The Demented: Confliction (4 page)

She wasn’t sure what woke her, maybe the dead silence.
  Abby had no idea how long she had been
sleeping under the large conference table, but her hips told her it had been
quite a while. She uncurled herself,
pushed a couple chairs apart and squeezed through.
  The upstairs conference room she had
barricaded herself into was dimly lit by several recessed floor lights intermittently
spaced around the walls.

Abby’s joints resisted movement as she stood up.
  She knew she had slept too long.
  After barricading both doors with entry desks
and chairs, she had hunkered down listening to the chaos around her.
  The infected had continued to stream into the
building, filling it with grunts and growls for what seemed like hours.
  Infected scratched at the doors to her room,
but none tried to get in. The noises
slowly subsided, but she was far too afraid to leave the room.
  Instead she curled up under the table, hoping
to wake to the old world…safe. Instead,
she woke here, in the same room, with the same apocalyptic world just outside
the doors.

She had spent some of her time on the scratchy carpet
thinking about everything that had happened.
The past thirty six hours had blown by like a whirlwind, not leaving any
time for analysis. Movies always had
highly contagious zombies. If someone
contacted bodily fluid through bites or splatter they turned.
 
Do I
have to worry about contracting whatever this is?
  Do the people know they were about to go
crazy? The dead ones that come back, are
they aware?
She went on and on with
the questions in her head before finally falling asleep.

Long shadows stretched away from her feet as she made her
way along the smooth wall to the set of double doors.
  She quietly climbed on top of the onyx desk
she had dragged over as a barricade. The
door’s solid wood was surprisingly cool when she pressed her ear to it
listening. Low grunts.
  A snort.
The shuffling of shoes on carpet sounded like a dry paintbrush swiping
across a metal shed. With the caution of
a prowling cat, Abby backed her way off the desk.

She eased across the carpet, hoping the single door at the
back of the room would offer more hope.  
As carefully as possible she slid her chair fence out of the way one
chair at a time. She pressed her ear to
the unmarked door and listened.
Silence. She remained in the same
position, breath held tight, for as long as she could.
  After repeating this several times she
wrapped her slender fingers around the nickel plated handle.
  Her fingers squeezed tightly.
  The beating of her heart thundered through
her whole body. She took a steadying
breath and then applied slow downward pressure on the handle until she felt the
release give way with a slight
click
.

Hesitantly she eased the door open enough to peer out.
  A dimly lit hall stretched into the darkness,
white doors lining both sides. Abby
sniffed at the cool air. The faint odor
of cleaning agents gave her little reason for concern.
  Pistol at the ready, she used her foot to swing
the door open. Her free hand flipped the
hall light switch. Relief washed over
her when the hall was flooded in cool white light.

Abby took her time moving down the hall and checking each of
the rooms. A quick glance helped assure
her that infected would not be sneaking up behind her.
  After the hallway made a couple turns it came
to a windowed door, a blue and white sign marking it as leading back to the
main floor. Her heart quickened when she
heard the thrum of noise from the other side.
The sounds were indistinguishable.
It reminded her of the food court at the mall – a constant drum of
voices and noises that smashed into each other.

She knew she had no other choice; it was stay here and
starve or find a way out.
The thought of hiding out and wasting away was repulsive.
  Just like she had done everything else in her
life, she would charge ahead, stay on her feet, and go down swinging if it came
to that.

The narrow window offered a view into the carpeted
stairwell. Not seeing any movement, she
slipped through the door and eased down the steps beyond.

At the door that led out to the main floor Abby
hesitated. There was no window, no view
into her fate. Sounds, horrible sounds,
emanated from the other side of the door.
They were muffled and mixed together, but it was clear that there were
infected on the other side. She
tightened her grip on the pistol, checked the breach, and steadied her
breathing. She reached out and grabbed
the cool metal door handle.

Boom…Boom…cack…cack…boom…

Abby jumped at the gunfire.
Her hand instinctively pulled back from the door handle.
  After a moment she realized this may be just
what she needed. After a twenty count
she cracked the door open and peered out.
The gunfire continued. It was
close, each blast hammering her ears.
Between shots she could hear angry growls and the pounding of feet.
  Dark forms raced past the door.
  She kept the door cracked and continued to
peak through the gap, watching the flood.
The steady flow slowed to a trickle and then to drops of undead
staggering past. She continued to wait
patiently, counting silently between undead sightings.
  Once she reached fifteen seconds since her
last sighting she opened the door further and stepped out into the hall.

The stragglers were still in sight, moving down the hall to
Abby’s right, drawn to the gunfire like roaches to crumbs.
  She spun left.
  The wide hallway had two men shuffling her
way. Both of them had ghastly wounds,
blood covering their exposed flesh, soaking their clothes, and leaving behind a
grisly trail in their wake. They had
lost most of the function of their legs and this was probably why they lagged
so far behind the others. Rather than
fire shots that would draw infected back, Abby moved to the far side of the
hall, avoiding them all together.

Shouts echoed down the hall behind her.
  The rate of gunfire rapidly increased.
  They were no longer evenly spaced, controlled
shots, but instead erratic, panicked shots.
The gunfire was replaced by screams.

The screams were agonizing, pushing Abby ever faster down
the hall. Just ahead she saw a giant
opening. It was dark inside, but would
at least get her out of the hallway. As
she approached, she raised her pistol, holding it firmly in both hands, aiming
into the darkness. Her eyes were
accustomed to the bright hallway, making the room a nearly impenetrable
black. She had no idea what its inky
depths were hiding, but hoped that all of the infected had been drawn by the
gunfire.

Before she was even able to set foot inside the cavernous
room there was a loud shriek followed by and angry growl from somewhere
inside. Unable to see anything, panic
welled up inside of her. She glanced
back the way she had come, but the undead heard the noise and were already
headed her way. Far down the hall,
beyond the nearest two, were more of them staggering toward her.

Pistol out, she moved into the darkness.
  Her eyes quickly adjusted enough to at least
see vague shapes. Rows of tables disappeared
into the dark ahead of her. There was
movement in the dark shadows. It was
impossible to make out, like shadows shifting in the night.
  Had it not been for the growls she would have
attributed it to her imagination.

The growls turned to a loud bark like
huff
that she knew was a call for reinforcements.
  At least one of them decided she was dinner
and thought his friends should know.

Abby crouched low and rushed to the side, hoping to duck out
of view. The room was enormous, even the
sidewalls were out of sight, lost in the darkness.
  She desperately wanted to outrun the growing
shrieks and growls. As she moved along
row after row of tables, she noticed they were stacked with various guns.
  Everything from pistols, to rifles, to
shotguns was neatly laid out.
What is this, an Army convention?

Guns clattered to the
floor as tables were tipped over behind her.

Abby kept working her way to the far wall, moving as fast as
she could in the dark. Her pupils
continued to dilate, revealing more and more of her surroundings, however the
infected could either see better or had the advantage of no fear.
  She could hear their angry growls right
behind her. She cut hard to the right,
sprinting for the far end of the giant room.

A dark shape emerged from the darkness directly ahead of
her. It shrieked with rage.
  She raised her pistol, never slowing, and
fired two rapid shots. Both went
wide. The bright flashes revealed the hideous
woman’s face as she continued to race directly at Abby.
  Her mouth opened, teeth gnashing in
anticipation. Abby slowed and fired two
more shots, nearly at point blank. Both
rounds slammed into the infected’s chest, sending her toppling to the floor.

This slowed Abby just enough to allow her chasers to catch
up. Their pounding feet on the hard
floor were scary close. They sensed the
closeness of their prey and screamed out in eagerness.

More were pouring in from the hallway, drawn to the sounds
of chaos.

Light spilled in through a large doorway just ahead.
  Abby lowered her head and sprinted for it
with everything she was worth. As she
neared the opening a dark shape stepped out from the side, silhouetted by light
from the atrium windows beyond.

Demented were right behind her, she could almost feel their
fingernails ripping into the back of her neck.
She couldn’t slow down. While at
full sprint, she raised her pistol, praying her aim would be true.

“Duck!”

What?
  Then it dawned on her.
  The dark form was one of the
living…uninfected…help. Unwilling to
drop to the ground, she instead crouched and dodged to the side, never slowing her
sprint for the light.

Ack…ack…ack…

The gunfire flashed in the dark.
  The whiz of bullets zinging past her sounded
like high speed bumblebees. From behind
her angry growls mixed with the sounds of pain and anguish.
  The shots continued.

She knifed out of the darkness and into the wonderful
sunlight of the front atrium.

Her savior continued to pound away at the infected, brass
shell casings clattering to the floor.
Abby was shocked to see it was a young boy, maybe in his teens, standing
just inside the light of the hall, holding an assault rifle.
  The black gun looked massive up against his
tiny frame. The recoil from each shot
slammed his shoulders back even as he leaned into the rifle.

He never looked over, focusing straight ahead.
  “Go! Exit that way.”

Infected continued to shriek out with rage from inside the
dark confines of the giant room.

Abby didn’t know which way “that way” was but it only took a
moment of looking before she saw the green exit sign a dozen paces to her
right. A glance in the other direction
brought her worst fears to realization.
The gunfire was drawing infected from the entrance area where she had
first gained access to the building.

She yelled, “They’re coming!“

“I know...go!”

Rifle fire continued to
thunder
throughout the hallway.

Abby turned and raced for the exit.
  The huge wall of windows that overlooked the
plaza was on her left. Through the glass
she could see undead staggering aimlessly in the lawn and on the pavement of
the street. They were drawn to the
noise, but could not locate the source.

She reached the set of exit doors.
  With her hand on the crash bar she hesitated
momentarily, and then turned to check on the boy.
  He was just slinging his rifle over his
shoulder and turning her way. Directly
behind him were at least a dozen demented rushing down the atrium stairs.
  Many stumbled and fell to the carpeted floor
in their haste to catch him. This only
slowed them momentarily before they were back on their feet.
  No sooner had he moved out of the cavernous
doorway than infected began pouring out of the opening into the hall directly
behind him. The two groups of infected
coalesced into a single giant swarm.

Abby raised her pistol, realized it was hopeless, and
instead just shouted, “Hurry!” She
turned, opened one of the exit doors, holding it wide for the boy to rush
through. Acrid smoke from a city on fire
burned her nostrils.

She used the few seconds she had to survey her surroundings
and try to develop a plan. Pavement,
concrete, buildings, and infected. Lots
of infected. They were everywhere,
staggering in the open, standing in side streets, and pounding on building
doors. They owned the streets.

The boy raced through the opening at full sprint.
  Abby let go over the door and ran beside him.

“The river, we have to get to the river.”
  She shouted.

“This way.”
  The kid said while pulling a pistol from a
holster strapped to his leg.

What is this kid, the
military’s equivalent of Mensa? Instead
of Harvard at twelve it was Navy Seals at thirteen.
 
Abby didn’t care.
  In fact it was just the opposite.
  He had saved her life and what better partner
could she hope to stumble upon. The
infected didn’t age discriminate and she wasn’t about to either.

Even packing a massive rifle on his back, the kid was
incredibly fast. Abby stretched out her
stride, racing to keep up with him. Both
of them flew past undead, sometimes brushing within a couple feet of their
reaching arms. The risen dead were much
too slow to catch them and the time required to put a bullet in them would only
be a waste. The pounding of feet just
yards behind them was a constant reminder that to slow was death.

Abby could see the dark water of the river just ahead.
  A stiff breeze whipped up white caps and blew
swirling smoke between the towering downtown buildings.
  Scattered along the river’s banks were
infected, unwilling to enter the water.
The large pier had some milling about at the entrance and a half dozen
walking its wooden planks.

“Boats.
  We need a boat.”
  The kid said between labored breaths.

Abby was in the best shape of her life and this mad sprint
was taking its toll. Her lungs were on
fire and her legs stung with lactic acid.
A quick glance back proved her worst fears true.
  There were dozens of demented racing directly
behind them, the gap of twenty feet remained as it was when they were chased
out of the convention center. Every
street they passed the ranks swelled with others, drawn to the chaos.
  The sounds this massive horde produced were
absolutely terrifying. Bone chilling
growls and shrieks swept out ahead of them, pushing them like wind on a sail.

The group of infected directly in front of the pier entrance
noticed the surge of activity and turned in response.
  Their reaction was immediate.
  Four of them began sprinting directly toward
Abby and the kid, one of them began huffing into the sky, and a half dozen
others began slowly staggering their way.
Infected on the dock system heard the call and began rushing across the
wooden planks.

Panic nearly overtook Abby.
She began to slow, unsure how they could get past so many.
 

“No! Keep
going.” The kid shouted.

Abby sped back up, pulling even with the
boy. She felt embarrassed to be
the one letting the kid down and not holding up her end.
  She would not be the reason to pull him down.

The kid pulled his pistol up, pointing it toward the
oncoming group. The barrel rose and
dropped rhythmically with each step.
“Hold till you can hit.” He said.

She raised her pistol as well.
  The iron sights bounced wildly, causing the
demented to shift in and out of her target zone.
  They were getting scary close and the urge to
begin pulling the trigger was nearly overwhelming.
  She began to put tension on the curved
trigger. One of the hideous faces would
slide in and out of her sights. She
prepared to time it right.

“Hold.”

We’re going to die.

“You take right.”

They're too close.
  Abby wanted to cower to the ground.

Nearly simultaneously, the kid yelled, “Fire!” and his
pistol
boomed
.
  The head of the nearest demented exploded in
red gore. Oblivious to danger, the
others never slowed.

Abby was more than ready for the call to fire.
  The demented were terrifyingly close and even
with her barrel bouncing there was little chance of a missed shot.
  She pulled the trigger, hitting one of them
in the shoulder. It recoiled and spun
sideways, nearly tripping, but regained its balance and continued its
charge. A second shot put it down for
good.

Two more shots from the kid’s pistol
boomed
from beside her. Two
more demented fell to the ground.

Abby sighted on the unmoving form of the infected barking
into the sky. She squeezed the trigger
and dropped him to the pavement.

“Don’t shoot walkers.”
The kid shouted.

They both sprinted to the side, dodging around the slow
moving forms. The nearest ones reached
out, but were far too slow. All that
remained between them and a boat were the infected out on the docks and a five
foot tall iron gate.

Boom…Boom…

The kid’s pistol dropped the two nearest demented that were
just reaching the gate.

Abby jammed her pistol into her waistband and leapt to the
top of the gate. The railing hit her
just below her breasts, shooting pain down her abdomen.
  She heaved with her arms, quickly hoisting a
leg up and over the top. From the top,
she saw the kid rush to the side of the pier and grab hold of the metal gate
post with his free hand. He jumped out
over the water, his momentum swinging him around the side like a
tetherball.   He gracefully landed on the
far side of the gate. Without skipping a
beat he raised his pistol and began firing at the remaining infected on the
dock. Abby dropped to the wood behind
him.

Only a couple undead remained out ahead of them.
  Abby turned to check behind her and was
horrified to see the massive horde of demented descending on them.
  The churning wall of arms and legs was less
than a dozen feet from the gate and coming fast.

Abby turned and began sprinting down the dock.
  She slapped the kid on the shoulder and
yelled, “Go!”

His pistol thundered.

Only a single infected remained on the
dock. The large man wore the
yellow rubber apron of a fish cleaner. A
green garden hose snaked through his legs, tying him to a stainless steel
table.

BANG
!

The horde slammed into the gate.
  Abby could feel the impact in her chest.
  She didn’t dare look back, but instead
focused ahead, desperate to find a suitable boat.
  There were several small fishing skiffs mixed
among family sport boats. Near the back
she saw what she was looking for. The old
fisherman’s boat looked to have hit the high seas on many occasions.
  Its captain’s helm towered over the deck
below, commanding a view in all directions.

“The tug thing.”
  Abby said.

The kid didn’t respond, but instead kept sprinting ahead
while angling to the far side of the dock away from Fish Cleaner.

The metal gate
rattled
and
groaned
under the pressure of
hundreds.

The kid holstered his pistol as he raced up to the old
boat. “Climb on.”

There was a loud
crack
as the gate gave way. A
roar
of growls signaled the dementeds’
charge. Their feet pounded on the wooden
planks, shaking the entire pier.

Abby hopped over the boat’s side and looked to the captain’s
chair. She dodged through the scattered
fishing gear and raced up the angled ladder.

On the dock below, the kid was pulling loose the large
tie-off ropes and flinging the ends into the boat.
  He glanced back at the oncoming horde.
  They were terrifyingly close.
  Resting both hands on the wooden side, he
began leaning into the boat. It slowly
began pulling away from the dock.

Grrrraaaww
!

The nearest demented reached out for him.
  It got a grimy hand on his rifle sling just
as the kid leapt for the boat. He spun
sideways in midair. The rifle was ripped
off his back as he slammed into the side of the boat.
  His feet dipped into the water.
   He remained on the boat’s side, clinging to
the top rail with both hands. Demented
began flying off the pier, desperately trying to reach the dangling meat.
  The boat continued to pull away from the dock,
slowly being swept into the river’s current.
The demented couldn’t quite cover the distance, landing in the water
just below the kid. He heaved himself up
and over the rail, flopping to the deck in exhaustion.

Abby looked back at the pier.
  It was completely covered in infected.
  Their numbers continued to swell, pushing
those on the edges into the water. She
looked at the kid below. He lay on his
back, staring up at the sky.  “You
okay?”

“Think so.”

She turned back to the boats control panel, searching for
what it took to get the thing running.
Surrounding the steering wheel were buttons, gauges, and levers, but
nothing that screamed “on.”

“Checking below.”
  She heard the kid shout.

“I don’t know how to start this thing.”

She could hear the kid working on something below.
  He said something.
  It was muffled, maybe just a groan.
  “What?”
She said. When there was no
reply, she leaned out over the railing, trying to peer through the cabin door
below. A loud
grunt
. “What?
  You okay?”
When there was no response her heart thundered in her chest, worry
sinking into the pit of her stomach.

She spun around the railing and flew down the ladder.

More loud
bangs
.

She pulled her pistol out of her waistband and held it out
in front of her. The cabin door hung
partway open, darkness hiding the interior.
She used her foot to push the door fully open.
  Light filtered in across a tiny table
surrounded by cabinetry. On the far side
was the kid. A bearded man was on top of
him with his arms grabbing at the kid’s head.
The kid had his forearms out, trying to keep the man from getting to
him.

“Hwwellph.”
  The kid struggled to say with Beard’s thumb
smashing across his mouth. His eyes were
white with fear.

Abby took a step forward and pointed her pistol right at
Beard’s head.
Boom
. The sound was
deafening in the tiny space. The world
turned to sharp ringing.

The kid, face covered in blood splatter, shoved Beard’s limp
body off. “Eli.”

Abby was confused.
“Huh?”

“Eli.” He said louder
this time.

She smiled, nodded her head, and let out a chest full of air.
  “Abby.”

******

The two of them sat in a pair of captain’s chairs on the
boat’s tower. They drifted slowly down
the river, pushed only by the current.
They looked out at the city they both once called home. Fires raged, billowing thick black smoke into
the air. Sporadic gunfire echoed off the
large buildings. Infected lined the
water’s banks. More could be seen
walking the streets in the background. It
was their city now.

The End