All Our Tomorrows (27 page)

“And then a couple of days ago we saw another one. Remember? She stood by the corner as we rolled cars down the hill.”

“I remember,” I say, not liking where this is leading.

“You killed her,” Steve says, breathing heavily. It’s as though he’s running. He’s in a spacesuit, he must be. I start to say something. I want to ask where he is, what is he doing, but he cuts me off, saying, “Remember? I was there.”

“I remember,” I repeat.

“Haze. She was their queen. You killed the queen.”

“I know.”

“That’s why they want you,” he says. “You’re their queen.”

And with those few words, the growling and snarling beneath us fades into the background. The realization of what we’ve been dealing with finally sinks in. Goosebumps rise on the back of my arms.

“Haze? Hazel?”

“Yes,” I say. “I’m still here.”

“At the commune,” Steve says. “They weren’t trying to attack you. They were trying to rescue you. And me. Somehow, they relate me to you. If you’re the queen, I guess I’m the king or the bishop or something. When they couldn’t get you, they took me. They used me to draw you in. They’re smart, Haze. Just a different kind of smart. Jackson says it’s a hunting instinct. Like baiting a trap.”

I can’t speak. My throat chokes up at the thought of being attacked that night. I have to swallow in order to keep breathing.

“Jackson figured it out. I told him everything that happened. We reviewed the footage from the mall and compared it with the footage from the attack in the ducts.”

“I saw it too,” David says from beside me, taking me completely off guard. “When Hazel was attacked, the zombies turned on each other. Some of them attacked her. Others fought against them.”

“I—I don’t understand,” I say, staring out at the horde still swelling in the street outside.

“It’s not every zombie,” Steve says. “They nest. They move in hordes. In tribes is the way Jackson describes it. Those in the mall. They’re the ones. They think you’re their queen.”

I’m stunned.

“Haze?”

“Yes.”

“We need to get you out of there.”

“No shit,” I reply.

“I’m already on my way.”

“No!” I say. I don’t want Steve risking his life for me.

“Doyle’s got about an hour of charge left in the Tesla. Jackson and I are with him. We’re going to draw them away.”

“No, Steve,” I repeat. This is all too much. I need time to process this information, to figure out what to do next. Life is unfolding too quick.

Steve ignores me, saying, “We’re going to distract them. Lead them away from you. Get to the far side of the intersection and Doyle will pick you up.”

“We could cut through the warehouse,” David says. “Draw them into a bottleneck. That would negate their numbers as they can only follow single file.”

“There are still too many,” I say. “There are hundreds of them. Thousands of them. They would flank us on the road, coming around the front of the vet clinic.”

My hands are shaking.

“Steve. You can’t come down here. There are just too many of them.”

There’s silence for a moment, and I get the impression Steve has deactivated his microphone. He must be talking to Doyle and Jackson.

“Just sit tight,” Steve says. “We’re a few minutes out.”

Doyle speaks. There’s a slight hiss with his transmission.

“Do you have a good view of the horde? Is the approach clear?”

David and I drag the NASA backpack over by the shattered window and rest it on a desk.

I say, “Still thin by the mall. The bulk of them are to our left. They seem to be coming down from the freeway.”

“Not good,” Doyle says.

“Why? What’s wrong?”

“Jackson says, they’re from a different tribe.”

Steve says, “Get Jane ready to move on our signal.”

“Your signal?” I reply. “What are you going to do.”

“Just—be ready.”

“Steve,” I say, but there’s no reply. “Steve?”

David looks at me with sadness in his eyes. His face is somber. It’s as though he knows more than me.

“I’ll get Jane.”

“The tablets,” I say. “We need to take them with us. They’re important. The scientists need to test them. They need to understand how they work.”

David pulls a crumpled packet from his pocket and shoves it in my hand. It’s a pack of ten tablets sealed in tinfoil. I pop a couple in my mouth, saying, “For good luck.”

“For good luck,” David says as I drop a couple of tablets in his hand. He knocks them back and then jogs over to Jane.

David stuffs dozens of packets into his pockets and then lifts her up, getting her ready to move.

“Steve,” I say into the microphone. “Talk to me.”

“Can you see Doyle?” he asks, and I watch as the stripped down Tesla rolls slowly and quietly up to the intersection. Zombies stumble past ignoring him. Doyle’s wearing a new suit, one that’s more lightweight.

“Yes, yes,” I say, but Doyle’s alone. “Where are you?”

“Jackson and I are to your left,” Steve says. “Look along the street, over toward the freeway.”

In the distance, two astronauts walk down the broad avenue, passing invisibly between scattered clusters of zombies as they approach the horde. Glints of sunlight reflect off their golden visors. Their white spacesuits and thick boots are strangely out of place on Earth, more so than the zombies ambling around them.

“Steve?” I ask, feeling my heart starting to rush. “What are you doing?”

Sweat beads on the back of my neck. My hands shake.

Zombies growl below me, swaying in the vast crowd, reaching out their hands toward me, but I’m not afraid of them. I’m afraid of what Steve is about to do.

“Haze,” he says. “We need those tablets. This horde is not going anywhere. There’s only one way we’re getting you out of there.”

“No, no, no,” I say, getting to my feet and dragging the NASA backpack to the edge of the window frame so I have a better view of him. I hold onto the aluminum frame and lean out, watching as the astronauts come to a halt at the top of a small rise.

“Jackson modified a couple of industrial chainsaws to run on electricity. Should last five to ten minutes. We will buy you the time you need.”

“Steve, please. There are too many of them. There has to be another way.”

“I’m sorry, Haze. I can’t leave you there to die. This is the only way.”

At this distance, I can’t distinguish between the astronauts, but I have a fair idea which one is Steve. One of the astronauts is taller than the other, carrying two large chainsaws. These aren’t the Home Depot specials I saw while growing up. With four foot long blades, they’re used for felling large pine trees.

The second astronaut shouldn’t be here. He’s in pain, walking with a limp, dragging one leg slightly behind him.

“Steve,” I whisper.

My heart stops as I see him raise his hands to his helmet and twist against the locking ring on the collar. Over the microphone, I hear the hiss of air as the seal breaks.

“NOOOOO,” I scream, but Zee ignores me. In unison, all heads turn slowly toward Steve.

“Come on,” he yells, taking a chainsaw from Jackson and revving the engine. “What the
hell
are you waiting for?”

Zombies run at them, charging up the rise. Hundreds of ragged, torn bodies descend on the two astronauts, converging from all sides. Even from where I am, I can hear the deafening, angry roar of the chainsaws. Blood explodes from the angry blades, spraying out across the sea of heads. Bodies fall, writhing on the concrete road.

“Run, Haze. RUN!”

“No, I can’t,” I cry, paralyzed with fear. I can’t lose him. Not like this.

“Hazel,” David says, standing beside me with Jane in his arms. “We have to go. It’s now or never.”

He’s right. Already, the zombies between us and Doyle have thinned. If we run, we could make it to the Tesla.

“Go,” I say. “I can’t leave him.”

“There’s nothing you can do,” David says, but I will not be deterred.

I drop the headset and move away from the window.

“What are you going to do?” he asks.

“What I do best,” I say. “Something stupid.”

I back up roughly twenty feet from the smashed window. There’s nothing to do other than run. Holding my busted, splintered baseball bat in one hand, I charge at the opening, pumping my arms and raising my knees as I thunder across the floor. The suit is thick and bulky, forcing me to exaggerate my run. My boots pound on the rotten carpet, tearing at the loose threads, and suddenly the aluminum window frame passes swiftly beneath me. I leap out over the street, sailing above the murderous horde.

A sea of arms reach for me.

Zee calls for me.

My legs are still pumping, while my arms are swinging wildly as I launch myself out of the first floor window. Gravity obliges and I plunge toward the street, landing on top of an abandoned car parked against the curb. My thick boots crush the thin sheet metal on the roof, causing both the windscreen and the rear window to pop out, shattering and splintering into a million pieces of safety glass.

Zee roars with excitement as I stand there defiant on the roof of the sedan.

I’m not afraid.

I am in a rage.

I scream above the noise of zombies baying for my blood. I can see the two astronauts, fighting off the horde as they stand back to back. Somehow, they’re holding them off.

Steve and Jackson swinging madly with their chainsaws, carving off limbs and slicing open skulls, constantly slashing at the crowd as they keep the horde at bay, but it’s just a matter of time before they’re overwhelmed by the sheer numbers. I’ve got to get to them. I’ve got to help.

Although my motives are noble, they’re irrational. I’m less able than either of them. Even with his injuries, Steve is lethal with that chainsaw, far more so than I am with a broken baseball bat. David’s right. I should run, but I can’t.

Zees surrounds me, reaching for me as I stand on the crumpled roof of the car. Torn flesh. Rotten arms. Dead eyes. Spindly fingers. They implore me to join their ranks. The stench is overwhelming, but I don’t care.

Hands grab at my boots, clamoring to get hold of my legs.

I can see them. Among the hundreds of zombies around me, I can see those that will follow. Their dark eyes. Their shattered faces. Their torn clothes and sickly green skin. They reach for me, but there’s no hatred behind their eyes. In that moment, I am one with Zee.

But among them, rabid zombies snarl at me, ready to tear me limb from limb. Saliva drips from their lips. They growl, pushing through the horde, wanting to rip me apart.

Those that follow watch my every move with fixed attention, trying to anticipate my actions. Perhaps I’m reading too much into their expressions, but they look sad, resigned to their fate.

I jump down onto the hood of the car, feeling invincible in my spacesuit. The thick fabric is like a suit of armor.

“Hold on, Steve,” I yell at the top of my lungs.

I pick out an old man climbing onto the hood. He’s bloody and bruised. His shirt has been torn open. Scars run down his rotten chest. Sores fester on his arms. He clambers up to grab me, snarling and baring his teeth. I swing my baseball bat, catching him under the chin and sending him flying backwards into the crowd. No sooner has he fallen than another zombie lunges at me.

Hands grab my boots, dragging them out from beneath me and I fall on my back, slamming into the sheet metal hood.

Within a fraction of a second, I’m whipped off the hood of the car and dragged into the horde. Dark arms snatch at me, tearing at my spacesuit. Tortured, twisted, filthy faces block out the sun. Teeth snap at my neck, while my legs are pulled in different directions, and I’m dragged across the rough concrete.

Zombies clamber over me, crushing my body against the street, but they’re fighting each other. For every zombie clawing at my suit, there’s at least two more sinking their teeth into each other. They’re vicious—wolves fighting over a kill.

Suddenly, I’m dragged to my feet. A bald, muscular zombie has grabbed me by the steel collar in my suit. He lifts me off the ground, seizing my throat and crushing my windpipe with a single massive hand. His fingers close on my neck like a steel vice. I’m choking, struggling for breath, when a woman not much older than me leaps on his back, sinking her teeth into the side of his neck. Another claws at his arms as I peel his fingers from my throat. He lets go and I fall backwards into the horde.

Gunfire erupts from the alley.

David’s on the move.

I’ve lost my baseball bat, but it makes no difference.

Teeth sink into my right hand, tearing through my skin and breaking the fragile bones leading to my fingers. I scream in agony, ripping my hand from the mouth of a young child. Fresh blood drips from her mouth. I can’t hit her. Even though I know I should, I can’t. She throws herself at my legs, biting at my calf muscle, but my suit holds. Suddenly, she’s trodden under the surge and crush of zombies pushing around me, and I feel her fall to the concrete, still trying to tear open my suit.

I struggle through the crowd, pushing off zombies biting each other in a frenzy. Hands reach for me, clawing at my spacesuit only to be savaged by other zombies. There’s yelling and screaming, but it’s hard to tell if that’s from the living or the dead.

I’m pushed into a burned-out car by the curb. The rear door has been ripped off its hinges, allowing me to step up onto the frame and climb onto the trunk. From there, I scramble onto the roof. Blood drips from the torn flesh on my hand. Severed tendons and broken bones stick through the crumpled, bloody mess, but I have to push through the pain. A severed hand hangs from my shoulder, still gripping my suit. I pry it free and toss it into the writhing mess of zombies clambering around the car.

From the roof, I can see Zee descending on Jackson and Steve. Chainsaw blades cut swathes through the horde, sending blood, bone, gristle, and intestines careering through the air. The madly whirling chains scream with anger.

Doyle pushes through the mass of zombies behind me. He’s firing his pneumatic gun and dropping dozens of zombies, but they’ve seen him. They attack, ripping his suit and smashing the visor on his helmet. He retreats into a doorway. With his back against a steel fire door, and walls on either side, he limits Zee to one point of approach. Bodies pile up before him as the pneumatic rod at the end of his gun cycles back and forth, lashing out and puncturing skulls, breaking bones and smashing ribs. Somehow, he holds them off, kicking and punching at the swarm of hands reaching for him, trying to drag him into the horde.