Life Among the Dead (Book 4): The End (24 page)

26

Heading around the building, Susan tries to recall the layout of the building but can’t remember where exactly the concession area is. Her hope is to find a way in that’s not clogged with zombies. A cluster at the front entrance forces her to take evasive action, there’s many entering through the glass double doors that are being held open with a sandwich board announcing the concert that has been interrupted, she gives them a wide berth.

Continuing around to the next side the mother slows at a door, the light shines out through the glass cutting a line through the darkness. Within she sees Hippo, his hands are cupped around his eyes to see past the glare, framed within his curved palms the boy’s eyes go wide once they take in the sight of his mother approaching. He quickly shoves himself against the locking bar and leaps into her arms. Her tough boy cries a little, unashamed, a child that hardly shed a tear as an infant lets his emotions out.

Killian joins them, the touching moment between his brother and their mom makes him smile. Unfortunately, he can’t allow them too much time, he can hear the dead out there in the night. Before he can break up Susan’s tight embrace that Hippo is already trying to free himself from, he finds himself scooped into it as well. He tries to tell them that they need to get back in with the others where it is safe but he can’t get enough air to breathe.

“Mom,” he struggles to say when he can find enough wind, “We have to get…” Killian turns to indicate that they need to go inside, but the door has shut. He tears himself from the crushing hug and confirms his fear, it has locked itself. “Shit!”

“Killian!” Susan scolds.

“It’s locked,” he responds, too frightened to cast blame or take any on himself. He doubts the survivors inside will come if he starts pounding on the glass. “We have to get somewhere safe. Now.”

27

“Why do you always put the ketchup under the hotdog, Howard?” a woman groans at her husband.

“So it doesn’t make a mess, dear,” he responds, letting his irritation be heard in his voice.

“It’s weird,” she tells him. “And, stop glancing over at her to check her out.”

The abrupt change in accusations is directed at his occasional look around, always in Kelly Peel’s direction. He denies that he is doing what his wife has called him out on, only inciting a volley from her in return and setting them into yet another bickering match.

“Uh, guys,” Brock Rottom tries to stop their latest battle. Things are tense enough without them making it uncomfortable for the rest of the group, besides the clown has been keeping tabs on everyone and his count has come up two people short. The pair continues to quarrel until Brock hollers. “The ketchup goes on top! Always! Now, cool it, already!”

Not one to be told what to do, Gloria casts a glare at whoever dares to silence her that could melt gold, when she sees it’s Brock she acquiesces considering he had saved her from a man that wanted to do horrible things to her on the road to get here.

“Did anyone see where those two boys went?” he poses the question to the group. “They couldn’t have gone far,” he says after receiving only puzzled looks and shrugs.

The clown heads down the only hall they may have used, he figures they just got bored and wanted to explore a bit. His search turns up no sign of them. Not in any of the bathrooms he discovers, nor in the supply rooms. He notices an exit that leads out to one of the vast parade grounds, paved lots where soldiers assemble.
Why would they go out there?
he asks himself. He doesn’t see them anywhere near the other side of the exit. On the way back to the group he rechecks all the rooms and knocks on the locked doors in hopes of finding the missing boys. Nothing.

“Did you find them?” Kelly Peel asks when the clown returns.

“No, I did find an exit though,” he responds. “I think they may have gone out.”

The living hold their collective breath upon hearing that, going out seems like a death sentence. They involuntarily look towards the dead at the gate, vacant eyed ghouls that moan and beg for flesh, that reach and press themselves against the steel just trying to get ahold of someone.

28

“The barracks!” Killian points across the plain of asphalt to where they should head rather than standing out in the open as they are. He leads them at a quick but silent pace, trying to be covert.

At the door the oldest child peers in to see if it’s safe, though no movement is detected he enters with caution. A finger to his lips lets his family know to be quiet. Though afraid, more afraid than he’s ever been in his life, he ventures ahead to check out the halls leading to their open bay housing.

The short hall that serves as an entrance, where soldiers once took turns monitoring who came and went, leads to a long hall that cuts down the middle of the building connecting every room; the two large bays full of bunk beds, the utility closet, guest bathroom, and the community recreation room. Each floor is identical in its layout, every building that serves as quarters is the same. The main artery is clear, the young man waves for his family to follow.

At the swinging double doors Killian halts their progress so he can peer through the long narrow windows before leading his mother and brother inside. Once in they feel relieved, they feel safe at last. The eldest boy doesn’t let himself relax just yet, he quickly moves along the rows of metal beds and lockers to make sure it truly is safe. When he fails to locate any danger the tension finally escapes his chest with a sigh.

“I have to pee,” Hippo announces. The youngest heads towards the bathroom, a room that hasn’t been secured.

“Hold on,” Killian stops him. He’s at the doors they just used, sliding a push broom through the handles, it isn’t a perfect means of keeping danger out but it’s all he has at the moment. “Let me check it out first.”

“Fine. But, hurry!” the boy says starting to dance. The feeling that he has to urinate is more urgent now that he has declared his intent yet has to wait, as if his bladder is just as head strong and stubborn as he is. “Whoops! Too late,” the boy says then reconsiders his words. “I mean, the door just moved. I didn’t pee myself. Yet.”

The swinging door to the bathroom cracks wider and wider as whatever is inside pushes against it. A figure slowly slides out.

“It’s just Murphy,” Hippo says. He starts towards the bathroom to relieve the pent up pressure in his bladder.

“Hippo, wait!” his brother tries to stop him. The cop hasn’t spoken. His gaze on the approaching boy is unsettling, empty of recognition or any trace of humanity.

Familiarity proves false, this is no longer Murphy. Killian sees his brother is hell bent on not listening to his warning. The closest thing he can find to use as a weapon is a pillow. He snatches one off the nearest bottom bunk and charges ahead of his brother. The pillows the survivors have been issued are heavy and lumpy, filled with a squishy granular substance that shift to one end as the boy tightly grips the sham.

He swings the sack of unknown contents as hard as he can at the cop’s head, taking the man off balance. Murphy falters but doesn’t fall. He has a new target, the creepy fixation that had been locked onto Hippo is now on Killian.

The younger boy can’t help but laugh. He wants to join in but his mother’s arms wrap around him and pull him away. She watches her oldest child battle the zombie with a pillow, taking in air in short gasps every time the ghoul reaches for her boy.

“Honey,” she says holding her other child tightly to her. She’s afraid to distract her brave boy but is deeply concerned for his safety. “Is there anything I can do?”

“I need a weapon!” he states. Killian uses both hands to shove the pillow against their dead protector’s chest, sending the cop back into the bathroom. As soon as the swinging door is about to come to a stop, Murphy pushes it outward again, his appetite is undeniable and he knows where to get meat.

Susan looks around the bay for something that can be used to defeat the zombie. Her eyes fall upon a skateboard, its owner is not around so she grabs it. About to ask if it will do her son sweeps Murphy’s legs out from under him with a swing of the heavy pillow. The cop falls face first on the hard worn floor and Killian jumps on his back. He keeps the pillow against the writhing police man, holding him down so his mom can hit him.

She isn’t sure she can do it, the board is brought up and she just holds it aloft.

“Mom! Do it!” he yells.

Susan brings the skateboard down, the feel of the impact against Murphy’s skull makes her shiver. He’s still moving, she’ll have to do it again, harder.

Another strike arises a fresh chill up her spine, and still isn’t enough to do the job. The mother wants to end the danger, she falls to her knees and begins to batter the man who promised her father to keep them safe until he stops moving, and then she batters him a little more. She doesn’t stop until her son is off the zombie. He puts his hand on her shoulder to let her know that it’s all right to stop. It’s over.

“Look away, honey,” the mother tells her oldest, the mess she’s made of Murphy’s head is almost too much for her to take, even for a nurse. “You shouldn’t see such things.”

The bathroom door swings open. Hippo emerges, zipping up his pants. “Is it over? Mom, You’ll never guess what we saw today!”

29

“Shouldn’t someone go out there?” Kelly Peel asks with concern. “Find them, or maybe bring back help?”

Everyone looks to one another to volunteer.

“I’ll go,” Howard announces.

“What, now you’ll be a hero?” Gloria asks, her snarky question is loaded with accusation as if the words ‘
for her
’ were attached to the end. “You’re not going. You may not have many uses, but I need you for what little you can do.” It’s her equivalent to saying she loves him too much to let him leave.

No one else steps up, they stand at the door for a while looking out into the night. The dead are everywhere. They, like all that have been fortunate enough to survive this fresh outbreak, bide their time. The scattered groups sit tight and hope to be rescued, or at least until the right moment to move presents itself.

That moment doesn’t come for over twenty-four hours, more than an entire day of maddening pacing and boring wall staring. Those in the concession area, the dead still keeping them company at the gate, keeping them awake with their moans, hear a crash outside.

They are unable to see what made the noise, but they witness the dead walking toward it, also very curious. The zombies shuffle toward the southern side of Fort Eagle Rock, and all the survivors can do is wonder.

“This could be our chance,” Kelly Peel poses to the others. “If we wait until they are all over there, we might be able to get out of here.”

“And go where?” the only soldier among them asks.

“Anywhere,” she says, unsure herself where to go. “Find someplace safe, find people.”

“I think we should stay put,” the soldier voices his opinion. “Between all of us, and all the weapons in the armory, we can clear this place again. There’s food in the mess hall, strong gates to keep out the dead.”

“You mean the things that are all over the place?” Brock Rottom asks sarcastically. Tensions are high as they enter their second full day of hiding.

The survivors argue over what they should do, what the most sensible thing to do might be. Their voices rise over one another to be heard until everyone with an idea is screaming. The blonde haired girl with the lopsided pigtails covers her ears. She looks like she’s about to cry, this does not sit well with her father.

“Shut up!” a man named Eli hollers loud and long in a deep alpha male voice that forces everyone into submission. “Those who wish to leave, will leave. Those that wish to stay, stay.”

He searches from face to face to make sure everyone understands him. His common sense plan seems to make sense to the group. “My parents have a house boat in Florida, near Cape Coral…”

“We’re going to see Grammie and Pappy?” his daughter asks with a cheerful gleam in her eyes.

“We’re going to try,” the man answers her. “If we can get there, I figure a house boat is a safe enough place. The dead won’t be able to reach us, we can fish for our food.”

“That’s brilliant!” Kelly Peel congratulates him. “We’ll need a vehicle that can fit everyone interested in leaving.”

“I’ve got just the thing,” Brock Rottom announces with pride.

“It has to be able to fit every…”

“Tut-tut-tut,” he assures. “The Brock-mobile is deceptively spacious. They have it parked behind the motor pool. Since they made me surrender my gun at the gate, I only have my spare—in my glove compartment.”

“I’ll help you get there,” the soldier volunteers as way of apologizing for his opposing view. “We’ll need to move quickly.”

As a group it is decided that they will wait for the dead outside to hopefully thin out, as well as give the boys time should they try to return. In the meantime they plan the route to Florida, as well as the game plan for getting to the motor pool. A full day ellipses, their spirits much higher. Those heading south have bigger things to worry about, those remaining behind will soon be rid of the annoying fighting of Howard and Gloria.

Another crash from outside surprises the survivors, the unexpected ruckus has them searching at every vantage they can find. Though they are unable to locate the source, they see it has resulted in drawing the attention of the dead. The zombies are shuffling and crawling toward the southern gate, unfortunately in the direction of the truck they had hoped would take them to safety.

Kelly Peel cracks the exit door slightly to hear better, she detects the sound of a large engine grumbling. The machine sits idle wherever it is and then rumbles away getting fainter.

“I think someone just left the base,” she reports in a whisper to her team. “If they opened the gate, we should be fine. The dead might follow them.”

“Let’s get everyone together,” Brock says. Though his mouth is painted with a clown’s smile, his lips are a tight line of worry and concern.

The shuffling corpses have ceased to pass by the door, meaning most will be gathered around the motor pool if the gate has not been opened. Even if a lot of the dead have wandered off base, there still may be some between here and where they want to be. They know they’ll need to proceed with caution.

“Stay with me,” Eli tells his daughter. “Don’t let go of my hand.”

The group consists of a clown, a pop star, a father and his young girl, the bickering couple, three strangers and their guide to the truck who will not be joining them on the trip. Quietly, they creep out through the exit one at a time leaving a survivor at the door to let the soldier back in once his mission is through.

They travel in a tiptoeing train around the building and toward the chain link that divides the base. They see wavering figures, but not as many as they feared. Another engine is rumbling somewhere in the direction they wish to go, smaller than the one they heard before.

As they dash and scurry from cover to cover they can hear the smaller automobile in motion. At the division of crisscrossing steel wire they can see the Southern gate has in fact been opened, they can see the motor pool, and they can see a car at the armory.

To Eli, this is no ordinary car. “I think that’s my Camaro,” he whispers to himself in disbelief regarding the purple vehicle in question. His car had been stolen by a punk kid he called Chachi that seems to be haunting him. The punk in question actually arrived at Eagle Rock with his car and survivors, including Brock Rottom.

“Behind you!” the soldier alerts the man who is sidetracked by how coincidental it is to see his car yet again being stolen, a corpse caught in a bush is reaching for him.

Eli ducks just as the soldier fires a round into the dead man’s head. The zombie was silent due to the wound that no doubt fostered it, total removal of the throat and wind pipe. Though the thing wouldn’t be able to get any flesh into its stomach it was still compelled to go through the motions.

The shot is attracting more, dead that weren’t able to get off base like the others. Some are not able to walk for the lack of the leg muscles required, others had gotten caught against the chain link fence and were unable to find the opening to the military section. Others are converging simply late to the party. Whatever the reason for the remaining threat, the living have to get to the truck, their only alternative is hiding once more in the snack area.

The soldier fires one more shot to fall a corpse in his way, he yells for the rest to follow him. He wants to turn back and return to the safety of the rec center but he had promised to get these people to the truck.

“Wait,” Kelly Peel says, stopping.

“We can’t wait,” the soldier urges her to continue.

“Do you hear that?” she asks, straining to listen. Through the moans and shuffling of feet she hears it again, crying. “Keep going, I’ll be there.”

“There’s no time,” the soldier tries to tell her but she’s already heading off deeper into the civilian sector.

“If things get bad just go,” she gives the group permission to leave her behind.

The dead divide their attention, some remain locked onto the tempting herd of humans, some venture after the lone meal that wanders off.

The crying gets louder as Kelly closes in on the barracks, it’s definitely a baby. She follows the sound to the steel pill box building it is coming from and finds a woman holding a bawling child within the entryway. The relief in the mother’s eyes for seeing another person is premature and short lived, the dead are swarming. The woman lets Kelly in. In a matter of minutes they can’t exit, the corpses are pressing against the glass, moaning as if in despair over missing dinner.

Their only recourse is to enter the barracks and try to get out another way, the mother, Erica, tells the pop star that there’s a few zombies inside. Kelly feels their odds of survival are better inside and away from the windows. She hopes the dead will lose interest if they can’t see or hear them. That means the baby, Jeremy, will have to be appeased.

Kelly offers to take Jeremy. She bounces the boy, cooing at him with wide hopeful eyes. She sings him a song that quiets him a little. The tyke sniffles, fat tears rolling down his chubby cheeks while he listens to the lullaby. To Kelly it feels as if his diaper is full, she imagines he’s hungry as well.

Erica is handed back her son as Kelly continues to sing. The door leading into the main hallway of the barracks is empty, that doesn’t ease Kelly’s mind much. Before entering, she looks for a weapon but fails to see anything useful. The only idea she has is using the chair at the desk the duty guard once manned.

Kelly eases the door open and slips inside, covertly heading straight for the rolling office chair. She pushes the high back seat towards the intersecting hall that divides the building down the middle. Before committing to the action she looks back to Erica where she stands half in the door and half out, Jeremy rubs his eyes looking upset that he can’t hear the song so well now. Kelly had to cease the lullaby once she entered the hall. She picks it back up, singing low at first, increasing the volume in increments until she finds one that appeals to the boy.

Kelly pushes her chair into the intersection of corridors, neither way has any evident danger. With a gesture Kelly asks which way, she wants to get them into Erica’s bay so Jeremy can have something to eat and a change, the mother said she had to leave everything behind to escape the zombie that attacked them. Erica points to the hall on the right.

The wheels of the chair softly crunch over floor grit as it is pushed toward the doors of the berth. The swinging doors ahead of her are being thumped open slightly, just a few inches before closing again, as if someone or something is right on the other side. Kelly knows exactly what’s on the other side that keeps knocking into the doors. As she nears the rhythm picks up, it hears her singing. At the door she wonders why it just doesn’t come out, the not knowing makes her just as nervous as the creature itself. With the rolling chair in front of her like a shield she grasps the handle and opens it.

A dead female civilian is on the floor, reaching up for her. The corpse’s foot is snared by the power cord of a large fan that has been toppled, the plug is still in the socket held by its bending prongs. Kelly flips down a stopper affixed to the bottom of the door. Taking a running leap over the zombie she races to the wall where a fire extinguisher hangs.

The tangled corpse crawls in her direction, the twisted plug comes out of the wall. Enough slack forms in the cord that its foot becomes freed. The deceased woman rises and staggers toward the pop star, not seeing her as anything other than a meal. The device is heavy but Kelly manages to swing it with all her might and make contact with the zombie’s head. It’s on the floor, still moving, trying to get up. She swings again but is unable to still the ghoul. She knows she’ll have to do more damage, not allowing herself time to reconsider she brings the extinguisher down, crushing the dead lady’s skull, trying to think of it as a bug. This is different than Randy who even in life had it coming. This stranger was probably a nice person.

Satisfied with her work, Kelly drops the silver, dented canister. She can barely look at the gruesome thing before her but she must, for the sake of Erica and her child she drags the body to the far end of the squad bay before checking out the rest of the place to ensure it is safe enough for them to join her.

Kelly checks the emergency door at the back of the bay to ensure it is locked, then she uses the heavy fan to bar the main entry, lashing the handle together with its helpful power cord. The three haven’t received much rest in the past twenty-four hours and are exhausted. Jeremy is already sleeping deeply having been fed from Erica’s supply. The ladies rest now too figuring their next move can be just as easily determined after some sleep.