Infected (13 page)

He rolled ahead, looking out the driver's side window for Kayla. So far, there was no sign of her and he hoped she had found somewhere safe to hide.

While he was rolling along, he had an idea. The next turn would take him around the front of the building, and if it were clear, he could urge the others to come down. They could pile in the van and get away. And hopefully find Kayla.

He dug his cell phone from his pocket and dialed Ramsey's number.

“Rob, where are you?”

“I'm down in the van. I'm about to pull around the front of the building. If it's clear, you might be able to make it to the van. I'll keep circling until you come down.”

“I'll wait on the line while you scope out the front,” Ramsey said.

With the phone to his ear, Rob turned the corner. The front doors were smashed out, but he saw none of the creatures.  He figured the bulk of them had gone into the building. “It's pretty clear. Not sure about the lobby. If you want to try for it, I”ll keep circling. Trying to find Kayla.”

“What happened to Kayla?”

“We ran into trouble in the basement. She had to run,” Rob said.

“I'll round up the troops. Don't leave us swinging in the breeze.”

Rob said, “Wouldn't dream of it.”

He ended the call and swung the van around the building. There was a grassy area with benches intended for employee use. A bare Japanese maple stood at the center of the square. You could usually find someone sitting under that tree in the summer, usually with their nose in a smartphone or laptop.

Still no sign of Kayla. He rolled the window down and called out her name, but no answer came. She couldn't have gone far, or so he hoped.

He peered into the shadows, looking for any sign of Kayla. There were a row of bushes along one side of the Ramsey building, and he thought he saw movement, but then dismissed it as the wind rustling the shrubs.

He cruised around the side of the building, a sick feeling in his guts, something telling him he wasn't going to find his daughter.

The old man was unlocking the main door to the telemarketing firm's office. He owned the building and insisted on having a personal set of keys to every lock in the place. Mary noticed the seat of his pants and his suit coat was a mess of wrinkles. She was standing ten feet behind him and noticed a peculiar odor of Old Spice and old farts emanating from her boss.

The old man had been on the phone with Rob. “What are you doing? What'd Rob say?”

Tim said, “Leave that locked.”

Ramsey turned and faced them. His wispy white hair stood up on the sides, reminding Mary of a weird owl.  “Rob's swinging the van around to the front. He's going to call back. If it's clear, we're going – or at least I am – to the lobby.”

“What if it's overrun?” Tim asked.

“You've got a gun. Use it,” Ramsey said.

“I can't protect you against a small army,” Tim said.

“Then give me your gun,” Ramsey said.

“Not going to happen.”

“I'm going to wait for Rob's call. Then we're getting out of here.”

Ryan said, “I think we should stay. Wait for the Army.”

“You could be waiting a while,” Mary said. “Jerry, I'm with you. Can we get the cop to come with us?”

“The cop can hear you talking, you know,” Tim said.

Ramsey opened the door and said, “Who's coming with me?”

Mary followed, looked back at the cop and Ryan. “This could be your last chance.”

As she stepped into the hallway, there was a hollow bang that she knew was the stairway door being bashed in. She heard a chorus of growls and knew they'd breached the floor. Ramsey ran to the elevator, his saggy ass jiggling. He pressed the button as the first creature appeared at the end of the hallway.

It came down the hallway and Mary crouched, as if preparing to fight. She had no idea what she'd do when the thing got to her. Maybe claw its eyes out? The cop appeared at her side and shot the thing twice in the head. It fell forward, its face slapping the floor.

A group of them appeared, at least a dozen strong, standing shoulder-to-shoulder in the hallway. The cop stepped in front of Mary and got in a shooting stance. He started firing, dropping three of the things in short order.

They drew closer, reaching and grabbing. The cop fired again, the gunshots sounding cannon-like in the hallway. Mary looked at the elevator, as if that would make it come faster. “Hurry up,” she said, pounding on the elevator doors.

The doors opened and Ramsey slipped on first. Mary followed, but the cop stayed, continuing to fire on the creatures. They overwhelmed him, grabbing him, and the last Mary saw of him was his face frozen into a scream as they ripped his arms from his torso.

As they started to descend, Mary said: “Where the hell's Ryan?”

Those suckers could take the elevator and get chewed to pieces in the lobby. Ryan was going to stay put and wait for the Army to save his ass. He shut the main office door and pushed a table from the reception area against the wall. Then he grabbed the chairs that went with it and stacked them on top.

He retreated through the office, back towards a conference room. He thought that door would lock. One time Mary wanted to sneak in and fool around in there when the suite was empty. She'd wanted him to lock them in and bend her over the table. But that would've been suicide.

Once inside the conference room, he shut the double doors and locked them. Good. He could sit tight and wait for help to come. Besides, those freaks probably went after Mary and the others. He liked her, but that was goddamned dumb, going back to the lobby.

It was a few moments before he heard the crash, glass breaking and things being thrown around. They were in the offices. He sat still, took deep breaths.
They couldn't get in here, could they
?

The doors buckling inward told him differently. There had to be an entire horde to make the doors do that. He stood up, looked around the room for a weapon. There was nothing to use. Unless he planned on inking them to death with a Bic pen.

The doors blasted inward, the wood splintering. The one in the lead had arms the size of tree trunks and stood well over six feet. Ryan jumped up on the table. The big zombie lunged at him, and he tried to leap over top of the hulk, but the rest of the group grabbed him and slammed him back onto the table.

He felt them clawing at his guts, felt nails pierce his skin. And then the terrible agony of his bowels being ripped out. He prayed to pass out. Instead he was treated to a view of them burying their faces in his abdominal cavity. Gnawing. Tearing.

The elevator doors opened and Emma swept the shotgun back and forth. Two zombies knelt over a corpse and shoveled guts from a corpse into their faces. One of them turned around, its mouth smeared with blood. Emma shot them both, their heads exploding.

The emergency room and the lobby were to the right. Emma stepped off the elevator and waved the others along. They moved down the hallway until they reached the ER, where a row of corpses lay on the floor. Their eyes stared up at the ceiling.

Rebecca walked along side Emma, the Sawzall ready to go. Megan pushed Mom along, and Maria wheeled Christopher. They were a motley crew. Easy pickings for the dead things. The faster they got to her cruiser, the better.

They moved into the main area of the ER. Gurneys lay on their sides. A crash cart had been tipped over and its contents strewn all over the floor. There was no sign of Dr. Weiss or any other staff, and Emma guessed they had either fled or died.

“I'm making a run for my car,” Maria said.

“Don't be stupid,” Rebecca said. “Stay with us.”

“My son's at home. I have to go to him.”

Emma said, “We can take you to him.”

“I'm sorry. He needs me.”

“Where's your car?” Rebecca asked.

“In the ramp across the street. My keys are in my pocket. Good luck to you all,” she said, and took off for the side door.

“All right. Keep moving,” Emma said. “My cruiser's out front. We should all fit.”

She heard hissing and looked behind them to see two zombies entering the ER from the hallway. Three more came in from the direction of the lobby entrance. She reached in her pocket, took out some shells, and filled the shotgun to capacity.

The two zombies came at them and Rebecca surprised Emma by charging at them. She buried the saw blade in the eye of a young female zombie. She pulled the trigger and the blade vibrated, making a hollow grating noise as it bit into the bone around the eye. The second zombie lunged for Rebecca and Emma blasted it.

The other three moved in and before she could shoot them, they tipped over Christopher and his wheelchair. His skinny legs flailed and he slapped at them to keep their outstretched hands away from him. Megan started throwing punches at one of the zombies' heads, but it ignored her.

It was Rebecca that pulled her blade from the creature's eye, turned around, and drove the blade into one of the zombies' necks. It made a squelching noise and the thing reared its head back and pulled away, yanking the Sawzall from the nurse's hands. Spinning around, it clutched at the power tool hanging from its neck, but couldn't reach. The tip of the blade had poked through its throat.

Emma set the shotgun down and wrapped her arm around one of the zombie's necks. She had to get it away from Chris. This one was an emaciated old man, his skin dry and flaking. Emma pulled him upward, her arm barred across his throat. The thing swung its head backward and cracked her in the mouth. Pain lit up her whole face and spots appeared before her eyes, but she hung on and they tumbled backward, the zombie landing on top of her. For an old bastard, he was strong. She was losing her grip on the flailing old man. She switched tactics, letting go of her arm bar and pressing her thumbs into the zombies eyes. The eyeballs gave with a
squish,
the fluid running down the zombie's cheeks. It broke away from her, stood up, and started swiping at the air.

That left two more of them. One of them, a female zombie with stringy hair, had its mouth open just inches from Christopher's neck. His eyes widened in panic. Megan grabbed its hair and pulled upward, the zombie inching away from the boy's neck. It rose, swatted her away. She flew backward and crashed into a gurney. It turned on Megan, pouncing and sinking its teeth into her throat. A strangled scream came from her throat, and she punched the creature, but it tore loose her windpipe and turned the scream into a mild squeak.

The other two, seeing this, pounced on the red-haired nurse and dug their claws into her. She screamed and beat at them, but Emma could already see blood pouring from her neck. She picked up the shotgun but couldn't shoot without hitting Megan. She screamed as one of them bit into her cheek and tore loose a strip of flesh.

She helped Christopher to his feet, aware there was nothing she could do for the red-haired nurse. One of the hoses in her neck went, spraying bright red blood all over the floor. Emma felt like shit, but knew they could get away while the creatures were occupied with Megan. “Go.”

She helped Christopher back into the wheelchair and shoved him toward the lobby entrance. Rebecca grabbed Mom and wheeled her like they were trying to win a race. They went through he emergency room doors and made their way to the security desk. The doors to the main entrance were straight ahead.

They made it to her car and wrangled Christopher and Mom into the back seat. Emma opened the door, secured the shotgun in the rack, and got behind the wheel. Rebecca got in the passenger seat, her hands spattered with green and yellow fluid. The woman wasn't afraid to get her hands dirty, that was for sure.

Emma turned around, said to Christopher: “You hurt?”

The kid shook his head.

Her mother, who'd been quiet, said: “You going to stare at us or drive?”

That was mom, sledgehammer blunt.

As she started up the cruiser, she thought she heard a helicopter in the distance.

Chapter Eighteen

Lori cruised down Roosevelt Way, the town's main drag. It had been named for Theodore Roosevelt, who had once spent a night in one of Anderson's now defunct motels. Didn't take much to get the residents of Anderson excited.

They passed the now dark stores that made up the business district on Roosevelt: Farmer's drugs, The Java Cafe, and numerous other stores, mostly small businesses owned by those here in town. As they neared the Veterans' memorial, which consisted of a marble monument, flagpole and World War I-era cannon, Mike saw the body lying at the monument's base.

“Stop. Someone's on the ground there.”

Lori peered out her window. “Looks dead.”

“Stop the rig. If he's hurt, maybe I can help.”

“Mike, we should keep moving. What if there's more of those things around?”

“I can't leave someone if they need help. Stop.”

“Make it quick,” Lori said, and pulled over.

Mike got out, went to the man, who was face down in the grass. He knelt and rolled the guy over. He had a gray goatee and receding hair, which was clipped close to his skull. A silver hoop earring in the left ear.  The man's forehead was bloody and a purple knot had begun to swell. Mike noticed blood smeared on the monument and figured the guy had fallen – or was pushed – and had cracked his skull on the marble.