Authors: G.D. Lang
A folded piece of paper rested in his lap. A note to his wife. I hesitated but I knew I had to read it, if for no other reason than to get some idea of what he may know. It read:
Lena, I’m sorry sweetie. Everything happened so fast. I know you
may never read this but I have to have hope. The military came to
extract us but they were too late. God, I hope you’re okay and I’m
sorry you have to see me like this but I was bitten. The choice wasn’t
mine. Lena, it was Jenny. Our little monkey. She got sick and before I
knew it… I couldn’t kill her. I couldn’t kill our baby. I’m so sorry. Use
the shelter. You’ll be safe there. There’s so much more I want to say
but I can feel it now. I’m losing myself
.
I love you Lena, ALWAYS
.
A heavy chill encompassed my body, forcing its way into my bones. This was the guy that had probably burned the bodies, dead and undead alike. He was the only one who would’ve known what to do and instead of waiting around, he took the initiative. He let his training take over. His actions probably saved lives. Including mine. I wouldn’t have stood a chance with that many undead roaming around, not after running for miles to get here in the first place. I dropped the note as another thud resonated from behind the door this man’s body rested next to. Jenny’s room. The prospect of this shelter that he wrote about intrigued me but for some reason I felt an overwhelming responsibility to kill the monster behind the door. A bite was all it took to spread. And if someone else were to come by here and open that door, I’m certain that they would hesitate when they saw a little girl staring back at them, no matter how hollow and disturbing her eyes may look. That’s all it would take to let this virus live another day. I couldn’t let that happen. I respectfully stepped over the man’s body, turning away too late to avert my eyes from the gaping exit wound on the opposite side of his head. Once I saw it I found it difficult to look away. It was horrifying and mesmerizing all at once. A microcosm of what my world had become in such a short time.
I gripped the pistol tight enough for the handle to pinch into my skin. It didn’t feel right in my hand. I thought about the machete that I lost. The one that Doc had given me. I thought about him, about Ricky, about Jane and Zoe, about Red. And for the first time the realization hit me like a punch in the mouth: everyone around me dies. At first I thought that maybe I was the one being spared but really I was the one suffering. Whether they wanted to or not, they took the easy way out. I envied them and pitied them all at once. And as I looked at the gun in my hand, I wondered why I had never thought of just ending my own suffering. Why I keep trying to survive when I can see clearly the inevitability of what is to come. This isn’t going to get better. If the meat grinders don’t kill me, then starvation or illness will. I even put the gun to my head momentarily, trying it on for size. But something about it just didn’t feel right. Maybe I’m just a glutton for punishment. Or maybe I’ve been staring too long at the blasted out remains of this man’s head. Whatever it was, another thump behind the door would keep me from waxing poetic about it any further.
I raised the gun and opened the door slowly, silently amazed at the lack of sound that all of the doors in this place seemed to possess. Apparently rich people have no need for WD-40. The room looked fairly normal for a young girl. Ponies and princesses. Tiaras and tea cups. It took a while to find the girl. Her room was bigger than my living room. It seemed to have more corners and recessed spaces than should be allowed in any young child’s room. The thumping was coming from the bathroom. A small child around Zoe’s age stumbled around, clumsily chasing an angry frightened cat. It hissed and moaned as the girl finally grabbed it and brought it to her mouth, undeterred by the incessant scratching and biting of the feline as it confusedly fought against the one person in the house it probably thought it had figured out. I must have bumped something because suddenly the girl dropped the cat and turned towards me. The cat ran past me, hissing as it escaped. The girl’s yellowing eyes and shattered pupils seemed to glow in the unnatural light, upping the creepiness factor exponentially. As she surged towards me, all I could see was Zoe. I couldn’t bring myself to kill her again. Instead I kicked the girl in the chest, sending her flying into the sink with a thud. Blood from her head streaked the porcelain as she fell to the ground, dazed but not dead.
I backed out of the bathroom, trying hard to shake the images of Zoe from my head. An odd whimper came from behind me. It sounded as if it were coming from the hope chest at the foot of the bed. It tore my attention away long enough for the girl to come raging back towards me. I raised the gun but I knew I couldn’t use it. The muscles in my hand seemed to wither as I applied even the slightest amount of pressure to the trigger. Mad at myself, I threw the gun towards the girl, hitting her in the eye as she advanced. A strip of rotting skin in the corner of her eye peeled back with the impact but it did nothing to slow her progress. With no real plan in place other than the obvious “don’t die,” I side-stepped her slightly and grabbed her by the side, her jaws snapping and snarling as I picked her up and threw her into the wall. She remained still for a few moments but then in true horror movie form, she rose once again and sprinted towards me, angrier and hungrier than she’d been moments ago. I kicked her again, in the head this time, and her body flew into the window, shattering it, a large shard impaling her head. She died instantly and I was left with the biting realization that I had killed another child. Undead or not, her death would forever fail to find a comfortable spot to rest in my memories.
The whimpering behind me shook me out of the fog. I picked up the gun, pictures of zombie stuffed animals dancing in my violence-addled mind, and walked towards the chest. I opened it and stepped away, a surprised yelp emanating from inside. It was a dog, shaking and whining under its breath, undoubtedly trying to understand what was going on. It pulled away slightly as I reached down for it but as soon as I talked to it in a normal human voice it would recognize, it relaxed and let me pick it up. She was a sweet little dog named Mellie, a Jack Russell Terrier from the looks of it. I don’t know how she’d gotten in there or how long she’d been there but she was smart enough to keep her noise to a minimum. This chest saved her life. Her nose was bone dry and though the shaking had lowered in intensity, it was still present. I brought her to the sink, ignoring the streaks of blood running down it. I turned the faucet but nothing happened. Old habits die hard. I felt bad but remembered the can of Coke I had left downstairs. If Mellie had been trapped in there for days, she not only needed water, she needed calories. And the refined sugar in Coke was a perfect remedy; once reviled for causing obesity but now revered for its quick hit of life-saving sugar.
“Sorry, girl” I said sympathetically, “We’ll get you something soon enough.” It felt odd talking to an animal like this. I hadn’t had a dog since I was a kid so my dog-speak was a little rusty. Mellie seemed to be satisfied with my answer though. Her body relaxed as she put her head into my chest. For some reason, that simple gesture made me feel so important. So loved. Dogs are amazing that way. In a manner of seconds, a warmth came over me that I hadn’t felt in a long time. I wanted to protect Mellie with my life. With what she’s been through, I felt I owed her that much.
As I turned towards the door, I heard a rustling outside beyond the broken window. I hadn’t thought about it but with as quiet as this place was, that shattered window may as well have been a signal flare. I hesitantly looked through to see a small group of the undead rustling about outside. There were five of them and one was a hunter. I could tell by the way she stood; more upright and confident as if she knew she was to be feared. And if I didn’t know better, the others seemed to be following her, as if they were her loyal foot soldiers. Small grunts and knowing looks seemed to take the place of “yes ma’am” or “no ma’am.” They were evolving. And quickly at that. I held Mellie closer as I slowly stepped away from the window, willing them to go away, to find some other barren town to terrorize. Just when I thought I had avoided detection, the girl’s lifeless body shifted in the window, her weight forcing the last of the glass beneath her to shatter to the ground. The next sound I heard was a symphony of angry screeches followed by a steady stream of pounding and scratching as the foot soldiers went directly toward the sound. After my encounter with the hunter in the woods, I was sure this was just a distraction. I was sure the female hunter was looking for a way in as I stood there. Mellie began shaking once again in my arms as if confirming my suspicions. Suddenly, I got the distinct feeling that when I first walked in this house, my mind swirling with the morbid possibilities of what could come next, I had forgotten to close the front door behind me.
Chapter 22
Mellie’s head bobbed up and down as she tried to find the scent in the air. When she did, the guttural moan that emanated from her tiny body was enough to tell me what I needed to know. I held her close and raised the gun as I walked back out of the bedroom and looked down from the balcony to see the hunter hungrily sniffing the air just like Mellie had done. A woman that seemed more animal than human. Mellie’s growling ceased as if she knew it would somehow give away our position. Now she shook silently in my arm as I slowly took aim. My plan was to get a few shots off before the hunter could get to me but she looked up as I was about to pull the trigger. She flashed her bloodied teeth and let out a high pitched screech that undoubtedly meant that backup was being called. I fired a shot but she had moved towards the staircase with blinding quickness by the time I realized I had missed. I put Mellie down and rushed towards the staircase, hoping to cut the hunter off before she got too close. The hunters were more advanced than the rest of the undead but they still handled stairs with the deftness of a newborn baby. My first shot went high as the hunter stumbled on the first stair, the look of confusion on her face quickly turning to an angry hunger as she realized how close her prey was.
Before she could get back up, I shot her dead center in the crown of the head. Her body went instantly limp and all I could think of was how much of a relief it was to not have to look it in the eyes when I killed it. No matter how many of these things I kill, it doesn’t seem to get much easier when I have to constantly see their eyes, the wrinkles in their face, the last remnants of what made them human still struggling to survive in there somewhere. I could hear the rumbling of the rest of the pack as they heeded the call of their now disposed leader. I looked towards Mellie who still sat trembling where I had left her. Calling her did nothing until she saw the others show up at the door. Then I snapped at her and called her name again with more authority this time which made her come bounding towards me. I needed to find the back door to this place and get out of here as soon as possible but Mellie had other plans. She ran past me, down the stairs and into the hallway as the undead roamers lazily piled in. Luckily, there didn’t seem to be any more hunters which gave me some valuable time to figure out what the hell the dog was doing. I followed her to a door that led to the basement. She scratched at it expectantly as if she were waiting for a reward for her good behavior. I looked at the shit pile of rotting meat lazily shoehorning themselves into the front door and wondered where the back door even was. This house was too large. A dizzying amount of doors and hallways that seemed to lead to nowhere in particular. But for some reason Mellie thought that this particular door was important so I decided to take a risk and trust the dog, hoping that K-9 instinct would somehow keep me alive.
I traversed down a long darkly lit stairway to what looked like a reinforced blast door. There was power being supplied to this hallway somehow. Scratching and banging began to emanate from the door at the top of the stairs. I turned the handle on the blast door but it didn’t budge. For a few seconds I was sure this was how I would die. Trapped and alone with a dog who convinced me that this damn door was important somehow. I looked down at Mellie who looked up at me with that stupid expectant look that dogs get when they want something. But the look wasn’t exactly like she wanted something. More like she was waiting for something. She glanced at the door and back to me several times, her tail wagging. After a few seconds of confusion I looked at her and said “Mellie, where’s the key?” A second later she rolled over onto her back as if she were playing dead. I rolled my eyes and cursed my luck at being stuck with this stupid animal in my last few minutes on this earth. “Mellie, come on! The KEY!” I shouted. She got up on her feet again and tilted her head as if she were suddenly confused by the word. I said it a few more times, calmer each time, until finally she coiled up slightly and jumped into my arms. A second later, I could hear the large deadbolt release and the door slowly slid open several inches. I smiled as I looked down at her in my arms, her tail wagging and eyes wide as if to say “ok, what’s next?”
The door at the top of the hall began to creak and moan under the weight of the undead trying to force their putrid bodies through it. In hindsight, locking the door didn’t seem to matter much. None of them knew how to work the knob. They dealt in brute force and enough of them seemed to be smashing into the door now that it would only be a matter of minutes before they’d come barreling through. I closed the blast door behind us and turned around to find yet another door keeping me from going any further. This door didn’t seem as thick as the blast door but it had a small podium next to it with a large touch screen that glared back at me. Like an idiot I waved the dog around in the air, hoping the little key fob that was on her collar would grant me access to whatever the hell was behind this door. It didn’t. I set Mellie down and stared at the screen, not wanting to believe the words that blinked back at me: “Fingerprint Identification Required.” I looked down at Mellie, her tail wagging at what she probably considers a fun game. “What now, huh?” She cocked her head as if trying to remember if she recognized that particular set of words and then dutifully walked to the front of the door. A small doggy door opened at the bottom and without looking back at me, she promptly walked through it. A second later it shut, leaving her in complete safety and me wondering what the hell I was going to do now. I mumbled “
good dog”
under my breath as I tried to come up with a plan. No sense in getting mad. She was just doing what she was taught.