Death Row Apocalypse (27 page)

“Please stay here and be quiet. I want to check out the route,” I said.

“You’re coming back, right?” Lucy asked while squeezing the last of the water from her hair and looking very concerned.

“Of course,” I said. “I won’t be long.”

And as I exited the washroom, I was plunged back into the almost-impenetrable darkness of the corridor. With only my heartbeat to keep me company, I walked into the abyss, with Lucy’s curves on my mind instead of the zombies. My eyes had once again become accustomed to the dark and now made out the distant faint illumination once again. I had come about fifty yards when I started to feel the dark closing in around me. Was it my imagination, or was it for real? In either case, somehow it was getting darker. I realized almost too late what the cause was: several zombies were walking toward me, blocking the light from the far end of the corridor. Unhurried, they were simply wandering aimlessly.

I stopped, then slowly started to backtrack the way I had come, but it was too late. The closest zombie was already sniffing at the air, while his kin were beginning their deep growl. And then they leapt forward, closing the twenty or so yards in barely two or three blinks of an eye. Instinctively I stepped to the side, and with that I attacked as fast as I was able.

The closest zombie reached for where I had been only a fraction of a moment previously. I must have literally appeared out of thin air one yard to his left as far as he was concerned, as his head snapped around to look straight into my eyes. As his head did so, so my machete-like blade flew at his unprotected neck, guided by my left hand. A second zombie was coming in for the kill, his mouth wide open and his hands outstretched in the classic zombie posture that one normally associates with zombie movies. The machete in my left hand was making first contact with zombie number one as I stepped forward and to the left, twisting my hips and putting as much force behind the already-in-motion upward palm strike to zombie number two’s face as was humanly possible. Sensing more than actually seeing, I knew that there were another two zombies following up on their rear. The machete was now hurtling through the skin muscle, veins, and tendons of zombie number one, while my right-hand palm now struck zombie number two’s nose.

With the clarity of accelerated senses comes a clarity of sensory feelings also. While my palm pushed onward and upwards, crushing the delicate bone, I felt each bone break, grind, and snap when the force applied to it exceeded its breaking point. With finality, zombie number two’s head continued its backward travel at a velocity almost equal to the strike, resulting in a loud crack as its vertebrae snapped, terminating any control the zombie had over its limbs. The machete had passed through the spine of zombie number one and had exited from the other side. It stood for a moment or two before it collapsed forward, causing the head to roll off, bouncing once with a wet thump, then rolling a few feet further before coming to a stop upside down.

Realizing the advantage in speed I had over my quarry, I stepped forward into the outstretched arms of zombie number three as it began to roar. A cold draft wafted over my face. Accompanied with it was a putrid stench that reeked of its already-decaying guts. Emanating from deep within its cavernous mouth, a mixture of saliva and green fluid ran over its lower lip as it anticipated its next meal. The zombie had little chance as I commanded my arms to shoot in. My hands found their target and firmly gripped the zombie by the back of its head and chin. I then rotated its head anticlockwise. A satisfying crack resounded as its spine broke and echoed down the corridor as the zombie collapsed to the floor in a heap.

It was then that I realized I had seriously misjudged my abilities and my situation. Fast though I was, suddenly my hair was pulled and my head yanked to the side, while a viselike grip almost crushed my upper left arm. The roar in my ear was deafening as the massive zombie came in for the kill, eager to taste my flesh. Its gargantuan body pushed down on me as I felt the cool saliva pour over my neck. The foul liquid splashed at my feet, along with the green ooze that was now covering my exposed neck. I was going down, and my light was about to be extinguished for good, I thought.

The moment came as the zombie brought its gaping mouth close enough to bite me. I felt its cold, dead, and moist flesh come into full contact with my skin as its teeth began to press down into my exposed flesh. The mixture of saliva and ooze now seemed to burn on my skin. Whether the sensation was real or not, my imagination was running riot now, and I pictured in my mind’s eye the layers of skin peeling away under a torrent of the acidic cocktail. Through instinct and sheer will to survive, I let the beast push me down instead of fighting against its superior mass. As I gave in to its weight, I half stepped into the zombie and gripped his trunk-like forearms, pulling him down with me to let the laws of physics take over. The zombie lost balance and fell forward. In the same instant I took its enormous weight onto my hips, flipping the monster onto its back. I could swear that the concrete floor actually cracked under the monster’s impact. The inmate zombie was truly huge and would be more at home in a circus than a death row facility. Perhaps this was “Bubba”; every prison had one.

Without giving him a moment to recover, I brought down my machete with such speed and force that when I sliced through Bubba’s skull, blood did not run or ooze for at least a second or two. The bone had not been broken by the blade but had been cleanly severed, leaving a smooth edge along its perimeter. The top of the zombie’s skull, which still retained half his brain, now rolled around on its hairless surface, coming to a standstill some moments later. Now deceased for good, the four zombies lay at my feet still twitching, as if each member had a life of its own.

The noise that the zombies had made in the attack had not gone unnoticed, as in the distance from the direction of the washrooms I heard the now familiar but really unwelcome charge of a zombie horde. Like ferocious tigers racing to share in the kill, they headed my way with a furor unmatched anywhere in nature. I had no choice but to continue toward the distant light and away from my small group of comrades in the hope I could escape the oncoming nightmare. Lucy and the rest would have to take care of themselves for now. As long as they remained quiet, this new horde would not detect them, and they should be okay for the time being. I then raced toward the faint light, which became brighter with every yard that I closed the distance with. As I approached the light source, so my vision within the corridor improved, and I noticed that the security gates ahead were all open. There was one directly ahead, and a pair that stood to both left and right of the source of light. The pursuing horde were literally screaming down the corridor toward me, though screaming is really not how it should be described. Although I’ve mentioned this before, I believe I should reemphasize the following: the roar that came from them was deeper that any lion’s, louder than any elephant’s, and more fearsome that any werewolf’s. Okay, so werewolves don’t exist, but in my defense, up until recently neither did zombies, so give me a break, huh!

As I reached what I thought was the end of the corridor, it angled to the right. I slammed on my brakes as soon as I rounded the corner and was faced with the source of the light and the reason for the lack of zombies inside the prison. A massive section of the corridor wall had been torn away, leaving a hole five yards long and three high. Through the aperture I saw the open, grassy lawns stretch out right up to the prison perimeter fencing.

Four prison SUVs stood abandoned on the perimeter road straight ahead and about one hundred yards distant. I could just make out the remains of the occupants lying around the beaten vehicles. Body parts littered the area, unmoving, while some dismembered torsos writhed, moving a head or arm in an attempt at locomotion.

The prison road runs the entire circumference of the prison itself, allowing for the transportation of prison staff as well as new arrivals, and would have been my immediate route out of here save for one ever so small detail. The immediate area outside the demolished wall—and as far as I could see, within the fenced area—was populated by the combined mass of zombified inmates, visitors, and prison staff. Outside the fenced area, the surrounding fields were dotted with wandering corpses slowly making their way toward the local farms.

To make matters worse, the approaching zombie horde from behind me was now grabbing the attention of the zombie throng before me, and they were now turning to look at me. Every single zombie registered my presence and began to roar in unison.
No time for introductions
I thought, and continued onwards with the realization that I now attracted not only the original smaller horde, but also a throng of over one thousand that had only seconds ago been enjoying a peaceful meander on the grass. As I made my way back into the encroaching gloom, the amped-up zombie chorus hammered at my ears with such intensity that while I ran, I had to cover my ears with my hands in an attempt to keep the noise out. With my eager followers behind me, the chances that I would run headlong into a competing group rose exponentially. Irrespective of my newly discovered abilities, if I ended up sandwiched between two hordes I wouldn’t last a second.

A little further ahead I noticed an open security gate and door leading to the right, and so I headed for the door. It was my only chance now. Luckily it was open. Then again, was it really luck? What did I really expect? This was a maximum security prison, with the toughest and most dangerous individuals this country has to offer, and someone had left all the security gates wide open. It was indeed open, and what’s more, the symbol on its surface gave a clue as to its purpose. It was the access stairs to the roof! This was the exit that I had planned for my escape and was the way out from the infested building.

Closing the door behind me, I leapt up the stairs, taking two at a time, until I reached the top, where another door presented itself. Again this door was unlocked.
Doesn’t anyone believe in locking doors anymore?
I thought to myself. I went through the door carefully, just in case an industrious zombie had managed to stumble through several doors and traverse the stairway without falling down and breaking its neck. Instead of the gnarled fingers of some rotting corpse reaching out to grab me, the short steel blade of a scalpel flashed in the evening light as it darted toward my bare neck and stopped a hair’s breadth from my artery.

“Stop right there,” a female voice said with confidence. “Don’t move a muscle.”

She was fast—nowhere near as fast as I was, but in my excitement to reach the rooftop I was totally unprepared for this type of encounter, and in my profession, this was an inexcusable mistake. Frankly, it would serve me right if she decided to ‘off’ me there and then.

Obeying her commands, I froze. All my muscles, save for the ones attached to my eyes and bladder, remained exactly where they were. The door swung fully open and came to a gentle stop at the end of its designed travel. The owner of the scalpel and the hand that wielded it so deftly came into view, presenting me with an image that my mind immediately titled “Buffy the Zombie-Killing Bimbette.” “Buffy” because she was almost blond and had her hair tied back in a ponytail; “Zombie-Killing” because of her bloodstained clothing; “Bimbette” simply because she looked like the typical bouncy bimbo type.

Whatever I thought of her was
With
d with the simple fact that she was more than capable of looking after herself. She had taken me by surprise, and she had also taken care of at least two other zombies, which lay with their throats slit a few yards in front of the door.

“Nice work with the zombies,” I said.

“Weren’t zombies. They tried to rape me,” she said.

I could hear the mass of zombies that had been pursuing me approach the door to the stairway.

“What the hell is that noise?” she said as she took the blade away from my neck and started to back away from the door. She was obviously more scared of the zombies than of me.

The first of my pursuers were already slamming into the door below. It wouldn’t be long before they broke through it and headed up the stairs to continue their hunt. I closed the rooftop access way, for all the good it would do, and took in the view surrounding me. The once-packed grassy areas surrounding the low buildings were now mostly vacant, confirming that the entire prison population was downstairs in the corridor and at this moment trying to fit through a doorway designed for one person.

“Quick!” I said, and went to grab Buffy’s hand.

That was perhaps my first and only mistake I made regarding her. At first I felt as if someone had drawn a line across my palm with a pen. Then moments later, as my hand flexed I felt the skin part and blood begin to flow. The bitch had sliced my hand open for no fucking reason at all!

“What the fuck!” I said at her as I held my hand, looking from it to her and back again. Then, to be sure she understood, I said it again: “What the
fuck
! You crazy bitch! Don’t you know when someone is trying to save your ass?”

I started to walk away, and as I did so, she followed. And like every other woman in the modern world of ours, she decided that she was not going to let this mere man have the last word.

“You save my ass?” She laughed. “I was doing just fine until you showed your face up here.” She practically yelled, “Now those fuckers are gonna find their way up and gnaw on our fucking bones before I even see the sun set.” She ended sadly, then switched faster than any woman had a right to. “And all because you came here to save my ass!” she added angrily.