Surviving The Zombie Apocalypse (Book 1): Sanctuary (41 page)

“That’s
not going to hold for long,” cautioned Jose.

“I know.
How’s the hand? You can keep going, right?”

“Hurts
like a bitch, but I think it mostly stopped bleeding. I need a doctor.”

“Not
sure where we’re going to find one. Damn. This is never going to hold. We need
to go back outside.”

“Do we
have to?” asked the woman.

“I don’t
see any way around it.” Eric paused. “What’s your name?”

“I’m
Vivien. Most people call me Viv.”

“I’m
Steph.”

“Okay
then. This is Jose, and I’m Eric. The two of us work together.”

“Yeah,”
replied the redhead, “we figured you knew each other already.”

“Let’s
get going,” suggested Jose. “I want to be gone before they get through. Don’t
want to be followed again.”

Eric led
the way out, guiding them down the alley. A car drove past in the distance, but
it was too far away to wave down. Then they rounded a corner and saw some
people entering another building.

“There!”
exclaimed Eric. He grabbed Jose’s arm to help him along. “Wait for us!” he
shouted.

Heads
turned, and a short, fat man gestured for them to hurry. They reached the door
well ahead of any zombies, and the man slammed it shut, locked it, and barred
it.

“Will
they get through?” asked Viv.

“Not
this one,” he said confidently. “Solid steel, set deep in the brick.”

The
monsters initiated a steady pounding, but it did appear to be as structurally
sound as promised.

“Go
upstairs,” he instructed. “Sit down and rest.”

“Thank
you,” replied Steph wearily.

He
smiled. “You are welcome missy. Now, up you go. My wife has first aid kit.”

“Gracias,”
said Jose. His hand was throbbing, and he’d begun to feel woozy.

They
went upstairs to the pair of small, one bedroom apartments. The man, his name
was Julio Soprano, no connection whatsoever with the television show as he was
quick to explain, owned these along with the restaurant below. He and his wife
Erin lived in one. The other was used when their children came to visit. There
was also a spiral staircase, which he said led to a storage room off the
kitchen. The doors to that room and the restaurant itself were locked. They
should be safe.

“Poor
thing,” said Erin as she examined Jose’s hand. “You’re the fourth one who was
bit. That includes myself.” She held up her arm. There was white gauze wrapped
about the forearm. “I wasn’t hurt that bad, barely got me.”

“I’m
hurting like a God dammed… Sorry, hurts bad.”

Looking
around, Eric took in his new companions. There were an even dozen of them.
Other than Jose, he didn’t know any. A few looked like tourists. They had the
requisite digital cameras hanging from their necks.

“Oh,
my.”

“What is
it?” asked Jose.

“I think
I might need to cauterize this.”

Eric
winced, but his friend looked confused.

“What
does that mean?”

“She’s
going to burn the wound closed,” explained Eric.

“Hell
no, she’s not!”

“Calm
down Jose. We probably should. It’ll close it up and help with any infections.”
He’d been thinking of normal infections at the time. None of them knew that a
bite meant death, no matter what precautions were taken.

“You
have bone showing,” said Julio. “That cannot be. The knuckle must come off or
it will go bad. I’ve seen that before, a cousin, stupid drunken fool he was. Ended
up losing his entire hand.”

The
Spanish started again. It sounded more like prayers than cursing this time.

“Can’t
we try to call a doctor,” asked Steph, “or a hospital, even if only to ask?”

Julio
shook his head. “Phones are out. Cells too.”

Eric pulled
his from a pocket and tried 911. There was no signal. “Same here.”

“All of
them probably,” said Julio. “Power’s been blinking on and off too. Will go soon
I think. Should do this first.”

“Yes,”
agreed his wife. “We can use one of the mini torches from downstairs.” She
glanced at Jose. “We use them for cooking. They will seal it up.”

“How are
you going to take the knuckle off?” asked Eric. His stomach was starting to
bother him.

“Butcher
knife,” explained Julio. “Knife cut right through.”

“I don’t
see an alternative Jose. I know it sounds awful, but we don’t have a doctor,
and that looks like it’s going bad already.”

His
friend was shaking.

“Anyone
else have an idea?” asked Eric, looking from face to face.

The
others had no clue what to do, but several agreed that it already appeared
infected. It could not be left to fester.

“You two
will hold him down,” said Julio, pointing at Eric and another large man. “I do
the cutting. Erin do the burning. Down in the storeroom.”

“I don’t
mean to cause any problems,” interrupted Steph, “but won’t he scream and bring
more zombies in?”

“That’s
true Julio,” agreed Erin. “The outside steps have that big steel door, but the
restaurant itself has plate glass windows in the front. They could get in that
way.”

“We gag
him, and give a wooden spoon to bite down on,” replied her husband. “Then lots
of wine to drink, much as he wants.”

Eric did
not relate the exact details of how the procedure went, other than to say it
was done essentially as Julio had outlined.

*
* *

The next
day was difficult. The power was gone, and the four who’d been bitten all had
high fevers with their wounds infected and growing worse. Poor Jose, who’d been
burned in an attempt to prevent this, was no better off than the others. There
was no medicine other than Tylenol, which all were taking at dangerous levels,
and alcohol from the restaurant.

Eric,
Steph, and a young man named Mark tried to contact others using an old model
police radio that belonged to Julio and Erin’s son, but with no success. After
the first day they didn’t even see another living soul, just zombies. Those
slowly roamed the streets, never stopping. Lacking easy access to an automobile
– Julio had a car, but it was parked around the corner – their only chance of
escape would be on foot, through hundreds of the things.

*
* *

After
three days, the infected started to die. Jose was the first. They’d realized
this was coming and wasted no time in removing the body, taking it to the roof
for disposal. It was disrespectful, but they couldn’t leave him inside.
However, access was via a ladder and through a hatch in the ceiling, so Eric
and Julio wrapped a rope about Jose’s remains in order to haul him up.

“He’s
moving!” yelled Steph.

“What
did she say?”

Julio
shrugged and heaved again, bringing Jose and his open, gray filmed eyes into
view. They almost dropped him, to the dismay of those in the apartments, but
managed to keep enough control of their senses to drag him the rest of the way
onto the roof. Jose immediately targeted the pair, but Julio was faster,
looping his end of the rope around a vent. The zombie didn’t seem to realize
there was a cord tied to its chest, just under the arms. Instead of fiddling
with the knot or attempting to slip free, Jose lunged at them, over and over.

“We will
have to put an end to him. He cannot remain like this, not here. We kill and
throw over side.”

Eric
winced.

“I am
sorry. My words a bit too harsh I think.”

“Yeah,
but you’re right. We have the crowbar downstairs. I’ll have someone hand it up.
You okay in the meantime?”

“Yes,”
said the older man, with a curt nod. “I will watch him.”

Eric
walked over to the hatch. “Steph, you still there?”

“I am.”
She stepped into view. “So are the others. We saw him begin to move. What
happened?”

“Jose
came back, one of those. I need the crowbar.”

“Oh,”
she replied, eyes downcast. “Do you need anyone to come up?”

“No.
Julio and I will take care of this.”

*
* *

When it
was done and the body dropped off the side of the building, well away from the
doors, Eric and Julio sat down to speak in private.

“The
others who were bit, they are dying too, probably. They may come back.”

“My wife
is bitten. She is sick. She will pass soon.”

Eric
nodded. “We have to move them up here fast after they die. They can’t be moved
now. We’ll also need to tie their arms and legs the moment they leave us.”

“There
is twine in the cabinet,” said Julio, biting back a sob. “I will do for Erin.
You, the others.”

“Agreed.
Let’s go down and see to them.”

*
* *

The wait
turned out to be a short one. All three were dead within six hours of Jose,
with Erin being the last. Julio had held her hand until the end. Then, true to
his word, he bound her himself.

“I’ll do
it,” said Eric.

“No. She
is my wife. My Erin.”

Julio
Soprano waited only until the eyes opened, to be certain they were covered with
that hideous gray mucus. Then he brought the heavy bar down.

“You put
her over please,” he sobbed.

“Of
course.”

Eric
lifted her in his arms, walked the few steps to the side, and dropped her. He
glanced down briefly to confirm she was atop the others, then stepped away to
prevent any zombies from noticing him. They didn’t seem to know anyone was
inside the building – those who had beaten on the steel door the first day had
eventually been distracted and wandered off – and he wanted to keep it that
way.

“I thank
you, very much. I think I will go now. Yes, I will go as well.”

“What do
you mean go? Where?”

“To
whatever is after this.”

The man
moved fast, faster than Eric would’ve thought possible considering his short
legs and the hundred or so pounds of extra fat he was carrying. As a result, he
was unable to intervene before Julio threw himself from the building’s roof.

“No!”

Eric
slapped a hand over his mouth. Screaming like that was stupid. He did move to
the edge and peer over however. There were zombies approaching, and the man was
twitching. Despite hitting the concrete hard, a few feet from his wife, he had
not died. Eric pulled back, not wanting to watch the end.

*
* *

The
sixth day was when the mistake occurred. The seven survivors had been sleeping
and spending their days in the two upstairs apartments. Using a bucket to
relieve themselves, they’d taken to dumping it over the side of the roof. The
zombies tended to flock there, attracted by the sound or smell, but finding
nothing they would soon drift away. For the most part, they stayed out of the
restaurant area except to retrieve bottled water, food, or, as often as not,
wine and liquor from the storeroom. The refrigerated items had all been eaten or
gone rancid, but they had plenty of canned goods, mostly staples used in
cooking but still enough to get by on for a long time.

Viv had
descended the spiral staircase with Eric for the purpose of retrieving dinner.
The storeroom was well stocked, but many of the better items were kept in the
kitchen itself which had an entire wall lined with shelves. The system clearly
made sense to Julio and his cooks, but it created a risk for the survivors.
There were swinging doors with square glass panes in the upper center of each,
separating the kitchen from the restaurant proper, and a person could look
through one of these all the way to the street outside.

Grabbing
several cans, Viv started back. She ducked beneath the windows, as always, but
stumbled in the darkness. Falling, her full weight hit one of the doors. It
swung open, and she naturally looked out toward the front of the building,
right into the face of a pair of zombies. They obviously noticed her because
they promptly began beating on the glass. The first crack appeared almost
immediately.

“Eric!”
she hissed.

“Back in
the store room,” he said, grabbing her arms and pulling her upright. “Move.”

The
window shattered, and the zombies entered the restaurant. More trailed in
behind them.

“Lock
it!” shrieked Viv.

“I’m
trying. It’s jammed. I can’t!”

The door
rattled.

“Up the
steps!” he shouted. “Go! Go! Go!”

Pushing
Viv ahead of him, Eric got them to the second story where the others were
gathering, alarmed by their cries. He slammed the door shut and flipped the
lock. That one worked.