The Crossing: A Zombie Novella (8 page)

“
Open the door,” he said. The man couldn’t walk straight. He staggered, stamping red impressionist marks wherever he hit the wall. Maurice wondered if this was the guy the cops had been chasing.

He panicked when he heard nothing behind the door. Leslie wasn’t going to let him in. It hit him that the first request might have sounded louder in his head, that he might have just whispered it. He tried again, much louder.

The thing grew excited. It plodded toward him in a shaky toddler-stomp. Its head was misshapen; the left side seemed dented, sunken. Its arms reached out for Maurice even though it was too far away to touch him. He heard the nursery door begin to open and he reached his hand out to help it, unable to look away from the naked man. He saw Leslie in the corner of his eye and then something slammed into his back.

“
Maauuriiiice.
”

He spun, his back striking the wall, and he crashed onto his ass. Cassie stomped toward him, arms outstretched, heavy breasts swaying. She leapt onto him, and he threw his arms up to protect Alexander, scrambled backward, driving his foot into her face.

He heard an excited groan from the naked man, much closer now. He was almost free when Cassie frog-hopped forward, tangling his legs with her body. He felt her breasts against his legs, and again felt embarrassed by her.

She buried her face into his crotch and bit his inner thigh. He shrieked. The scalpel was on the ground again, completely out of reach. Alexander was motionless against his chest.

He thought about Shawnda, about how Leslie had said that he had killed her, how Shawnda said a bite got you sick. He thrashed, his knee connected with Cassie’s jaw, and her head rocked backward. There was a muffled squeal from the sling.

His hand went to Alexander—the child felt wrong. He was twisted in the sling, and Maurice could feel the tiny bump of Alexander’s nose pressed hard against the fabric.

The shadow of the naked man fell across Maurice’s body. It let out a growl that sounded like delight without the words to express it.

Maurice’s pants were whole. Cassie hadn’t broken through his jeans. His shoe found her jaw. She kept clawing, unaffected by pain or reason. Her jaw looked
off
somehow, and he was sure he’d broken it.

“
Baybeeeee,” she gurgled, eyeing the sling. She came at him and he cocked back his leg for another kick when the man descended upon him, smiling. He was engulfed in naked flesh.

The naked man had fallen too far forward, its head near Maurice’s cocked leg, which prevented it from lying flat upon him. Its flaccid penis mashed into Maurice’s cheek. Blood had congealed in its black pubic hair, which choked Maurice’s nostrils with a sour, coppery musk.

“
Baybeeeee.
”

Cassie was on his legs once more, breasts and belly wriggling across him. Somewhere in the shuffle Alexander’s face twisted free and he let out a full-throated cry. Cassie, eyes widening, reached up, batting at the sling. The man reached back, attracted to the new sound.

Maurice punched the naked man repeatedly in the torso, with weak rabbit punches lacking any real momentum. His knuckles rapped against ribs. The man and Cassie got in each others’ way, suddenly struggling with one another instead of him.

He punched the man in the gut once more and it emptied its bowels. Wet, clumpy shit ran down the back of Maurice’s head and neck. The smell was immediate. He struggled, gagging, hampered by the need to keep one hand on Alexander.

Cassie and the man fought more like dogs than people, shaking, biting, barking. Maurice felt a new set of hands pulling at his shoulder. If something else had trundled down the hallway it would be over. They would tear the baby from his arms.

Leslie grunted. She had come out. She tugged his free arm. Cassie and the man hadn’t taken notice. Maurice struggled back towards Leslie, and he managed to pull most of the way free before the naked man whipped his arm around and clasped Leslie’s wrist. She cried out, and man jabbered nonsense, tried to pull her hand to his mouth.

Cassie climbed atop Maurice, straddling one leg. Leslie’s other hand glinted; she had found the scalpel. She ran it along the man’s wrist, slicing deep into flesh and tendon.

The dead thing’s grip loosened. It stood awkwardly, Maurice between its legs, half turned toward Leslie. She pushed it, and the man fell over without resistance, became tangled with Cassie and again they clawed and bit at one another.

Coughing phlegm from stuffy nostrils, Maurice got to his feet.

“
Move,” Leslie said. He did. He stumbled down the hall. He thought Leslie would remain next to him, and felt guilt for the coward’s hope. She pulled at the nursery door, demanding to be let in, trying to strike a balance to be heard and not be heard at all.

“
Let me in, you stupid cunt.”

He could barely hear Shawnda. Leslie banged on the door, too hard. The dead man turned to her, one moment raking a red gash into Cassie’s cheek, the next staggering toward Leslie.

Maurice stepped back and away.

Leslie saw him, and she saw the others. She ran to him, past him and he followed. His legs and rapid breath brought life back into his chest. He felt sick and exhilarated. He wanted to vomit but his stomach was empty. He could sense Cassie and the dead lumbering behind them. As he and Leslie were about to round a corner, he dared a glance back.

They were far behind. He only glanced, but their faces were clear. Later he would think about the look Cassie had given him—disappointment.

“
Allllleex,” she screamed in her new, odd pitch.

They turned down another hall. The hair on his arms bristled when he thought he heard her scream again.

“
I left her,” Leslie cried. “Like a goddamned coward!”

They rounded a corner. A gunshot exploded, the bullet crunching into the wall beside Maurice.

“
Stop,” he yelled, waving his arms. The cop blinked, his arms shaking, his eyes wild.

“
Where did he go?” the cop asked. Maurice didn’t know how to answer. He couldn’t stop staring at the smoking black hole at the end of the cop’s pistol.

“
Behind us,” Leslie answered.

The cop looked down the hall. His face was pale and now that he’d stopped the chase, he didn’t seem eager to start again.

“
I shot him seven times. I shot him in the head for chrissakes but he just wouldn’t stop.” He turned and ran. There was silence.

“
Please tell me you have a car,” Leslie said. She grabbed his sleeve. “Shawnda drove me in today.”

“
I parked near the front entrance.”

“
Good. Come on.”

The door clacked open, echoing in the concrete stairwell. It swung all the way open, banging against the wall and easing shut behind them. Alexander wailed, loud and constant, the sound filling the echo-chamber.

“
Someone’s going to hear us,” he said, half expecting Cassie to materialize, arms reaching.

“
Don’t stop,” she said, took two of steps and then did just that. “Goddammit,” she whispered.

Maurice stepped next to her and saw a cop lying in a tangled lump at the first landing. He looked
chewed.
His arm covered his face. There was no movement, no breathing. Maurice tried to remember if Cassie or the naked man had breathed. Alexander’s cries bounced around and seemed to shake the damn walls and bore into his ears.

“
I’ll go first,” Leslie said.

“
Wait, no.”

“
Welcome to parenthood. Now shut up and wait. If he moves and you come rushing to save me, you’ve killed him,” she said, looking at Alexander.

Maurice watched her descend the stairs, feeling impotent. At first she moved slowly, but the closer she got the more she sped up. When she hit the landing, she stepped past the crumpled cop and hop-stepped down the next row of stairs before looking back. The cop stayed dead.

She looked up at Maurice. For a moment he didn’t move, didn’t think he could, but Alexander’s cries propelled reluctant feet. Hell, even if that poor soul stayed immobile, the child would be heard. Something would come.

Maurice walked slow, picturing the look on the naked man’s leering face when he’d heard yelling: a child’s excitement. As he got closer he saw the damage the cop had taken.

There seemed to be no unmarked flesh. His neck almost looked peeled, vast clumps of hair were missing.
How long had it taken something to do that?

His feet stopped at the last stair. Alexander howled and the sound swelled in Maurice’s ears, bounced back and forth through the stairwell. He could hear a faint echo on the upper floors when Alexander sucked in a new breath. He stepped onto the landing, knowing he should move faster, lighter, like Leslie, but every footfall felt like a Frankenstein stomp. He scooted around the cop, his ass bumping the railing, causing his heart to jump up past his lungs and beat in his throat. His ears felt hot.

Stopping let the smell of the dead man’s shit creep around him. The cop clutched a pistol in one hand. A thin skin flap on the back of his hand had been pulled away like a banana skin.

Maurice was no gun nut. He knew it was a Beretta, had heard or read that somewhere, and so ended his knowledge of guns. He stopped. Leslie mouthed “what the fuck are you doing?”

Amazingly, she stepped back onto the stairs. He held out his had to tell her to stop then turned his fingers into a gun, using the thumb to simulate firing. She nodded, and hope washed over her face.

He bent down, Alexander’s renewed cries somehow louder. He patted the child’s butt through the sling, remembering how Bohdin used to wear a groove into the floor pacing and patting Logan’s butt.

Maurice was suddenly aware of the sweat pouring out of him, tickling his brow, itching his legs, and slicking his palms. He begged God for the cop to stay dead. His fingers touched the gun. It was tacky with blood. He clasped the barrel, trying to wriggle the weapon from the cop’s grip. He’d pulled it hard enough to lift the cop’s arm before he lost his timid grip on the wetness.

Still in the cop’s hand, the gun clacked against the floor. The sound was louder than Alexander’s screams. He jerked back, again bumping the back rail.

The cop moaned.

Maurice scrambled away, stumbling over the cop and hopping onto the second flight of stairs, he couldn’t help but look back, imagining the cop sitting up and reaching. The cop hadn’t moved. Maurice blinked.
Had he imagined it?

“
Did you—”

“
Move, you idiot!” Leslie hissed through clenched teeth.

“
You heard him?”

“
Yes. Jesus Christ, are you insane or something?”

Maurice looked back at the cop. Leslie started to walk, to leave them.

“
Wait. He might still be alive,” he said.

She stopped. She looked at him, looked down the next flight of stairs. She wanted out of there. Maurice wanted the same thing. He wasn’t sure if he was being smart or incredibly stupid, but the cop wasn’t coming after him.

“
Shit,” Leslie said. She walked back up the steps.

“
Put your knee on his back?”

She always seemed to be thinking one step ahead of him. He may have killed her and she’d already saved his life once.

He knelt on the cop, hoping he wasn’t pushing the life out of a dying man. She felt his wrist for a pulse. The moments drug out. He felt confined. Something banged against the door one or two floors up. Leslie jumped back. Maurice tensed, his heart thundering in his chest.

“
This was a mistake,” he said.

“
You think?”

“
Well?”

“
I’m not fucking sure.” She stuck her hand against his neck for a few seconds and then stood up. “He’s dead.” Maurice reached down and took hold of the gun. With one hard yank it came free of the cop’s hand. He stood up.

“
I heard him,” he said, starting down the stairs after her.

“
I did, too. If he’s not one of them, he will be.”

The cop moaned again. They didn’t stop. Maurice didn’t look back. They passed the fourth floor.

“
They’re all different,” he said. “Cassie was so much faster than the other one.”

“
I’ve been listening to this crap on the radio for hours. Nobody knows anything. I’ve heard twenty different explanations for what’s happening and as many theories for how the sick behave. Only a fool would think that a virus or a poison or whatever the fuck it is would affect everyone exactly the same way.”

They passed the third floor in silence. Alexander had stopped crying and was breathing rhythmically. When they passed the second floor they hear a door high above them bang open. They froze. The door clacked shut and nothing followed. Maurice leaned forward and craned his head up the stairwell, not sure of what he was expecting to be able to see.

Several floors up, a figure peered down at them. For a moment Maurice just stood there. The person was too far away to tell if they were alive or one of them.

Leslie stood beside him, looking up. The other person didn’t say anything, didn’t ask for help, didn’t moan like an animal. The form dipped out of sight, and the stairwell echoed with the sound of footfalls hammering toward them.