Life Among the Dead (Book 4): The End (22 page)

17

The panic in the dining hall has ceased, and not at all from becoming safer. A tense quiet falls among the blind. This lull comes on the heels of a crescendo in the anxiety, someone yelled out above the others that he had been bitten. All listened to the man groan as he tried to get away from his unseen assailant as fast as he could without being able to see. He whimpered and stumbled in the thick fog, the witnesses knowing that only one thing would bite, and that evasion would be impossible for the victim since it has been confirmed that the dead are drawn to the smell of blood.

The man was unable to find refuge among the other bodies rushing to avoid him since he would just bait the alleged zombie wherever he went. Another agonized scream made everyone gasp, the crowd became still and quieted down as the tension rose. Listening in the dark with bated breath, hoping not to feel ice cold hands locating them. The sudden report of a rifle startled everyone.

Shots have been fired, brief flashes lit up the smoke like lightening in the clouds. There’s no talking now, the people barely breathe. Susan remains under her table listening to the dark, the slow shuffle of feet, and the occasional moan. Only the soldiers meant to keep them safe are allowed to carry weapons. One has seen fit to discharge his or hers leaving Susan and everyone in the hall with a residual image fading on their retinas and the question,
is it safe now?

18

“Subject: Mary is unresponsive to treatment,” a researcher says into a digital recorder elsewhere on base. One of the ground level units of the Army hospital is being utilized for educational purposes, to gain a better understanding of the dead. ‘Live’ specimens, humans that have died and turned due to natural causes and not the bite, have been collected to see how they differ from the bitten, if at all. Both varieties have been injected and exposed to every virus and bacteria the Army medical staff has been able to get their hands on in the hopes that one would help them in the fight against the dead, preferably something humanity has an immunity to, or in the very least a vaccine.

Nothing has worked, not a bug has been attempted that so much as slowed the already slow threats. Without a working circulatory system, even if something could be found that kills the virus in a petri dish, it wouldn’t be moved through a corpse’s body to do much good.

An obvious suicide, her wrists cut so deeply her bones are visible where the wounds have shriveled and separated, Subject: Mary reaches for the man in the white lab coat. Most of the guinea pigs have been given alpha numerical designations for identification, this one came with a name already, at least a name tag.

The test subjects have not been fed since their capture, the prolonged starvation and proximity to the tantalizing meat they crave has made them noticeably faster, they reach out with what can only be described as desperate determination. The dead lunge and stretch against their restraints, constantly pound against the windows that separate them from their desired meals that observe them. They are teased by the living that come within an arm’s length of them yet are always just out of range.

Mary’s examination concluded, she is being escorted back to her peers. The procedure is always the same, one soldier draws the others to one side of the room by tapping on the window as far from the door as possible while two others carefully insert the test subject. Removing a specific one from the lot is far more complicated and requires more hands to perform.

“Let’s get her home,” the researcher says to the handlers as he rubs his tired eyes. He heads to the bathroom as per his routine to wash his hands thoroughly though he hasn’t touched the deceased. “Sorry about the concert. Hopefully you guys can catch some of the show.”

Wanting to have some time off, time to see a concert and pretend life is normal, does not make the soldiers reckless in the slightest. Though they badly wish to see Kelly Peel, they know they can always catch her next time, and won’t jeopardize their lives on something so trivial.

Like always the dead in the room are on the side farthest from the door, pressing against the glass, shoving each other aside. They never seem to learn the barrier between them and their dinner is always present and their efforts are wasted. The door to the room is open, just as Mary is about to be shoved in the ward’s double doors are slammed open.

“There’s trouble at the Mess Hall!” a sentry reports. “They’re calling for as many hands as possible!”

The distraction is all the upper hand Mary needs, though she needed only to be allowed an inch closer to one of her handlers. She gets a hold of him and pulls him near. He reacts, forcing her away. The soldier on her other flank tries to help his partner only to become the dead girl’s next target. Her teeth come within a breath of his face as she redirects her bites in his direction. The others specimens are drawn to the commotion, they head for the door. The soldier in charge of keeping them occupied has failed, he rushes to the door to close it before the dead can make it out.

His hand is on the knob, they might be faster now, but thankfully he proves more quick on his feet. A lack of communication in a split second is all it takes for an accident to happen, Mary’s handlers have regained control over her and force her into the room, they don’t see their friend at the door until it’s too late and the corpse is sent into him.

He screams. Mary is able to eat at last. They fall to the floor together, barring the door’s closure. The occupants are allowed to exit and get their hands on the other two as they aid their friend.

After several scrubs of his hands, the researcher makes his way back, expecting his subject to be put away and the soldiers waiting to be sent home. Through a few doors and from down the short hall that extends to the restroom he hears some noise, raised voices. He thinks nothing of it since the Army men always seem to shout, especially when they need to instruct one another. What he sees when he emerges back onto the unit is a nightmare, the men are on the floor, the dead are out of the room standing between him and the exit.

Their food has gone still and silent, the dead rise wanting something fresher. The researcher tears his eyes from the faces of the dead and the horrible scene on the floor to find a way out. The zombies are closing in on him, he can’t make it to the unit’s main entrance, but he can get to an emergency exit. Bolting to the glass door, he rams his shoulder into the red lever that opens it in the event of fires and other such disasters. Fresh air hits him as the door’s alarm begins to sound. He has to find help, alert the soldiers that the dead have escaped containment somehow, in his rush he doesn’t notice the escape door hasn’t reclosed itself, it remains open as to allow those needing to exit a free path. The dead are given the ability to roam free.

19

The red cloud is thinning, Susan can feel a draft of fresh air cutting into the hall. Someone has the doors open. Though a soldier calls in to them, those further away from the exit fear moving, not sure of what may lurk between them and the way out.

Susan can see shadows of legs from her place under the table, they appear and disappear like ghosts in the fog. She has no idea if they belong to the dead or the living, she is too afraid to risk it. It may also be the one with the gun, startling him or her may result in getting shot. She stays put and waits. She remains quiet and hopes that her boys are all right.

####

“God damn Bri,” the bitten girl complains, “Too scared to fuck him by herself, had to have me with her…I knew I was going to catch something.”

The boys are silent as they tend to her wounds, placing towels against the hemorrhaging gashes and just listening to her vent. Hippo has discovered in himself the male fascination with breasts, being so close to a perfectly augmented pair. He finds he can’t look away, liking these much better than the swaying pair he saw in the hall that reminded him of a pair of novelty glasses he once won at the pizza arcade. These breasts are made even better when covered by a bikini that the girl found. The garment is a little too small for her. The triangles of fabric hardly conceal her large endowments, pressing them into the generous globes the youngest boy has become lost in. The woman wanted something for modesty, but didn’t want to aggravate her wounds, the string straps actually help hold the towels in place without chaffing. Her mesmerizing form takes his attention away from what he considers a rather plain face, not ugly, just not on par with the rest of her.
Good thing she was born with those, I guess,
he thinks to himself

Killian, on the other hand, uses all the will power he can muster not to stare as he tries to make her comfortable. He was nearly hyperventilating when he helped her into her bikini and while helping her clean the blood off herself. He is embarrassed for the fact his body is reacting to his proximity to her, though perfectly natural he feels it out of place.

“Hey, kid! You mind not staring at my tits?” she says suddenly.

“I-I wasn’t!” Killian nervously blurts.

“Not you. The other one,” she clarifies with a dismissive wave to send the youngster away.

The awe inspiring sight of her body had brightened his mood, rebuked, the boy sulks off. The small space offers little else to stand by, he figures he can sit or lay on the makeshift bed of clothes.

“Bri was so star struck by him,” the girl laments further. “She always had a crush on that asshole.”

“Didn’t you know he was married?” Hippo asks from the mound of garments. He knows the answer, he just wants to share his refreshed poor mood.

She ignores the boy’s comment, about to go on with her gripes. As she takes a breath to speak his words halt her. “It smells weird over here.”

She sighs and remains silent. Killian hovers near her, not sure what else he can do to help. Hippo picks up a curious item, a bag of assorted pills that he holds up and after a brief inspection asks, “Jeez! What’s wrong with you?”

“That isn’t medicine,” the girl turns to explain. “Sometimes people take pills as a way to escape reality.”

“I know what drugs are,” he informs her. “I asked ‘what’s wrong with you’.”

A frustrated sigh, more of a huff. “I can’t believe my horrible luck, roped into a threesome with that man, bitten, losing my best friend, and now I’m trapped with this judgmental child.”

“Don’t blame me ‘cause you’re gonna be a zombie,” Hippo retorts.

The girl, Jessica, begins to cry. She latches onto the first source of comfort she can find, Killian. The girl buries her face in his stomach and weeps. He holds his breath as he strokes her hair, too in the moment to try and control his body’s natural response. She feels it against her chest, an all too familiar swelling.

She releases him and pushes him away. “Eww... I hate my life.”

Each in their own solitude, the small room becomes very quiet. Killian recovers from his embarrassment by the door, it hadn’t dawned on him until his brother mentioned the Z-word that the girl’s fate is sealed. According to Murphy she has but hours until she is one of them. He searches the room with his eyes in hopes of spotting some form of weapon to use when it happens. There’s an absence of sound in the hall he notices, Randy Russell is no longer there. They may be able to leave the room.

20

It’s not unusual to see Randy Russell staggering around the base, given the man’s affinity for alcohol, or any other substance he is able to find, it has become a common sight.

“Oh, there he is again,” a woman says squeezing her husband’s arm on their way to the restrooms. They had come to watch the show and are getting more than they bargained for. The British comedian is stark naked just down the hall, slowly heading their way.

“Putz,” the man grumbles. He’s heard all the tabloid gossip on the guy and hates how he lives his life, especially how he treats the very nice young lady they have come to see tonight.

“You know, I’ve heard him on NPR a few times,” the woman says, their pace slows as their path veers against the wall in the hopes of avoiding contact with the clumsy footed man. “He’s surprisingly well spoken.”

“It’s the accent,” the man scoffs. “Makes the worst person seem refined.”

“I don’t know, he sounded…”

“Honey,” the man halts his wife, the bathrooms stand directly between them and the drunk. “Let’s find another bathroom, shall we?”

“I really have to go!” she tells him with urgency. “It will be all right.”

“Fine,” the man surrenders to her bladder. “But, let’s hurry.”

The woman rushes ahead and darts into the ladies’ room leaving her husband to stroll along the wall. He also has to go, but he feels he can hold it. He leans next to the door and waits, just in case.

Randy Russell continues, his path veering toward the restrooms. “Just keep walking, asshole,” the man warns the comic. “Find somewhere else to throw up.”

Randy ignores the advice, in fact he doesn’t even seem to hear the man, but he can see him. Randy is intently focused on the guy, who for the first time notices the blood around his mouth, but it’s too late. Randy reaches for him as soon as he’s within range, his fingers tensing on the man’s shoulders with incredible strength. The gentleman struggles to push him away but can’t match Randy’s tenacious need to bite him.

About to flush and rejoin her husband for the walk back to the lovely show, happily humming one of her favorite tunes to herself, the woman is startled by a bloodcurdling scream from the hall. Her husband is yelling out in agony in a way she has never heard, in all their years of marriage he has never so much as yelped when stubbing his tow or hitting his thumb with a hammer. The pain sounds tremendous.

She hurries to pull her pants up and rushes out to her husband. A ghastly scene meets her in the hall, her beloved is on his knees before the naked celebrity. Try as he might he can’t push the ravenous comic away, a chunk has already been taken from his neck, voraciously Randy Russell wants more.

“Arnold!” the woman screams in fright, she grabs Randy with the intent on pulling him off. Instead of fighting to get another bite out of the resisting meal, Randy turns his appetite on the one doing the work for him.

Released after an exhausting battle, Arnold can’t find a moment’s rest, he sees the ghoul fall upon his wife. “No! Marge!” His quick movement makes his fresh wound burn with searing pain, like a red hot poker being stabbed into the gash. Pain or no, Arnold won’t let the Brit have Marge. About to dive into her with gnashing teeth, Randy is halted by his neglected dinner. The man puts his own arm in the comic’s mouth as an offering, anything to save his dear wife.

Gritting his teeth, bearing the renewed torture, he pulls Randy away. “Run, Marge!” he tells his wife. “Get help!”

She hesitates, not wanting to leave him. Arnold assures her, “I’ll be right behind you, go!”

After giving his wife a head start, Arnold tears his arm out of Randy’s mouth. A piece of him remains with the zombie, buying him a few valuable seconds that allow him to toss the comic into the men’s room. Holding one hand over the wound on his forearm, and the other over the one on his neck, he follows Marge. Blood flows through his fingers leaving a trail behind him.

Marge turns to see if her husband is coming, she stops so he can catch up. Her man, her hero, is jogging toward her but not looking so good. His body leans to one side, each step he takes is slower than the last as the angle he tilts at becomes more acute causing his path to veer against the wall. He marches forward to join his wife using the wall for support, he sees her safe and sound as she comes to his aid and is able to smile at the sight of her face. It’s fleeting as the look of concern and sorrow she wears turns to alarm. Randy Russell is coming.

The door to the bathroom swings both ways, the ghoul just followed the smell of blood once he picked himself off the tiled floor and pushed his body through. Marge screams for help at the top of her lungs. Arnold is unable to go any further, slumping to the floor. Looking back at the menace coming for them his only concern is for his darling’s safety. With every bit of strength he can muster the man stands, he takes his wife’s hands from him and puts himself directly in Randy’s path.

Marge continues to yell out for help even as others come to investigate. During a lull between songs she was heard by the audience at the concert. Many have left the auditorium to investigate, including Kelly Peel herself. The songstress arrives on the scene in time to see the man she had unfortunately married grab ahold of the wounded man in the hall.

A soldier takes aim with his rifle. “Stand back!” he must tell the onlookers that disrupt his line of sight.

Kelly Peel can see a woman looking on with more sorrow than terror, she deduces it to be the man’s wife. “Hold your fire,” she says.

Puzzled, the soldier looks at her. The pop star is still holding her guitar, she rushes the struggling pair. The man has been holding Randy back with all his might, but his might is about to fail him.

“Hey, Randy!” Kelly calls to her dead spouse, not to see if he’s cogent, just to get him distracted enough for her to swing her instrument as hard as she can against his face. The zombie releases the man who falls back into his wife’s waiting arms. The woman takes the opportunity to drag him clear.

Stunned but still moving, Randy twists on the floor until he’s facing his own wife, seeing only another source of food. He crawls at her. The acoustic guitar had shattered on impact. Kelly uses all her strength to bring the jagged neck down into his skull. Having fulfilled one of the many violent thoughts she’s had toward her husband she looks to the couple on the floor, such sorrow to be leaving one another, so much love still even at the end of so many years. Kelly knows the man will die soon, she wants them to have as much time together as possible.

The soldier needs to eliminate the possible threat, he has his weapon at the ready. “Ma’am, you need to move away,” he tells the soon-to-be widow in a callous tone.

“Let’s give them some time,” a female soldier suggests.

She outranks him but still he looks to another in uniform for confirmation, a male sergeant standing next to her. Just a simple nod is issued to let him know it’s all right to stand down for the moment, that silent signal isn’t lost on the much smaller sergeant.

“Why do they always do that?” she asks in a frustrated whisper.

“Do what?”

“Check with you before following my orders like you’re drinking buddies or something,” she pouts. “Do you hang together at the Flag Pole? Enjoy topless waitresses and bottomless nachos…ugh! I just got that. Gross.”

“Calm down, Rash. I’m sure it’s no reflection on you,” her fellow sergeant assures though the one he calls Rash still looks angry.

The crowd in the hall grows as more exit the auditorium to see what is going on. The winter has been so relaxing compared to the onset of the plague folks have nearly forgotten what drove them here, what they were running from.