the undead army we just destroyed gone. I step over broken glass and rotten corpses, and stare in awe at the beautiful displays of colorful candy. Racks of Nerds and gumballs line dusty shelves like I’m trapped inside a rainbow. If this is heaven, kill me now.

  I lift a hesitant hand to grab some Nerds off a shelf. The little boxes have toppled over, but they are still amazing, a full shelf of various flavors and various vibrant colors. I loved these tiny candies. My hand hovers over the boxes as I choose my victim, eventually picking a super sour apple variety. I tear the top open, not bothering with niceties, and tip the contents into my waiting mouth.

  Flavors burst onto my tongue, making my toes curl and my eyes water as the sourness explodes in my mouth. I suck the flavor off them and then crunch down, more than enjoying every second of this moment before swallowing and repeating the action several times until the box is empty. I drop the box to the floor and grin like it’s prom night and I’ve scored with the school quarterback and he just gave me my first multiple orgasm. Yeah, it’s that good.

  Rachel comes to stand next to me, bumping me with her shoulder.

  “You okay?” I ask, still staring at the shelves of goodies and deciding what I’m going to eat next.

  “Of course,” she says simply, as if I just asked her the dumbest question ever.

  “What happened up there?”<
br />
  She shrugs. “A dead body hit me as I was standing back up and it blasted me over the fucking railing.” She chuckles low in her throat, obviously pissed off and embarrassed.

  “I had an ear on my back,” I laugh back. “So, thanks for that.” I roll my eyes comically.

  We both start laughing as Nova comes in and grabs another lollypop from the stand. “Come on, you two, we’ve still got to clear this place.” She heads back out, and we follow.

  “So, you’re like the bomb expert or something,” I state to Rachel by my side.

  “Sort of.” She smiles.

  Nova throws an arm over Rachel’s shoulder. “This one here was a juvenile delinquent back in the day, wasn’t you, girl? Back before she signed up, anyway.” She scuffs Rachel’s head with her knuckles, only stopping when Rachel pushes her away.

  “Something like that.” She walks on ahead, kicking through body parts as she goes.

  I step over them, not wanting to mess up my boots any more than they already are. I glance at a head on the ground, its eyes following as we pass it. I shudder as it snaps its jaws at me, and I take out my hand knife, crouch down, and jam it into the side of its head. It stops its snapping instantly, and I pull out my knife slowly to avoid any backsplash of brain matter and rancid blood.

  I stand back up and follow everyone else. Barring the odd random shambler here and there, the place is pretty secure. For some reason deaders always prefer the company of their own kind, and you always find groups of them together, as if they know they are more of a force to be reckoned with when there are more of them. Clever zombies.

  We regroup after scouting from one end to the other, up and down both levels. And although my nerves are always on high alert, I let them go down a notch, knowing that we’re in relative safety for the moment.

  The ceiling of the mall is mostly glass, giving us a good view of the weather outside. It’s raining—again—though not as heavily at the moment. It’s actually very noisy in here with the rain hammering on the glass overhead. I suppose the sound would previously have been masked by the comforting sounds of backing tracks repeatedly played over the sound system, but now with nothing but our incessant chatter and our footsteps, the sound is loud. Loud but comforting.