The End Came With a Kiss (12 page)

He gives a nervous nod.

"Well," I say, pushing out into the anti chamber between the lab and the offices, "here goes nothing."

Ashlyn holds the inner door open while I open the outer and take a peek. There are some cubicle partitions around the outer edge that have been pushed inward by the rampaging mob, and some furniture is scattered about. A man works quietly at his desk not far in front of me. Behind him two more talk by the watercooler alcove. Good, they’ve returned to their loops.

I push through and, with Ashlyn close behind, we make our way to the executive offices. I pass the room where the two men are hunkered down; I'm curious to see what’s become of Kevin.

The door to the office is open, and there is a strange thumping emanating from within. I hold my hand up to stop Ashlyn before peeking around the corner. The walls of the room glow amber from the light of the rising sun. On the far side a lone figure stands at the window. I can't see his face, but I can tell by the enormous blood clot on the back of his head and the dark red sludge caked down the small of his back that it’s Kevin. His eyeless face is watching the sun crest over the tops of the buildings while his right hand raps on the glass in a dull rhythm. Did the sun’s warmth draw him to the window, or did the wound I inflicted on him leave some portions of his brain—and the associated muscle memories—intact. Can his brain mend itself and reconnect the broken pathways? Can the restorative agent in his body bring at least part of who he was back?

I feel my teeth grit.

Ashlyn gives me a nudge with her elbow. "There’s nothing we can do for him now. It was a mistake. You didn’t know."

I try to convey my remorse, but my face is inadequate to the task. How could I not have known? It seems pretty obvious now. "How many have I done this to?" I say in a low voice. "If we find a cure, how many are lost forever because of me?"

"These are extraordinary circumstances. You’re doing the best you can. No one will blame you for making a few mistakes." Her beautiful emerald eyes have a twinkle of compassion, and her expression reassures me that she is willing to forgive. "Come on," she says, backing toward the other door. "We have supplies to drop off."

I follow slowly at first, but my stability returns by the time we reach the office. "Hello?" I say, rapping on the door. "You okay in there?"

It sounds like they’re moving large objects away from the door. Finally it opens and the handsome face of the younger black man appears. There’s a smile on it. "Man, are we glad to see you."

"We brought some supplies," I say, holding up the bag.

He pulls the door open the rest of the way, and the heat and smell of Axe body spray hits me in the face. Both men have disrobed because of the heat. The younger man's shirtless upper body is lean and muscular, his six pack abs touch on the grey fabric peeking out from his jeans. With a glint of sweat, he looks like a male stripper. My expression must reveal my thoughts because he snatches his shirt off the floor and starts to put it on.

The round-faced mountain of a man stands in the middle of the room, resting a massive hand on an office desk that has been turned on its side. In the light of the morning sun he looks like a bronze statue, but his dirty cotton t-shirt and vintage washed jeans ruin the effect.

There isn’t time for pleasantries, so I hand the bag in. "There’s food, medicine, water and a radio. If you get into trouble, you can contact my associate Lau."

The younger man’s brows lift. "Your associate? Why? You going somewhere?"

My eyes bounce back and forth between their expectant faces. It's clear they were hoping for more than a quick delivery.

"I’m sorry, but my wife is in trouble and I need to go find her. We won’t be gone long. In the mean time, Lau…"

"We can help," says the large man, inching forward.

I feel my head shaking. "No. We’re all set."

There's an urgency in his countenance. "The dead out there aren’t like the ones in your office. They don’t go back to normal. They’re different."

"Yes. We know. They’re hungry."

Surprise washes across the younger man’s face. "You know about the hunger?"

I figure it isn't wise to divulge everything we know. Not yet. So I give him the short answer. "Yes. We know about it."

"Then you know you can’t go out there, not alone anyway. They’re eating everything in sight. If they set their eyes on you they won’t stop till they get you." I can tell by the terror in his eyes that he has witnessed this. They both have.

"We don’t have a choice. My wife is out there and I have to get her."

"Then let us help," says the big man again. "We've made routes through the city. We could show you. And we know how they think, how they hunt."

Again, my head is shaking. "I appreciate the offer, but…"

"I know you don’t know us, and I know how dangerous that is. It’s hard to know who to trust. We’ve had our share of troubles with the living as well as the dead, but we’re stronger together."

My head is still shaking.

"Listen," he says, "I don’t know how many there are of you, but we had six, and needed every one of them to survive. We all had something to offer the group."

His point is actually valid. I feel my resolve weakening. We would have a better chance if there were more of us. With his military knowledge he would be handy. And it would give us a chance to get to know them. If we should have to give them refuge in the lab, I’d be able to vouch for them.

He reaches out and grips the younger man’s shoulders as though presenting him to us. "My son has a degree in chemistry, plus he’s strong as an ox. And I can build anything. I was a construction contractor. I used to build houses from the ground up: wires, plumbing, everything."

My eyes wander to Ashlyn. I can tell from her expression that she is okay with this. There's even a hint of excitement in her eyes. I wish I shared it.

"All right," I say, cautiously. "But, so that we are clear, I’m in charge. This isn’t a democracy." My harsh tone is purposeful, to gauge their response. I can’t endanger our research again by allowing someone into our group who has his own ideas of how things should run. I’ve learned my lesson several times over. My eyes slowly study their reaction. I sense no hint of defiance or resistance. This might work.

"We understand," says the big man with vigor. The younger man shares his agreement.

I feel my posture loosen. "Good. As long as we are on the same page."

There is an awkwardness, which I promptly fill with an introduction. "I’m Ben and this is Ashlyn."

"I’m Harry and this is my son James."

"All right. Go ahead and get your stuff on. We need to leave right away. I don’t want to be coming back into the city after dark."

Harry’s brows lift. "You’re going outside the city?"

"Yes. To the suburbs."

"On foot?"

"No. I have a car."

The two men share a glance of humor.

"What? You don’t think we can make it out of the city in my car?"

Harry’s face turns apologetic, but his son keeps smiling. "No. It’s just that, we might have something that will work better than that."

"Like what, a truck?"

A brilliant white smile lifts his round cheeks. "Even better," he says, "A Brink’s armored truck."

12

Having learned that Harry and his son lived next door to a security officer for the Brink’s company, and that it was his truck they used to safely traverse the eight streets between their location and ours, we agree that it is the best option for exiting the city. But he tells me it is far from safe. His next-door neighbor relayed news that another man from the company, who also acquired an armored car, was trapped in it for over a week when it was tipped on its side by a mob of angry loopers. They banged on it day and night without ceasing. The man would have starved to death if the loopers had not been lured away by other surviving humans. That was before the hunger. It would be far worse now.

We take the stairwell to the bottom, slowing three times to cautiously move past the doors to levels five, three, and two with our flashlights turned off. Ashlyn says she put food on all thirty two floors, but something has gotten the bottom of the building stirred up. Some of the hungry loopers from outside probably got in. I’m sure there will be a lot more of that as things get worse. The chaos outside is only the result of a few hundred. I don’t want to imagine what it will be like when they all grow hungry.

At the bottom of the stairs a door leads out into a hallway that runs down into the basement one way, and out to the bottom level of the parking garage the other. Our lights glimmer off the polished tile floor and stone walls as we quietly file into the hall.

Slowly the door closes behind us, but, before it clicks, we hear a blood-curdling scream echo down the hard innards of the stairwell. The realization that we could have run into whoever made that scream causes Ashlyn and me to share a pensive look of relief, but it doesn’t last long. A rattling sound from the direction of the basement causes the four of us to spin around with flashlights and weapons pointed.

Standing in the fluttering light is one of the building's janitors, whose name eludes me. Our lights have caused him to freeze rigid as a board, eyes wide, keys dangling. I’ve run into him many times in my travels to the generator, but not since the hunger. Now I don't know what to expect.

"Did you put food down in the basement?" I ask Ashlyn over my shoulder.

"Yeah. Two bulk sized cans of SpaghettiOs."

I flash my light on his face and run it down the front of his shirt. "There’s no sauce," I say nervously.

"Maybe he wasn’t hungry."

He could have been eating all along as part of his loop. That's a possibility. I’ve seen many of them do it successfully.

"Well. Let’s all just back out slowly, just in case."

As a unit, we start to pull away, lowering our lights as we go. The janitor remains fixed in his spot. From the darkness I hear his faint fluttering breaths, but that isn't the only thing I hear. There is a ruckus of noise reverberating through the wall of the stairwell, and it is getting louder. It sounds like something has drawn the loopers down from one of the floors above. Are they chasing something? Are they following our scent? There's no time to explore the thought. They're coming, and judging from the rate the sound is increasing, they're coming fast!

"We have to get out of here!" The words fly out of my mouth.

The four of us fumble into a run, clunking and rattling down the hallway toward the doors to the parking garage. James is in the lead, and Harry is trailing behind, his large mass does not accelerate well.

"Come on! It's not far!" I scream.

An explosion of sound erupts from the stairwell door behind us. I hear them pushing through, slamming against the far wall, their moans and growls mingling with the sickening sound of their bodies thumping against each other.

Though the doors are a few meters away, my mind is already calculating a way to bar them from the other side. A clear image of the doors and their handles appears in my head. I assume it is because of the experimental pills, and for the first time, I am grateful for taking them.

It is a double metal door and the handles are u-shaped. If we can find something to slide through, it might be enough to hold the hungry loopers back. But what can we use? We have the shotguns, but we’ll be needing those. In the dream-like image, I don't see anything near the doors, but there might be something now. This memory is old.

Harry’s voice booms out. "They’re coming this way!"

James is at the door. He slams through and holds it open for the rest of us. When I am through I look back at Harry. He is farther back than I thought, and behind him is a horrific sight. The beautiful dead fill the hall all the way back to the stairwell.

"RUN!" I scream.

Fueled by the fear in my voice Harry pushes harder. There are only seconds before the wave will hit the doors. I twist around, looking for anything to shove in through the handles. There are some soda cans and broken rocks. Those won't work. There is also a shopping cart crushed against the wall. It has some items in it, but nothing resembling a bar.

Harry blasts through the doors and I hear James slam it shut.

"There's nothing to bar the door!" I scream. "We need something to bar the door!" I spin back around. All I have is the shotgun. I push James with my shoulder and struggle to get the shotgun through the handles. It won't fit! The stock is too large! I jiggle and push with desperation.

James' voice sounds distant and hollow in my ears. "It's okay! Let's go."

"It's not okay! They're going to push through and tear us apart. We won't get ten feet." I shove the shotgun in the hole again, and twist. COME ON, FIT!

"Ben! It's okay!" shouts Ashlyn.

Thud! THUD, thud, THUD! The doors groan and I jump backward, expecting them to fly open, but they don't. They're holding! How are they holding? I can hear the door bars compressing over and over again. They're not engaging.

"It's okay," says James again. "I flicked the lock up on the edge of the door. They can’t get through." I feel his hand grip my bicep. "Let’s go."