Deathly Contagious (32 page)

Rider and I both tripped over him and my knife flew out of my hand.

“Riss!” he shouted.

“I’m alright.” I kicked the gummy, thinking my foot would mush through. But it didn’t. My boot smacked against his sternum, which didn’t break in the least. Rotting hands grasped my ankle. I thrashed and kicked.

“Come on, Riss!” Rider shouted.

“He’s got me!” I shouted back. I yanked my foot forward but the fucker just came with. I felt his teeth close around my toes. Praying the leather was strong enough to hold up to his jaw, I madly slapped the gritty cement in search for my knife.

“Where?” Rider asked frantically.

“I-I-I’m over here,” I dumbly panted as I attempted to kick the S3 in the face. My foot hit something. I yanked my leg free and pulled myself along. Rider’s foot hit the knife. It scraped against the floor, teasing me.

I felt around again, almost ready to give up and shoot the motherfucker. My fingers closed around something hard and kind of sticky.  Without giving myself a chance to think about how gross this mystery object was, I grabbed it and whirled around just as the gummy took a hold of my ankle again.

The familiar shape of a ball point pen registered in my brain and I raised my hand. I brought it down, shoving the pen into its skull. Brain matter splattered out. I stabbed him again, trying to hit the same spot. It took five more stabs before he stopped moving.

I shoved the body away from me.

“Help me find my knife,” I told Rider. I stayed on my hands and knees; the grit and dirt of the parking garage floor cut into my skin. Rider carefully walked around, hoping to find the knife by stepping on it.

“Got it!” he said loudly. I slowly got up, not wanting to stand up under the blade. I knew Rider was close, but I couldn’t tell how close. I wiped the grit from my hands onto my pants. “Where are you, Orissa?”

“Here,” I told him, reaching out into the darkness. My fingers brushed against his back. He took my hand and put the knife into it. “Thanks.”

“No problem. Uh, now where?”

I had no idea what was around us. I couldn’t see a damn thing and the scuffle with the S3 had left me a little disoriented.

“I’m not sure,” I admitted. “The ground feels level right here. I can’t tell which way we need to go.”

“We must be on the turn then,” he said. “You know, the part before the ramps. If we pick a way to walk, we’ll figure out where to go.”

“Yea. Hopefully.”

Ungracefully, we shuffled forward. I thought about the others: Where they were and why they hadn’t come back in search for us.

“Wait,” I said suddenly.

“What?” Rider asked nervously.

“There should be a door,” I explained, pulling him a few steps. “Feel along the wall. The flat parts…they-they usually have a stairwell or an elevator.”

“You’re a genius.”

“We’ll see about that,” I told him. I shook my head and blinked several times. I felt like I was blind. Everything about this seemed grossly unnatural. I moved feverishly, running my hands along the damp and in some parts slimy wall. I knew my fingers brushed over crusted gum more than once. Finally, I felt cool metal under my hands.

“Here!” I shouted. Rider rushed over, accidentally stepping on my feet. The rattle of death moans echoed. The herd was drawing in. My hand slipped off the doorknob in my hurried attempt to get through. I pushed it open and stepped in, expecting there to be four feet or so before the stairs.

I was wrong.

My foot landed heavy on the first step and I toppled down, catching myself on the rusty metal railing. I skidded down a few steps before I stopped falling.

“Riss! Shit, are you ok?”

“I’m alive,” I grumbled, pulling myself up. The gun had pressed into my back when I fell and it hurt like a bitch. “And I didn’t drop the knife this time,” I attempted to joke. Rider carefully maneuvered down the cement steps. The stench of death was strong.

“Up or down?”

“I’m not sure,” I said, shaking my head. “Up, I think. Yea, we need to go up.”

“Ok. Follow me,” Rider said with a hint of laughter in his voice. I took a deep breath and walked up the stairs. Thunder clapped, echoing throughout the building.

“If you would be anywhere but here, where would you be?” I asked rather suddenly.

“Anywhere, literally,” Rider told me. “Anywhere with light.” We stepped onto another narrow landing. “This door?”

“Sure,” I suggested. I didn’t think we had gone that far down into the garage.

“Where would you be?”

“The beach. Tanning my ass with a drink in my hand.”

“That does sound nice.”

“It’d be better than nice,” I told him, lowering my voice. “That’s the first thing I want to do when this is over.”

“Yea, wait until it’s over. Nothing would ruin a beach vacation more than getting sand in your drink while killing zombies. Plus you’d have that whole fighting in a bikini issue to deal with. On second thought…go. I’d like to see that.”

“Pig,” I joked. A bolt of lightning escaped a cloud. “The edge,” I whispered to myself. “I think we’re close.” We picked up the pace again, running until we felt the wind. Without any glow of distant lights and with the moon and stars blocked out by thick storm clouds, the outside was just as dark and ominous as the inside of the garage.

Just as hope filled our hearts, zombies stomped it out. A fast moving S2 lumbered out of the atramentous shadows. Ready this time, I waited until he was close. I swung my fist, which collided with his face. I kicked his legs out from under him and drove the knife into what I thought was his neck.

When he kept moving, I brought the blade down again, this time in his cheek. I twisted the blade up and pulled it out, sinking it into his ear. The zombie collapsed. Rider took on another; I could hear him hitting something. I wished I could toss him the knife.

Dragging a foot, the second was easy to detect. I let out a breath and swung the knife. It whizzed over its head. Oh, it was a short zombie. I didn’t want to wonder if it was a child. I kicked at where I thought the knees would be. Unsure if I actually hit my target, I sank the knife into the head of the falling zombie.

A hand closed around my wrist. I jerked away, ready to stab whoever grabbed me.

“It’s me,” Rider called.

“Oh.” I lowered the knife. “I don’t know if there are more. Let’s go.” Stepping over the bodies, we took off running again.

A harrowing growl came from behind us.

“Keep going; we can out run it,” Rider called.

“No. I don’t like being chased in the day, I
hate
being chased when I’m blind and in the dark. I’m gonna kill it.”

“You’re crazy, Orissa.”

“Probably,” I said and let go of his hand. “Stay back. I don’t want to stab you.” I heard Rider scuffle his feet as he moved away. I let out my breath, rolling my neck from side to side. The zombie growled again. “I don’t have all day,” I jeered. “Come attack me like a good zombie.”

I was expecting a typical S2 to lunge at me. I wasn’t expecting him to weigh nearly three hundred undead pounds. His weight knocked my thin frame right over. I couldn’t breathe. I gasped for air. My arms were pinned under him.

I rammed my knee into his stomach. It had no effect since zombies didn’t feel pain. The knife had stabbed him in the stomach when we fell; I could feel the vile liquid from his insides dripping out and soaking my shirt. Dragging the knife through his skin, I pried my arm free and stabbed Fatty in the ear.

I put my hands on his shoulders and shoved without success. Knowing I wasn’t strong enough to push him off, I stabbed the knife into the top of his head for safe keeping. I freed my left arm and pushed against the cement, dragging myself from under the zombie’s massive body. The Berretta dug into my skin but I didn’t stop.

Panting, I stood, reached down for the knife and turned to where I thought Rider was standing.

“Ok, we can go,” I breathed.

“Yea,” he agreed. “Easy kill? It sounded like it.”

Only because I couldn’t breathe the entire time. “Yea. No biggie.”

“This way?” he asked, taking my hand and tugging me forward.

“Your guess is as good as mine,” I told him.

“We could be going in circles for all I know,” he huffed.

“Yea,” I agreed.

“Fuck, what I wouldn’t give for some light.”

“I know. It’s something I take for granted, I know now.”

“Or night vision goggles,” he added. “Or my gun. Or both.”

A thought dawned on me, one so obvious I felt like a complete idiot for not thinking of it sooner. “I think I can do better that.” I held out my right hand and pulled Rider over to the parking space. “Try to find one that’s unlocked.”

“Uh, why?”

“We’re going to drive out of here. Don’t worry about the details, just do it, alright?”

“Ok. You shouldn’t go too far.”

“I won’t,” I promised. The first car I tried was locked. So were the second, the third, the fourth and the fifth. I yanked on handle to car number six when a dome light victoriously glowed from several spots away. I raced over to Rider.

“Ohmigod, this is perfect!” I praised. I stepped past him and knelt down on the driver’s side. It would be harder to do with no tools, but I wasn’t leaving until I got the car started.

“Are you hot wiring the car?” Rider asked incredulously.

“I’m trying to,” I informed him. “All I have is the knife, so I’ll see how it goes. Keep an eye out for zombies.” It took twice as long as it should to take out the screws with only a knife. Carefully, I pulled at the wires, slicing through and striping the power wires. I twisted two together and the lights and radio turned on, blasting Mariah Carey’s greatest hits. I took the two remaining wires and touched them together. The engine sputtered to life. I bent the wires back so they wouldn’t touch my legs; getting shocked to death would certainly put a damper on our escape.

“Get in,” I told Rider as I stood and slid into the driver’s seat. I put the car in reverse and grabbed the wheel. “Shit,” I swore.

“What’s wrong?”

“The wheel is locked.” I extracted the knife from my pocket again. “It’s normal when you hotwire cars and I can fix it, don’t worry,” I added, seeing Rider’s panicked face. I jammed the knife between the back of the steering column and the steering wheel.

 I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding when the wheel smoothly turned in my hand. I backed out of the spot, turned the radio off and rolled my window down a few inches so I could hear what was going on around us.

“When did you learn how to hotwire a car?” Rider asked, his blue-gray eyes curiously drilling into me.

“It’s a long story,” I told him casually. I gently pushed on the gas; a little afraid the engine would sputter and die. I probably should have let it warm up before driving.  There was a herd of zombies, we had four missing friends and another tornado could very possible touchdown. I had no time to waste.

I passed the ramp and had to back up. I cranked the wheel and pressed on the gas.

“Oh, shit,” Rider swore.

I gripped the steering wheel. “Can’t we fucking catch a break?” I yanked the gear shift into reverse once more and floored it. “There’s no way this car can plow through
that
,” I said, waving my hand at the herd. My mind raced. I wasn’t dying today. And I especially wasn’t dying by the hands of zombies.

The two dozen or more walking dead kept their steady pace of staggering up the ramp. I tapped the wheel, thinking. The herd was impassable. I wasn’t sure what would happen, but I imagined zombies would either get stuck under the car or create a blockade this little car couldn’t over power. Both would render us powerless and stuck in a metal deathtrap on wheels.

I pressed the pedal down again and sent us flying back. I slammed on the brakes and cranked the wheel, spinning the car. I forced the gear into drive and floored it once more.

Up. The only way we could go was up.

Several ideas flashed through my mind: We could get out and take our hand on the stairs, drive to the top level and see what could be done from up there, or peel away and pull into a parking spot and hope the zombies passed us unnoticed.

Plan C seemed the most feasible. I didn’t want to give up the car, which offered a fast getaway and some light. And I sure as hell didn’t want to be trapped three stories up. With my luck the storm would pick up and the car would get sucked up and flipped off the side of the garage.

“Fuck,” I swore, finding a hole in my plan.

“What?” Rider asked.

“I can’t turn off the car and promise to get it to start again.”

“So?”

I shook my head. “I had a plan.”

“What was it?”

“To pull into a parking spot and see if they pass us.”

He looked behind us. “I think that’s all we can do.”

The silhouette of a fallen zombie became illuminated in the headlights.  I actually gasped. “I have another idea.”

“Ok,” Rider said, waiting for me to expand. I slammed on the brakes. “I don’t care how good of a plan it is, Riss, we shouldn’t stop yet!”

“We’re going to keep going. Get out and help me!” I raced out of the car and over to the body. It was an S2. Fresh, thick blood oozed from its face. The others must have been here. When Rider rushed to my side, I could see just how bad his head wound was. Finally scabbing over, blood stained the right side of his face and the front of his shirt.

I grabbed the zombie’s ankles. “Get him on the hood,” I instructed. I tightened my fingers around his fleshy, moist skin. “On three.”

We hoisted the disgusting body onto the car and raced back into our seats. I had to accelerate slowly so the zombie wouldn’t fly off. We went maybe fifty feet before another body lay on the gritty, damp floor. Thunder echoed and a heavy rain began to fall. When the wind gusted, we got sprayed with a cold mist.

Rider and I flopped the second body onto the hood.

“Why are we collecting zombies?” he asked.

“To hopefully cover up the smell of exhaust,” I explained, easing the pedal down.

He nodded. “There’s another.”

The herd was close by the time we got a particularly large S3 onto the hood. I was afraid the undistributed added weight could cause a problem. We went up one more level and found one more body. I backed the car into a parking space. Rider opened his door.