Judgment (12 page)

              Several more were beginning to fall out of the walls, and I could smell them from across the room, the lingering stench of dead flesh climbing out of the drawers ahead of them. The one that had been staring at me suddenly began to move forward, his arms outstretched, reaching for me.

              He moved steadily towards me, an insane dead corpse, while the others fell out of their drawers and slowly got to their feet. There was nowhere for me to go. I could hear the angels at the door now as the maledicted came ever closer.

              As I began backing up towards a corner, the lights on the ceiling began to sputter and flicker. An even worse chill of panic ran up my spine.

              Oh shit, no. Not now. The generator…

             
A few seconds later the lights went out completely and the hospital was plunged into total darkness.

             
I stood frozen, the gurgling and shuffling of the insane dead moving all around me in the darkness. I backed into a corner as far as I could and squatted down, unable to see even six inches in front of my face. I heard one of the maledicted fall to the ground from rotted legs that could no longer hold him up. It sounded like the bones had cracked, and I heard him utter sounds of pain. The smell in the air made me want to puke and I had to choke it back simply to be quiet.

              The sound of a handle turning drifted across the room, and the rusting hinges of the door creaked in protest as the angels pulled it open. No light entered from the hall, but I felt a slight breeze on my face push in when the door opened. My panicked and heightened senses caught the sound of ruffling feathers, and the light patter of bare feet on the cold metal floor. The Judges were in the room, moving amongst the maledicted in the dark. I tried to push myself back into the wall, to become part of it, to hide. I tucked my face down into my knees, covering my head with my arms.

              Please God. Just let me get out of here. Please.

              One of the maledicted bumped into me, the cold clammy skin of its legs brushing against my arm. He seemed to not realize what I was, and he stumbled away into the darkness. Shuffling noises seemed to come from all around the room, with no distinction between what was a Judge and what was a maledicted. I sat there, frozen in the cold corner, terrified to move. The fear and horror choked me and I struggled to breathe. I held my breath for as long as I could trying to be quiet, but it only made me breathe harder when I could no longer hold it. My heart pounded in my chest so powerfully I was sure the Judges could hear it.

              Shuffling feet drew nearer in the dark, and suddenly one of the dead tripped over me, falling right on top of me. I had to put my hand over my mouth to stop from yelling out. The corpse squirmed around, its cold rotted flesh leaving a slimy film on me wherever we touched. The smell and the thought of touching it made me instantly gag, but I had to remain still and silent to not give myself away to the Judges. I tucked my head down harder into my knees and arms to cover my face, clenched my teeth tightly, and just froze motionless. A sudden gentle movement of air rolled past as an angel’s wing moved just over me; the very tips of its feathers brushing gently across the top of my head.

              Oh my god, he’s right in front of me.

              I stiffened and held my breathe knowing a Judge was only a foot away in the darkness. The maledicted corpse, attempting to rise to his feet, pushed against me with cold clammy hands. Suddenly its focus seemed to shift, and I felt it’s long rotting arms reach around my shoulders. Something was attracting it to me; my smell, my sweat, perhaps my body heat. A moment later I felt a wet sensation on the back of my neck. I heard suckling sounds as I felt teeth and tongue against my skin.

              The god damned thing is sucking on me.

             
I struggled desperately to not move, to not flinch, as this disgusting corpse suckled on the back of my neck, lapping up my warm salty sweat. I fought desperately to not puke at the smell of the foul slime that dripped from its dead lips and trickled across my cheek. I dared not move for several minutes, while the maledicted slobbered on the back of my neck and Judges moved around in the darkness.

              Sounds of movement came from outside the room, several items clanking around on the floor out in the main basement. The sound of the stairwell door opening came next, and several seconds later the thud of its closing. It had to be the angels going back upstairs, and I desperately wanted out of here, to get away from this morgue and its rotting horrifying tenants. I needed to get back to Margie and Steve, take Steve’s inhalers and just get the hell out of here.

              I couldn’t take it anymore, and I quickly stood, throwing my arms outward, shoving the rotting maledicted monster off of my neck. In the dark I heard it gurgle a startled gasp and fall backwards onto the floor. The sudden activity seemed to excite the others, and the room became a frenzy of walking corpses stumbling into each other in the dark. Feeling my way along the cold wall, I moved to the doorway.

              Standing in the small hallway just outside the room, darkness enveloped me, making me completely blind. I could hear and smell the maledicted shuffling around behind me. Afraid to create any type of light for fear a Judge was still nearby, I fumbled a few steps through the darkness into the main room. I immediately tripped over several loose items on the floor, causing loud noises that were answered quickly by the excited hissing and wheezing of the maledicted shambling out of the refrigerated room and into the hallway.

              The disgust and fear of walking into one of the dead in the dark became greater than the fear of running from a Judge, so I pulled the last flare from my pack and ignited it. The loud crack of the sparks echoed across the room as the red light followed the sound and filled the space around me with an eerie red glow. I waved the flare back and forth around me scanning the area. A couple of maledicted were slowly moving towards me from the shadows, drawn by the glow of the flare. For the moment I saw no Judges, and I began to move back towards the stairwell to get to the upper floor.

              As quietly as I could I pushed open the stairwell door. The flickering red glow of the flare slowly crept into the lower stairwell, seemingly as afraid to enter as I was. Looking upwards and listening intently, I heard no sounds within the small space of the stairwell. Entering, I quickly shut the door behind me, the maledicted wandering over from the morgue just steps behind me before I sealed them out behind the metal door. I heard them scratching at it as I made my way up first flight of stairs, reaching the flare out ahead of me, straining to see into the darkness just beyond the red glow.

              I passed by the lobby floor, and after pausing for a moment listening for the Judges, continued on up to the second floor where I had left the others. The stairwell was bathed in the red glow of the flare, the sparks emitting from it making a trail of smoke that rose up the stairwell into the darkness like the souls of the judged rose into the night sky. As I neared the second floor I could hear the dead baby still crying, while below the maledicted were scratching at the basement door.

              Still very afraid, I quickly thrust the flare out into the second floor, peeking out behind it. “Whoa!” came Margie’s voice as I almost hit her in the face with the flare. I yelled out as well, startled by her sudden appearance just outside the doorway. Steve grabbed her by the shoulders and caught her as she nearly fell trying to lean back away from the flare.

              “We were just coming looking for you,” he said.

              “You scared the crap out of me,” I told them, still trying to catch my breath from the panic.

              “The Judges, did you see them? Do you know where they went?” Margie asked me.

              “They followed me down to the basement. I hid, and then I thought they came back up this way. I was coming up to find you.”

              “What’s downstairs? Anything useful?” asked Steve.

              “No,” I told him, as I wiped a bit of dead slime off of my neck with my shirt sleeve. “We’ve got the inhalers. Let’s get the hell out of here now, okay?”

              I could see Margie glance over to the room where the baby was still crying. I could see the sadness in her eyes when she nodded yes, and we made our way down to the lobby by the light of the flare. Steve had a backpack stuffed with inhalers, more than enough to hold us until we got out of the city and into the rural areas. Cautiously entering the lobby looking for the Judges, we found the pathway out as clear as it had been when we entered.

              The outside of the hospital was much quieter now that the generator had shut down. As we stepped out into the darkness of the night, I could hear the moaning of the maledicted, and the crying of a baby whose mother would never come.

Chapter 8

Dead Men Do Tell Tales

“Look out for the dogs, look out for the evildoers, look out

for those who mutilate the flesh.”

~ Philippians 3:1-21

              The Verrazano-Narrows Bridge loomed before us like an enormous sidewalk into the heavens. A deep morning fog hung heavy and low, making the vertical structures of the bridge disappear into the thick mist above. We had walked since early in the morning before dawn, looking to put some distance between us and Brooklyn before the light of day made our traveling more dangerous. After the hospital we had made our way to Steve’s daughter’s house. There we found only ashes and Steve’s memories, but it gave us a place to sleep for a few hours before heading out. Now ahead of us was Staten Island where we would look for Margie’s brother, and then on through Jersey and into Pennsylvania. There we hoped the more rural farmlands might give us a longer life expectancy than the city had. 

              Now I found myself high over New York Harbor, trying to not be seen and caught walking across the bridge. The Verrazano was long to cross on foot, and the winds were blowing strong, pushing us around. The path was a parking lot of cars, all lanes entirely blocked as far up the bridge as I could see.

              Almost all the cars had the doors flung open, the driver’s abandoning them when there was no other choice and nowhere to go. There were small piles of ash up against many of the tires where the dusty remains of people could hide from the wind, the rest just blown off the bridge into the harbor.

              The winds kept increasing as we moved further up, whistling through the suspension cables that arced lazily up into the heavens. There wasn't a sound except the wind and the creaking of the bridge. It was eerie as hell to be standing there high up on the bridge, looking around to the skyline at a dead city.

              As we neared the center of the bridge we found the reason for the traffic jam. A massive accident, several cars piled into one another with one flipped over onto its side. Two of the cars had maledicted in them, mangled and bloodied. They were clearly dead, yet moaning and calling out to us as we passed by.

              Steve was searching vehicles, looking for anything of use. It's amazing how valuable now the trivial things had become. Cigarette lighters, clothing, and flashlights had all become priceless and lifesaving. Expensive cellphones, laptops and iPads were now completely useless relics of an extinct society.

              We scrounged a few things while ignoring the maledicted in the crashed cars. As I was glancing down the other side of the bridge towards Staten Island, Margie had been watching behind us.

              “Adam...”

              I hadn't quite heard her the first time. She called a little louder, a bit more urgency in her voice.

              “Adam...look.”

              I turned to see what she was pointing at, having to look far down the bridge from where we had come. At first I couldn't see it, but gradually it became clearer. The bottom of the foggy mist was moving slightly, bits of it swirling and dislodging, as if being displaced by something concealed moving through the fog. As the motion drew nearer, I could see the tips of great wings poking out through the bottom of the fog in rhythm with the Judges’ flight.

              “They're coming Adam. They've seen us on the bridge.”

             
Fuck.

              Steve saw them too, and quickly shoving some loot into his pockets began a fast paced hobble towards us. “C'mon, let's get the hell out of here.”

              Margie swung her pack onto her back and began to move. “We have to get off the bridge. We're sitting ducks out here.”

              My mind began to race. Looking down the bridge ahead of us, Staten Island was a long ways off. “We'll never make it before they catch up to us.”

              “We don't have any other options,” Margie yelled to me.

              I looked back at the parking lot of cars that filled the first half of the bridge. Car after car, end to end; hundreds of them all stacked up like dominoes and filled with fuel. “Margie, give me a lighter.”

              “What?”

              “A lighter. Give me a lighter.”

              “What are you doing?”

              “Just give it to me.” Looking back I could see the stirring of the fog getting closer, a few hundred yards away. Taking Margie's lighter I quickly ran to one of the wrecked cars. At the driver’s window I ripped a piece of cloth off the shirt of the maledicted crushed there, ignoring the smell of death and the mumbled protests of the owner.

              Stuffing the rag into the gas tank opening, I lit the cloth on fire. A small flame sparked to life on the tip of the rag that slowly grew larger as it began moving towards the gas inlet.

              “What the hell are you doing?” Margie was still asking.

              “Playing Dominoes. Knock one down and watch the rest fall. Now let's get the hell off the bridge.”

              She looked at me puzzled for a moment, then quickly began running behind me, Steve following just slightly behind. At first nothing happened as we ran. I kept waiting for the explosion, but I could only hear the footsteps of Margie and Steve behind me. I stopped and turned to look, wondering if I should run back and give it another try. I could see Steve hobbling along as best he could, still within 40 yards or so of the car. I could still see little bits of flaming rag sticking out the car’s gas inlet.

              Above Steve I saw the angels now descending below the dense layer of fog, the gray mist swirling around their wings as they came into view; three, four, maybe more of them. They were coming quickly, and we had half the distance of the bridge to still go before the other side and Staten Island.

              We'll never make it.

              I screamed out, urging Margie and Steve to run faster. Before I could finish the sentence, the car exploded in a huge fireball that knocked Steve off of his feet and sent a burst of warm air rushing past my face. The car literally flew off the pavement, flipping into the air onto the car behind it. Dripping fuel was already running across the road, quickly igniting the next few cars in line.

              C'mon baby. Make it rain.

              Steve got to his feet, and continued in my direction. Margie was just a few steps away. Behind them I could still see the angels coming in spite of the black smoke billowing from the burning cars. They were only a hundred yards away now, flying just below the layer of fog and coming fast.

              Suddenly the bridge became a gauntlet of fire and exploding metal. In a startling massive explosion the next couple of cars burst into fireballs, and the chain reaction began.

              I felt the bridge buckle and sway under my feet. Car after car began to explode, several launching themselves into the air, the others billowing huge fireballs and thick black smoke. I watched one burning car flip upwards and strike the lead angel, covering the Judge with burning gas and oil. Its wings ignited, and it flew out of control from side to side in a panic, crashing into a suspension cable before hurtling to the ground in flames. I saw a second angel's wings also catch fire, and after spiraling up into the air, watched the flaming form of the Judge plummet down into the harbor below.

              The explosions began to come quicker as we ran towards Staten Island. The chain reaction I had hoped for took off with great fury, car after car exploding violently one after the other until the entire east half of the bridge was filled with fire and thick black smoke that formed a barrier between us and our pursuers.

              We ran the entire rest of the way off the bridge, feeling the vibrations in the concrete beneath our feet with each new explosion. Each time I glanced back to see if any angels were behind us I saw nothing but fire and black smoke. At the west end of the bridge, just into Staten Island, we collapsed onto the ground with exhaustion. Steve was sucking heavily on an inhaler.

              Margie was the first to be able to catch her breath and speak. “We can’t stay here long,” she said, still a little winded. “That mess on the bridge is going to draw attention for miles. I bet you can see that from all five boroughs.” I still couldn’t stop gasping for air, so I opted to simply nod my agreement. 

              Rising to my feet, I watched the bridge burn for a few minutes. Glancing over towards Brooklyn, I could see them coming. From a distance they looked just like birds, like the first morning when Jim Brooksher and I had seen them from my office window. As they draw nearer, you can tell there’s something different about them, that they aren’t birds.

              Steve noticed what I was looking at. “That didn’t take long.” He took a big long drag off his inhaler, and when it didn’t quite give him what he wanted, he gave it a shake and then threw it to the side of the road. “I guess we better get moving.”

              “Yeah.” The Judges were still a ways off, almost clear across the harbor. I didn’t think they could actually see where we were yet. They were more just drawn to the action on the bridge which I was sure could be seen and heard all the way up in Manhattan. “Margie, how far to your brother’s place?”

              “On foot, with Steve’s ankle? Longer than I’d like, but we should make it before dark.” Margie slung her pack onto her back, took one last look at the approaching Judges flying over the harbor, and began walking off, Steve and I following behind.

              *  * *  *

              I couldn’t sleep.

              Steve, his breathing soothed with asthma inhalers, was happily snoring away the night. The rest of the dark world was screaming in agony. Maledicted moaned and screeched in the streets, while Judges roamed the rooftops, their heavy steps thumping just above my head. Margie was asleep in her brother’s room, or still quietly crying; I wasn’t sure.

              Margie was right, we had made it here before the sun went down, but we hadn’t found what she had hoped for. There was no sign of her brother, unless he was one of the piles of ashes we found in the Laundromat downstairs. There was just no way to know, but it seemed likely. I left that choice up to Margie. She could hold on to hope, or not; that was an individual thing.

              Staten Island was a mess. God’s apocalyptic hand had definitely smacked it around for a while. I noticed now that whenever we saw the maledicted, they seemed to be in packs, as if the cursed were drawn to each other somehow. Perhaps in the absence of anyone else, they were the only other humans to gravitate to. We rarely saw one alone any more, but always three or four moving together. As the days went by, the more likely it was that they had no sanity left, their brains having been rotting for weeks. They were more dangerous than ever now.

              Staring out the window, I noticed a dim glow in a bar across the street. A thin light, the flickering of a candle, escaped out through broken windows, dimly illuminating the sidewalk. I could see a man sitting on a bar stool pouring himself a drink. It was another survivor, just across the street. It had to be, and I had to go see for myself.

              I locked the door to the apartment and made my way down to the street. Glancing around for danger and seeing it was clear I made my way across. I stood outside the broken windows for a moment, and now closer could see that not only was it a survivor there in the bar, but he was a police officer. I could see his uniform, his hat, and the gun strapped to his hip. Oddly, even in a post-apocalyptic world, having a cop nearby somehow made me feel safer.

              Stepping through the window frame with glass crunching under my boots, I know he had to hear me coming, and yet there was little reaction. He barely flinched, and I would have thought he’d be a bit more concerned about who or what was walking up on him.

              In the dim light I could see he was covered in ashes. He reminded me of the people I had seen when the towers collapsed on 9/11, running through the streets covered in dust. When he moved, little bits of it flew off of him to drift aloft in the candle light.