Waiting to Die ~ A Zombie Novel (17 page)

Kicking at the lifeless corpse
with his boot, Johnny unleashes a few straggling insects that dislodge from the
rot along the creatures neck.

“Let's get out of here,” April
urges, tugging him by his shirt sleeve.

Johnny pauses, looking again at
the corpse, “Oh my god,” he says as the blood rushes from his face, turning him
white with shock.

April stops and turns toward
him. “What’s wrong?” she asks.

In horror, Johnny stares at the
name tag on the cadaver’s uniform, “That's Mike.” He places his hand over his
mouth in memory of what this bundle of cloth and decay once was.

“
That’s
Mike?” April asks,
hovering over the remains.

“Yeah, from the apartment,”
Johnny begins. “He’s the one that showed me the sewer grate back when I worked
here. I used to come down here and smoke with him on my breaks.

She looks at the corpse,
knowingly, “Baby, we have to go.”

“Yeah, okay,” Johnny replies. In
many ways, it would have been better if he didn’t know what had happened to
him. He would have liked to remember Mike the way he was and not for what he
became. He looks back a final time before moving around April to take the lead.

Pipes line the walls and ceiling
of the passage, intersecting and crossing each other at elbows, jutting off in
every possible direction as April angles the light in front of her. Deep
shadows contour and conflict with one another with every step she takes,
arching macabre silhouettes along the floor.

“It should be right around the
next corner,” Johnny states, pointing ahead into the darkness.

April directs the flashlight to
as far as the light will shine once they’ve made the next corner. A few yards away,
there is a dead end, blocked by a series of conduits that lead vertically into
the ceiling.

“What are you talking about,”
April asks, “That's a dead end.”

Johnny holds her hand, angling
the light downward towards the floor where it rests on a sewer cap that is
barely visible through all of the dust that covers it.

“We're going through there?”
April asks, raising her eyebrow at the suggestion.

In the darkness, Johnny misses
her expression and replies, “It probably hasn't been opened in a while, but it'll
work.”

Wedging the pry bar into a
groove at the edge of the sewer cap, Johnny lifts the metal plate and sinks the
bar under while he gains some leverage with his fingers. “Give me a hand,” he
says, grunting.

April places the light on the
floor beside the plate and begins to tug at the cap. Once they have cleared it
from the floor by a few inches, Johnny tucks his fingers under the plate and pulls
it away to the side.

A pitch black hole greets them
as the light levels off along the floor. Picking up the flashlight, Johnny
points it down into the hole, arching the beam around the edges. Several bars
protrude from one side of the hole, forming steps that lead down into the
darkness.

“I'll go first,” Johnny
explains. “Shine the light down for me. When I get to the bottom, throw the
flashlight down, and I'll guide you the rest of the way.”

“I don't want to be left alone
up here, Johnny.”

“Then I'll have to make it
quick,” he replies.

“Jerk,” April smiles at him.

Every footfall Johnny makes as
he descends the ladder sends a hollow clank back up the shaft where April waits
patiently. With a splash, stale water greets his arrival. He sloshes around for
a moment and looks up into the light. “Your turn,” he says.

“All right, I'm going to drop
the light. Are you ready?” April asks.

“Yeah, let it go,” Johnny's
voice echoes in response.

End over end, the flashlight
falls, sending circular beams off in rotation as it descends. Hitting Johnny's
hand hard, the light bounces, tilts and finally drops with splash into the sewage.
The flashlight flickers several times as Johnny reaches into the muck before it
finally dims and dies.

“That's just great,” Johnny sighs.

“Now what?” April asks with a
hint of irritation.

“Okay, you can do this,” Johnny
explains. “Just lower one leg down and feel around for the first step.”

“You've got to be kidding me,”
she asks.

“It's either that, or I come
back up and we’re back to where we started,” Johnny reasons with her. “I'll
catch you if you fall. It is only ten feet or so to the bottom.”

“Tell that to the flashlight,”
April answers.

“Funny,” Johnny says, letting
her joke pass. “Now poke around with your foot until you feel the first bar.”

Extending her leg into the hole,
April immediately feels the first step and supports her weight while bringing
her other leg down, scraping her pants on the dirty floor adjacent to the sewer.
Foot by painstaking foot, she lowers herself into the sewer as Johnny stands at
the base with his arms outstretched above his head. She feels him at her waist,
guiding her down until she can feel water begin to soak her shoes.

“I can't see a thing,” she says
as she blindly reaches outward, searching for the wall.

“Here,” Johnny replies, placing
her hand at his waist and tucking her fingers in around a belt loop on his
pants. “Don't let go.”

Every movement they make is
followed by a reverberating splash of water, echoing throughout the sewer,
returning to their ears as the sound becomes faint and trails off behind them.

“How will we know where we’re
going?” April asks.

“I have some matches in my
pack,” Johnny replies.

After a series of shuffling and
a long ripping sound, April hears something rip and then the strike of a match.
With a whoosh, a flame ignites before her. Upon the pry bar, Johnny wraps a
scrap of fabric from his shirt around the end. “It won't last long, but maybe
we can find a way out before it dies,” he says. “You’ve got to love waterproof
matches.” He smiles through the flickering light as he guides it with his
outstretched arm.

A hollow groan fills the air
like the sound of a pipe being slowly bent.

“Did you hear that?” April
whispers.

“It's probably the building
settling,” Johnny quietly remarks.

“Haaaaa...” a throaty hiss
ensues like air being released from a tire.

“But I sure as fuck heard that!”
he stops in his tracks and listens intently, cocking his head.

Silence ensues, deafening as it
drops over them, canceling out all of their other senses. April tugs on
Johnny's belt loop and presses tightly against him.

“It was probably nothing,”
Johnny whispers. “Like I said, it was probably just the...”

The dead scatter out from around
a hidden corner. In the dim torch light, only their outlines can be seen. Bent,
twisted forms, lurching closer to the couple in between rasping moans and
shrill howls. Gathering like a pack of wolves, the horde moves in, collecting
with one another to form a singular mass.

“Stay behind me!” Johnny screams
out the order like a curse, pushing April back behind him.

Swinging wildly, the pry bar
makes contact with the first creature that arrives. With a faint whoosh, the
ghoul ignites as its nose concaves. Flailing its arms, it reaches out. Another
creature shambles forward and snatches Johnny's arm.

“Run!”

Darkness blurs April’s way.

Blindly, she backs up, turns and
begins to run. The torch is dropped and snuffed out by the murky remains of the
sewer.  She races back toward the ladder access, her heart pounding when she
hears a series of grunts that she is sure are coming from Johnny as he fights
the dead. 

“Ah!” Johnny screams, but his
voice is suddenly cut off.

Rancid slop splashes up from the
sewage beneath her feet as April desperately tries to find her way. She guides
herself along the tunnel, dragging her hand against the rough surface of the
wall. Between her heavy panting, she can hear what sounds like the tearing of
wet leather. She can almost see Johnny being ripped apart as she runs faster.
The feeding dead create noises that mingle and meld into slapping wetness and
horrendous popping sounds, reverberating throughout the tunnel as April
quickens her pace, fleeing frantically.

Feeling along the concrete wall,
April follows it as it veers off to the left. Eventually, the slop beneath her
feet lessens, giving way to firmer ground as the noises of the dead subside
behind her. She can't tell how long she has been running, nor the distance
she's went, but up ahead, she can see the faintest glimmer of light. Exhausted,
she forces herself forward, becoming weaker with every step.

A rush of sunlight envelopes her
as she encounters a large grate at the end of the tunnel. Pushing with her
shoulder, she wrenches at the obstruction, pushing with all her weight as the
sound of rusty hinges squeak in retaliation. As the gate opens fully, the
hinges give, snapping from age, sending it plummeting into the canal where it
is swallowed by the murky water below.

The ocean spreads out on either
side of the sewage outlet. White, sandy beaches wind their way along the
coastline in both directions as she takes her first step into freedom.  The
salt air plays at her nose, tickling it ever so slightly from the onshore breeze,
blowing out the stagnant fumes of sewage that waft up from below. Pausing for a
moment, she looks back into the tunnel before trailing down the side of the
concrete approach that leads to the beach. 

As she makes her way along the
shoreline, April stops again, looking back to the sewer, hoping to see Johnny
standing there, praying that he has somehow survived. She turns away from the
empty drainpipe and lowers her head in sorrow as her feet sink into the velvety
sand. The realization that he is gone sinks in, weighing heavily on her heart.
Sadness wells up in her throat, rising from her chest as she begins to sob.

 Looking towards the mainland
through blurry eyes, she begins to make her way to the streets that lead to the
apartment that she had shared with Johnny. His memory is fresh in her mind,
freeing the guilt that builds in her consciousness, the terrible feeling she
endures from having left him there alone to defend himself.  She can hear his
voice as clearly as if he were standing there before her, 'We either survive,
or we wait here to die.'

·13

The gate clanks shut as Emma
closes it behind her. Over the sound, the surf batters the dock, licking
against the shore and surging back out with the tide. When she looks toward the
ocean, she can almost imagine being out there with her grandfather, she can see
the fish they will catch and the other people they will encounter on their
adventure, those who have also fled the land. She takes a deep breath of salt
air and dreams of what it will be like when there aren’t any more of the dead
to deal with, no more sounds of rasping cries and disturbing moans to awaken
her in the night. She smiles to herself as her grandfather cries out.

Ahead, he is jerked to the
ground by a corpse, black with slime that covers it from head to toe. Emma
backs away until she realizes she is the only one who can help him. The
skinless abomination tilts and twists its head as it tries to bite at the old
man. Wet, fluid snarls gnash out as the creature presses its weight downward.
Emma lifts her rifle, but the swaying corpse eludes her shot. She changes her
grasp on the rifle and wealds it like a club. Over her head in a stretching
arch, the child brings the butt of the rifle down onto the back of the monster’s
head with a loud thwack.

The corpse reels from the impact
and falls to its side as other bodies converge on the dock.

“Shoot it!” Jacob yells.

With eyes wide in a look of
panic, Emma swings the rifle over and loads it with a steady click. As the corpse
staggers to its knees, the girl pulls the trigger and a faint pop ensues. The
creature snarls away the hole that appears on its cheek and stands fully,
wavering drunken and sickly. Again, she reloads the weapon and exhales as she
fires, sending a clean round into the ghoul’s left temple. Its face falls slack
and it falls over backward into the sand along the side of the dock.

Emma reloads once more as
several other bodies shuffle closer, attracted to the commotion. She aims,
reloads and aims again until four bodies fall in time with her shots.

“Hurry, we have to go,” Jacobs
says as he stands, pistol drawn. He pulls the cart behind him with his free
hand, making it wobble off balance as he scurries away from the dead.

More of the dead are alerted to
their presence as the pair makes their way along the walkway. Dead eyes home in
as the cart bounces from side to side, unsteady from the speed with which it is
being pulled.

“There’re going to be too many
of them,” Jacob coughs. “We’ll never make it inside the house.” His breath is
labored as he hobbles. He favors his leg with a stiff limp, dragging it behind
every few steps. “Make a left on the next street,” he says, “and we’ll try to
lose them.”