Zombie Ever After (23 page)

Cathren laughed. “Stranger things have happened.”
 

Donovan looked under the chairs and beneath the damp, rotting rug in the places where he was able to pull a section off the floor. He even investigated the narrow tops of the door jambs.

Meanwhile, Cathren did most of her searching with her eyes. After a bit, she took a couple of deliberate steps over to the dirty window and shoved. Years of rust and crud in the track put up a respectable fight before yielding.

“Hey, I got this thing open,” she said. “You won’t believe this.”
 

Cathren leaned into the opening so far that her feet came off the ground. She lay on her belly across the window opening and extended her right arm. Grunting, she stretched across the small space for something on the opposite wall. Her feet dropped back onto the rug with a thump and she turned to Donovan with a big smile on her face.

Cathren held up a giant key ring, jammed with keys.

“I’ll put money on it that one of these keys is the key we’re hunting for.”
 

“Nice,” Donovan said, smiling. “Looks like there’s at least—what?—fifty keys on that thing.”
 

“A hundred, possibly, or more. This is the biggest fuckin’ key ring I have ever seen,” said Cathren, grinning. “A key to every door in Alcatraz.”
 

“Every door in San Francisco more like,” Donovan said.
 

They busted out laughing.
 

“Well, let’s get started,” he said. “We have a lot of keys, and the darkness is growing.”
 

“Right,” she said. “We’ll start with this one, only because it’s not as rusted as all the rest.”
 

“Good as any,” Donovan said. “Why don’t you try ten keys, I’ll try the next ten, and so on?”
 

“Sounds like a plan,” she said. She took the first key and jabbed it at the keyhole. “Nope,” she said. “The stupid thing won’t even go in.”
 

The second one had the same problem, as did the third. But the fourth fit the lock. Only the thing wouldn’t turn. So things went, through her first ten attempts, then his first. Then through her next set of ten, until …

Click.

The key in Cathren’s hand turned the lock before either of them, in their dazed “going through the motions” condition, realized it was happening. They became aware they’d succeeded only after the loud “click” snapped them out of their exhausted reveries.

“Wow,” Donovan said. “You could knock me over with a feather.”

“We’re in,” Cathren said, almost whispering in awe. She pulled the key out and scraped the top a couple of times on the metal doorjamb to scratch an identifying mark in it. “Done,” she said. “That will help us find the key next time.”
 

“Yeah, good,” Donovan said, smirking. “We’ll know because it’s the one with a scratch.”
 

She looked at him as if she had no idea what he was talking about and then the light dawned. She started giggling. “Right, well, it’s the key with that
particular
fresh scratch on it, anyway.”
 

She grabbed the handle and turned it free. Donovan reached above Cathren’s head and helped push the door wide.
 

“After you,” he said.

She stepped in and he followed.

They were immediately enveloped by a deep, disturbing darkness and the smell of death.

“Welcome home,” Donovan said, only half-joking. “This could well turn out to be our address for some time to come.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Cathren said, disappointment dripping from her voice.
 

After a brief period of silence, as they took it all in, Donovan spoke. “Nonetheless, let’s see what’s what and find a place that feels good enough and safe enough to sleep in.”
 

They strolled along in the quiet, their steps echoing along the empty corridors. They scanned row after row of empty prison cells in the last of the light. Eerie didn’t begin to explain the sensation. Unnerving. Spine-chilling. If they were ever going to believe in ghosts and the supernatural, now would be the perfect time to start.
 

After about ten minutes or so of searching, they found a room with actual windows and a wooden, rather than a metal, door. Inside were a couple of chairs, a bulky oak desk, and a bookcase. Some books speckled the floor like little forest plants.
 

“Warden’s office, I bet,” Donovan said.

Everything had deteriorated to a large degree. As the light faded altogether, Donovan caught a glimpse of a lamp on its side in the corner of the room. He moved the lamp to the desk. It turned out to be an old-fashioned hurricane lantern.
 

“They’ve had electricity on this island for decades, so why the oil lamp?” Cathren asked.

“I don’t know,” Donovan said. “Maybe for blackouts from storms or mechanical problems or something.”

He opened a few drawers in the desk. They slid open grumpily to reveal their inner contents: broken pencils, dog-eared message pads, phone books, various typed and handwritten papers. In the top drawer, along with a copy of the
Examiner
folded to the crossword, he found what he searched for: matches.

They seemed dry enough, although still a bit damp, like everything else in the place. Donovan lifted the lamp’s chimney to expose the wick. He struck a match. Nothing happened. The match head was too soggy. He tried another, which sparked briefly before flaming out.

“We’re getting close,” he said, smiling. Cathren pressed next to him in the encroaching gloom but said nothing. Donovan lit another match, this one a winner. It stayed lit long enough for him to apply the flame to the lamp’s wick. He twisted the knob to raise the wick and increase the flame. The room emerged from the darkness and achieved a warm, orange glow.

“Thank God,” said Cathren. “You know, this is almost cozy.” She looked up at Donovan and grinned.
“Not.”
She wrinkled her nose and scanned the walls, floor, and ceiling. “Yep, still yucky, despite your ‘romantic’ lighting.”

“Well, compared to sleeping on a literal rock on the Rock, I think this is an improvement,” Donovan said.

“Why don’t we investigate some of the other buildings, instead? I don’t like this prison, babe. Not at all. I remember reading there was once a bowling alley on the island. Even a soda shop,” Cathren said excitedly.

“Talk about ghosts. No, no. Tell you what, we can explore further in the daylight tomorrow,” Donovan said. “But I picked this prison for a reason: Safety. It’s mostly made out of cement and steel. Not indestructible, but pretty damn close.”

“I guess, but still…”

“Most of the other buildings on this island are made of wood. Some have burned down, others wasted away. I think we’re better off here. Trust me.”
 

“Let’s go see if we can find up something to lie down on, and maybe even something to eat,” Cathren said.

Donovan grabbed the lamp and followed her out into the hall.

They scoured the cells around them with no luck. Any beds that had been there either had deteriorated into splintered wood or were missing altogether. So the couple expanded their search to the cells in the next block. Still nothing. At last, they came across a locked door that wasn’t a prison cell, but appeared to be a regular room.

“Here, let me,” said Cathren. She handed Donovan the lantern and took out her immense key ring. She started flipping through each one, trying the lock and moving on in succession until one worked.
 

Click,
again.

“All right!” she said. “Oh,
please.”
She squeezed her eyes shut and crossed her fingers. “Let this be where they kept the snacks. Candy, chocolate, red licorice, yum.”
 

“You can open your eyes now,” Donovan said.

“Damn,” she said, gazing into the dark. Donovan held the lantern over her head and shone the light into the room.
 

“Damn is right,” he called out cheerfully. “No snacks, not yet anyway, but not too bad of a find just the same.”
 

The room turned out to be a linen closet. Along one wall sat stacks of sheets. The other, piles of wool blankets, and along the top of the cupboard, a bin crammed full of pillows. At the back of the room, heaped against the wall, lay a few small mattresses still in plastic.

“You can’t get better than this,” Donovan said. “It’s like the fuckin’ Sheraton. A mildewed, stinky, spider-webbed Sheraton, but still, I give it five stars.”
 

After they had carried two mattresses, sheets, pillows, and blankets to their “room,” they started clearing it out. They pulled the chairs out into the hall, as well as old newspapers, an ancient lace-up boot, stacks of reports, and a couple of stinky boxes filled with what first appeared to be rotten lettuce, but which turned out to be only paper that had gotten wet and had decomposed.

When they finished, they laid the mattresses on the ground. Next, they threw sheets over both, so the bed appeared as one large unit. Finally, they tossed on the pillows and blankets. Donovan put the lantern on the desk, which they’d pushed into the far corner of the room, and he turned down the flame.

“Shall we retire, m’dear?” he said to Cathren, in his most sophisticated voice.

“Indubitably,” she replied.

“Sorry, but I’m going to have to turn off the lantern altogether, to save oil. I suppose we can leave it on a
little
while longer, though, if you’d like.”
 

“Great, professor. ’Cause I like to see what I’m about in bed.”
 

They both giggled, stripped, and got under the covers. They kissed for a long time.

“Mmmmm,”
she said. “That’s nice.”
 

They kissed more while Donovan gently caressed her. She turned toward him and he pulled her in close, pushing his hips against hers. But that’s as far as they got.

“Why are you stopping?” Cathren murmured.

“Shhh—
do you hear that?”
 

“Hear what?”
 

They held each other in the dim light, listening.

The groaning emerged from the basement of the old structure, and grew louder. Donovan thought he heard scratching, too. Fingernails against concrete.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.” Cathren whispered.

They sat up, listening, not moving from the bed.

“This is bad,” Donovan whispered to her. “This is real, real bad.”
 

“Uh, yeah. Okay, I get it. Thanks for the confidence boost.”
 

“Sorry, I—” Donovan couldn’t stop listening.
 

Had the moaning and the scratching only started? Or had they been so busy playing house they hadn’t noticed? Was it the undead, or something else? If zombies, how had they made it onto the island? It didn’t make sense. This was a lonely, abandoned place, with no easy access to or from the mainland anymore.

The moaning continued, as did the scraping noises. Donovan thought he heard chains rattling now, as well. Either a lively production of Shakespeare’s Hamlet, Prince of Denmark was in progress down below, or else Cathren and Donovan were in extreme proximity to zombies yet again. Donovan got up, pushed the door shut, and locked the deadbolt.

“Babe, we need to get out of here,” Cathren said.

“I agree. But to where?”

“I have no idea. If we stay, though, we’re dead.”
 

“Okay, let’s not panic. Yet. We’ll get out of this, somehow,” he said. “Things are just going to be more, well, unpredictable now.” The lantern was dimming, even though Donovan had opened the knob a bit more. They were running out of oil. “I don’t want to sit here in total darkness and wait to be killed,” he said.

“What other choice do we have?”
 

“This building has a second story. We could barricade ourselves up there. They might be able to break down a wooden door, but I doubt they’d have much success against metal.”
 

“You could be right,” Cathren said.

“Even if they were somehow able to climb the stairs, it should at least slow them down. I think that’s our only chance. Our last stand.”
 

“Our Waterloo, right? Our Little Big Horn. Um, sorry.” Cathren smiled, slightly embarrassed. “Well, let’s go, then,” she said, getting to her feet and putting on a brave face. “To higher ground.”
 

Donovan and Cathren spent a sleepless night on the second floor. They had locked themselves in what turned out to be the remains of the prison hospital. Surprisingly, the place still smelled of chloroform, ammonia, and blood. Many prisoners had died up there, which added to the unnerving creepiness they sensed in the space. Didn’t need to be running from zombies
and
ghosts.

“This is worse than downstairs in our little room,” Cathren said. “Way,
way
worse.”

The moaning, even two stories removed, rattled them. Too horrible and foreboding for them to relax, it kept them on constant guard. Yet, for some reason, the groaners made no attempt to rise from the lower level to locate them. All night long, Donovan and Cathren were tormented by the constant moaning and something that they swore sounded like chains rattling. But no creatures ever showed.
 

None of this made sense, though. Donovan knew the things, whatever they were, had sensed him and Cathren.
 

How could they not? Why hadn’t the presumed zombies trudged up and devoured us in their sleep?

In the morning, they found themselves still alive, although not kicking much. But at least they had not been attacked.
 

“Let’s get outside,” Donovan said to Cathren. “I’d feel more secure if we were in the open. Isn’t logical, maybe, but . . .”
 

“Sure it is,” Cathren said, stifling a yawn. “More room to run. Better chance of seeing them before they see us. That sort of thing.”
 

“Exactly,” Donovan said. “Being trapped like rats is the part that’s getting to me.”