Remains of the Dead (8 page)

Shuffling forward himself, he came to a storm drain clogged with rotting vegetation and the flotsam of urban decay. The drain meant he wasn’t far from a building and the possible safety within its walls.

Past the drain, only a few short metres of pavement and a dozen or so zombies separated Ali from a derelict apartment building. He and his fellow survivors had long ago looted all the surrounding buildings, but Ali hoped he could find sanctuary inside. The doors had all been forced open during their scavenging, and as long as the wood hadn’t swollen shut in the subsequent years he could secure it and take time to think. He just had to crawl to the side of a building and follow it until he found an entrance.

Ali placed his hand on the kerbstone and eased himself on. Slowly crawling between the zombies, Ali desperately tried to stay calm, fearful his laboured breath would attract attention.

His concentration was snapped back to the square as the sound of gunfire barked from behind him.

The helicopter sounded more distant now and he guessed it was airborne.

But the shots sounded closer than the chopper. That could only mean there were people on the ground—well-armed people. Now an impossible thought clawed its way into his mind. Was there still the chance of a rescue?

Ali let a smile take control of his lips. There was a way out of this. He just needed to be smart and—

A bony hand clasped his own. Hauling itself forward with its tattered arms, the legless zombie was at eye level with Ali. The narcotised jaw slumped open to utter a moan. A thick black tongue flicked behind punctured cheeks, but instead of the dry howl nothing came out. No rallying call to alert its fellow undead.

Ali cast his eyes over the crippled ghoul. It had been dragging itself along for so long that its chest was a ragged pulp of grated flesh. And where the ribcage ended so did the zombie. The docked stub of its spinal column whipped excitedly like a Dobermans stumpy tail. And like an attack dog its teeth were bared.

The zombie pulled closer. But still there was no wail from its dusty throat, its lungs presumably left behind somewhere along its crawl.

Ali planted his hands on both sides of the zombie’s head. He grabbed hold of the matted and greasy hair and slammed the creature’s head down with all the force he could muster. The jaw cracked on the curb and a thick slab of knotted hair and scalp ripped free in his grasp. Teeth and bone spilled onto the road followed by thick black ooze. But the bone shattering force had done nothing to deter the monster. It used all its pathetic strength to try to draw closer. Ali dropped the chunk of flesh in his hands and grabbed hold again. Lifting the cadaver up, he thumped the skull down for a second time. With a sharp crack the zombie’s jaw fractured and dislocated, hanging split in two like the mandible of some giant insect. The two halves dangled, anchored to its skull by the infection-wrought mastic muscles. Lashing out between the broken bones, the zombie’s tongue flicked and lapped, seemingly unaware it had lost the ability to bite. As it tried to push forward, Ali clasped its head tight between his thick hands. The creature fixed Ali with an unblinking stare. Its eyes were ice white but they burned with insatiable malice. Again Ali battered the head against the ground and again there was the sickening crack of bone, but still the zombie was animate.

Before Ali could attack again there was a focused moan from above. The zombies in the crowd had never stopped moaning, but this one was different. Ali and the rest of the survivors had grown used to the constant low groaning, the low moan of frustration as the dead called relentlessly for food. But there was a second type of call, a quicker louder wail when they caught a glimpse of prey. Ali’s ears heard that excited moan. He looked up, knowing he’d been spotted, and as he turned a zombie fell upon him.

Ali pushed off with his legs and lunged ungracefully away from the attacking zombie. But his clandestine escape had been detected. Above, a circle of zombies had turned their attention to him. As each corpse spotted him they too let out the excited moan. In turn the moan rippled out, drawing more and more in.

“This is bad,” Ali said as he stumbled to his feet.

He craned his neck up as if offering his throat to the zombies, and then jumped into the air. With the extra few inches height the pogo afforded him, he could see the doorway into the apartment block just metres away.

With their customary moans, the zombies pressed in.

Ali lowered his head and charged. Barging his way past the gathering zombies like a running back, he knocked them flying. With a few pounding steps Ali successfully ploughed his way through the crowd.

Like most of the buildings near the warehouse, this one had been looted by the survivors. He knew that the door would have been prised open and easy to get into.

Throwing the last cadaver out of his path, Ali used his momentum to shoulder the dark blue door open. The lock had indeed been jimmied and it flew open with unexpected ease. The door clattered against the entrance wall and swung back. Ali skidded across the slime coated floor and, thrown off kilter, he flailed his arms desperately trying to retain his balance. With no purchase underfoot and too much forward momentum, Ali’s feet slid from under him and he toppled over.

His knees buckled and he came crashing to the floor, smacking his head against the first step. As the pain from the strike found him so did the returning door. The metal runner on the leading edge slashed down his leg, scoring deep into his shin. The pain burnt out his vision, leaving him blinded in agony.

A scream burst from his lips as the pain boiled out of him. Like a rallying call, the zombies gurgled back their own tainted response. The light from outside was devoured as the first wave of ragged assailants stumbled for the door. Forced by the mob behind, the lead zombie lost its footing to the pressure and fell. Unlike a living human being, the creature never tore its gaze away from Ali as it fell. It hit the ground chin first, splitting the rotting flesh from the bone. The creature fell just short of Ali. Unconcerned by its injuries it immediately thrust out with its gnarled arms to seize it prey.

With a primordial scream Ali lashed out with his good leg, battering the zombie away. He backpedalled, kicking as he went scrambling on his backside up the stairs.

The light from the street outside was rapidly disappearing as the zombies crowded in on the doorway. The zombie that Ali had just battered away was proving an effective, if temporary, barrier. The undead fighting their way in were tripping over themselves, their necrotic brains unable to compensate for the hazards underfoot and the shoves from behind. Once down, their withered limbs proved too weak to pull themselves free of the growing stack.

Still facing the pileup of dead flesh, Ali eased himself up using the handrail on the stairs. The gash in his leg was bleeding. Thick rivulets of blood trickled down his ankle and pooled amongst the slime on the floor.

In the close confinement of the hallway the moans of the dead reverberated off the hard walls. The discordant cacophony clawed at Ali’s ears. It was the same chorus of desperation that had surrounded the warehouse but here the walls weren’t muffling the sound. Here the walls were containing them, amplifying them, making the noise infinitely more disturbing.

Holding onto the handrail, Ali hobbled up the steps. As he turned on the first landing he looked back at the heap of bodies in the hallway. A pair of zombies had untangled themselves from the pile and was making a painful crawl towards the stairs. They would take a while to get themselves upright and shamble after him. He had a few seconds to think, time to find somewhere defendable and work out a strategy.

He looked around the stairwell desperately trying to recall when last he was here. Did he remember the layout? Was there another exit? The noise from the dead driving into the building flustered him. He couldn’t think. But he had to act.

Hands supporting his weight on the banisters, he eased his injured leg onto the floor. Careful to test the pain, he straightened his foot out and planted it on the first sodden carpet tile. A whip of pain shot up from the wound. Ali winced against it but kept his balance. With slow, wary footsteps to avoid slipping in the slimy carpet, he made his way to the first door. The hallway smelt damp and rotten; the crumbling plasterboard walls, the decaying household fabrics all mixed with the unmistakable stench of decomposing flesh.

Ali tried to listen for the sounds of a trapped zombie up ahead, but the moans from the horde downstairs drowned everything out.

The door ahead of him was slightly ajar with a strong shaft of golden yellow sunlight visible on the wall inside. Tentatively Ali pushed at the door. It didn’t budge. The wooden frame had warped from the water damage and sat snugly in its jamb. Ali pushed harder and when that didn’t work he took a step back and charged.

With a screech the distorted door reluctantly swung open a few degrees. Ali wedged his good leg into the opening and levered his body against the door, and with a series of short shoves he managed to push the door far enough to squeeze in.

The apartments hallway led off ahead for a few metres. The wooden flooring was strewn with the former owner’s possessions, a woman’s blouse, a black kitten heeled shoe, a hairdryer, its red plastic case cracked open exposing the hard mechanical innards, and a dozen other innocuous remnants. The dank smell was stronger here.

Ali resisted the natural urge to call out, “anyone home?” as he inched forward.

The corridor lead into what looked like a dining/living room from Ali’s narrow view. Between here and there were three closed doors. He decided to ignore the closed doors and check out the living room. He stalked through the debris, trying in vain to stay quiet when every footfall made the warped wooden floor groan.

He craned his head round the corner, quickly checking both directions. To his right was the living room, a large bay window with a small balcony affording a view across the street. The sofa and chairs turned to face a long extinguished flatscreen TV. To the left was a small kitchen and dining area with a breakfast bar island forming a barrier between the two areas.

And there it was, under the work surface a large black mass.

Ali froze. He didn’t move and neither did the corpse. Plucking up his courage he drew closer. From the bundle of rags under the breakfast bar he could see a fat, mottled leg. It was dark and discoloured, still with a shoe tightly wedged on, the same type as in the hallway. As he peered round he could see the leg was attached to a lump of black rags.

Ali stood over the dead body. His approach had been less than silent; shards of pottery from some smashed crockery crunched underfoot. At the top of the mass was a mess of brown hair poking out from a black lace hat.

“Poor gal,” Ali whispered, looking down at the woman in her morning dress.

He nudged the dead woman’s foot with the tip of his shoe. The spongy flesh wobbled but nothing more. Ali didn’t know how long this corpse had been lying or what had killed her. Judging by the integrity of the dead flesh he assumed she’d been infected and subsequently dispatched. There was nothing to be gained in investigation of her termination. It didn’t really matter. All that mattered was she wasn’t going to try to bite him.

Right. What can I use for barricade?
Ali pondered, stroking his long black beard.

He looked at the sofa. It would be ideal. He reckoned he could even wedge it across the stairwell. With the stairs blocked he would have free range of all of the apartments and any useful material they still harboured.

He bent down and tried to lift the sofa, but it was a quality piece of furniture. It was far heavier than he’d anticipated and far too weighty for him to quickly manhandle alone. Instead he switched tack and opted for one of the chairs. It wasn’t as big, but having tested the weight he knew he could easily manhandle it to the stairwell.

Ali threw off the damp cushion and started pushing the chair into the hall. Within seconds the casters were entangled in the abandoned detritus scattered across the floor. A fusty smell wafted up from the rotting wood and textiles. The fabric of the chair was as sodden as the cushion he’d tossed aside. He bent at the knees and, grasping the chair by its arms, he raised it up. As he found his grip on the heavy lift a trickle of water squelched out and dribbled down his wrist. Ali gave an involuntary shudder as the cold water crept its unpleasant way up to his elbow. Ali flicked his arm trying to divert the drip away but the tributary was intent on snaking its way down his elbow. The waterlogged material was adding even more weight to the substantially constructed chair.

Ali took his first faltering step and as his foot hit the ground the gash in his leg flared up. The exertion had increased his blood pressure and he could feel warm blood dribble down his ankle. Puffing out a short breath, Ali ignored the pain and struggled to the hallway.

The door frame looked narrower and narrower with every step and as he drew closer the back of the chair obscured more and more of his view. Finally the inevitable happened: the chair struck the wall. Ali stood there for a moment, trying to gauge the situation. He made a small step to his right, and feeling the bevel of the door frame slip past the back of the chair, he tried again. This time the chair slid through but as he drew level his thick fingers bashed against the edge of the door frame.

“Shit!”

He realised that although the chair would narrowly squeeze through the gap, his hands on either side wouldn’t.

He set the chair down for a moment to assess his position. His leg throbbed and his lungs were pumping from the exertion of lifting the chair. The wooden surround was only half an inch thick, enough to bar him from lifting the chair through, but he could still push the chair along the warped wooden floor far enough into the hallway to pick it back up and carry it the rest of the way.

Ali looked up at the main door and recalled the trouble he’d had pushing it open. Struggling against the buckled floorboards, it struck him he’d have no chance of prising the door wide enough to get the chair through. There was no way he’d ever get the chair to the stairwell.