The Living Dead Series (Book 2): World Without End (7 page)

Brian emerged from a narrow door at the end of the hallway and called, “Bea, David! Up here!”

The door led up a narrow staircase to an attic where the steeply pitched roof allowed them to stand up only in the center of the room.  A dirty round window looked out high over the block. Wiping some of the grime away with his sleeve, David looked out at the cul-de-sac filled with infected.

He evaluated their chances, counted his rounds again and sighed, knowing he didn’t have enough ammo to shoot his way out through the mass of infected. They were trapped up here with no way out. The boy, though, was excited and talking about something.

“I found this and I think it goes out to the roof.” Brian knelt next to a wall, lifting up an old dartboard to reveal a rough, wooden door, nailed shut and covered by three planks nailed over it. David stood, banged his head and swore.

Trying to remember what he had seen of the outside of the houses here David mentally placed the door. It couldn’t lead to the roof, the placement was wrong. What it should lead to, though, could be even better. It looked like it led to the house next door, specifically the attic.

“Brian, you may have just saved us. I think it actually leads to the adjoining house. If we’re lucky, we might be able to move from house to house and get out of the cul-de-sac and over into the next street.”

Bea looked down at the moldering throng of bodies in the street. The clock was drawing them in droves. Getting through them would be impossible and even if the ones in the house didn’t find their way up here they couldn’t stay in this attic with no water or food.

“So what do you think? I just can’t see another way out. We have to be prepared to run into infected and/or angry homeowners along the way. I still have ammo but not enough to shoot our way out of here.” David joined her at the window, gazing down.

“We both have guns, you know,” Bea said.

“Yeah but do you have any ammunition at all?”

“Not that much. I have two bullets left and Brian has four. We have a Glock but no ammo for it.”

“I think trying to get through the houses is the safest.”

“But how do we open the door?” Brian wanted to know.

David tried to pull away the planks covering the door. They wouldn’t budge.

“Good point. We need a crowbar or something.”

No crowbars were found but they did locate a rusted hammer. The planks came off fairly easily but the door was nailed fast into the frame with u-shaped nails that took some time to pry out. Eventually they pulled the last nail and the old door creaked open on long-unused, rusty hinges.

And revealed another door. David kicked it until it splintered and they picked out the fragments and crawled through into a small, dark room.

“My kingdom for a flashlight,” David paraphrased.

“That would definitely be more useful than a horse right now,” Bea agreed, feeling her way forward in the blackness.

Chinks along the edges of the rafters admitted some light and their eyes adjusted to the dusty darkness. There was little up here other than the bulk of the HVAC unit. They debated going down into the house and trying to find a flashlight.

“There’s always the chance a homeowner will be down there, infected or not.  We’re likely to get shot if not eaten. Let’s keep going.”

They found the next small door and went through into the next attic. This one had been converted into a loft master suite, complete with luxurious en-suite bath. Sky lights in the roof framed a gray sky and drifting snowflakes. They searched for ammunition, again fruitlessly. Brian began to jump on the bed. Bea grabbed his ankles and he collapsed, laughing. They froze when someone or something downstairs moaned. They heard a ringing crash like a vase or something else had been knocked over and then the sound of slow, dragging footsteps approaching the stairs.

Brian looked fearfully at Bea. They had gotten careless. Searching frantically for the door to the next attic they found nothing but smooth wall and decided it had been dry-walled over. The staircase leading up to this floor did not have a door and they heard thumping sounds drawing closer. David used the claw end of the hammer to break through the wall but the attic door must have been completely removed. Tearing the insulation out of the wall they kicked through the lathe to break into the other side. The footsteps came closer and a choking, putrid smell wafted up the stairs.

They were out of time. Bea pulled the gun from her pocket and, standing at the top of the steps, fired, hitting the shuffling infected homeowner in the jaw, blowing off the lower part of his face. He kept climbing then tripped on his own intestines that dangled on the steps in front of him. A child, possibly eight or nine and missing an arm, tried to mount the steps but tripped on the slick entrails and went down. Bea shot again and this time hit the man in the head. She didn’t have a bullet left for the child who appeared unable to get back up anyway.

David had torn out a hole in the wall big enough for them to squeeze through. Brian went through first, David tucked the hammer in his belt and followed quickly. Bea heard voices then a cry, quickly cut off.

She called, “Brian? Are you okay?”

There was no response. She looked through the hole and saw light but no Brian or David. The lathe scraped her shoulders and she lost her hat as she crawled onto a rough, plank floor and looked up into the twin barrels of a shotgun.

“P
ut your gun down and step over here, slowly.”

She knew she was out of ammunition and thought about throwing the gun at her but the middle-aged woman who had spoken kept the shotgun trained firmly at Bea’s head. A tall, beefy man in a Redskins jersey, presumably her husband, stood to one side with a bundle of bungee cords in one hand and in the other a knife held to Brian’s throat. David stood in the corner near a radiator with hands held high. His rifle was on the floor next to the man.

Bea placed the gun on the floor, never taking her eyes off Brian, and stood still while the man tied her hands behind her back and wound the cords around the radiator. The cast iron coils were hot to touch and she had to take care not to rest her hands against it.

“Why are you doing this? We’ll pay you for the damage to the wall. We’re just trying to find someplace safe. Please let us go,” Bea pleaded.

They ignored her and the man picked up the rifle, walked over and slammed the butt into David’s head. David went down with a sickening thud. He then took her back pack and threw it on the floor with Brian’s, tying him up next to her. David was trussed with cords and left lying in the corner.

“I wouldn’t bother screaming for help if I were you. You might attract attention you don’t want.”

The man picked up the rifle and handgun and they both left the room, the woman glancing back almost apologetically before closing the door firmly behind her.

“Did they talk to you? Why are they doing this?” Bea asked Brian.

“They didn’t say anything. When I came through they grabbed my arms and held the knife against my neck.”

David groaned and opened his eyes. Blood ran from his temple and his face was a sickly white. When he spoke his voice had a grating quality to it.

“They’re not used to taking captives. They didn’t frisk us. Brian, do you still have your gun?”

Before Brian could answer they heard voices raised in what sounded like an argument. A moan, anguished and chilling drifted down the hallway then a door slammed. Something began to pound against a wall or door in an incessant, unvarying rhythm.

“It’s in my pocket but I can’t reach it.” Frustrated, Brian exclaimed as one of his bound hands brushed against the radiator. It was hot enough to raise a small blister on the knuckle. The bungee cords forced them to constantly pull away from the radiator or get burned.

“What do you think they want?” Bea asked David.

“I have no idea. Maybe they’re mad at us for breaking into their house. I can’t blame them. Maybe they think we’re infected and don’t want us roaming around. Sounds like they have an infected trapped or tied-up down the hall. I assume it’s a family member.”

The room they were in looked as if someone had started a remodel they never finished. The floor was raw pine; there were rolls of pink insulation stacked in a corner and a table saw was shunted to one side underneath a skylight in the roof. An empty ceramic flower pot lay cast aside on the floor near David and he wriggled over to it, managing to pick it up with two fingers and smash it to shards which he used to begin sawing through the ropes on his hands. When their captors came back thirty minutes later he had made progress but still couldn’t free himself.

The man cut the cords holding Brian to the radiator while Bea shouted at him to take her instead. She kicked him in the shins at which he hit her hard across the face, dazing her momentarily. He re-bound Brian’s hands then frog-marched him out of the room, Bea screamed until her voice failed her. She slumped on the floor. Blood, warm and salty, trickled down from her split upper lip.

Meanwhile David sawed steadily through the cords. He felt them loosen and managed to free his hands and soon stood free. He untied Bea and together they cautiously opened the door and crept down the stairs to the second floor hallway. The putrid smell they had learned to associate with the infected was strong down here. They didn’t see anyone.

Bea heard Brian scream and they ran to the end of the hallway to the last room. The scene that greeted them was almost beyond belief. Bloody lumps of what had once been a dog lay scattered on the floor. A bookshelf held a mix of books from the
Series of Unfortunate Events
to
Twilight
and pictures of friends smiled from ribbon display boards on the wall. A girl, fifteen maybe sixteen, was bound to the radiator by a collar and long dog chain. Long, dark hair, matted and stiff with dried blood hung lank around her face. Her fingertips were shredded to bone where she clawed and pulled on the floor trying to get free. Brian crouched in a corner, hands still bound, while the girl’s mother pointed Bea’s revolver at him. When they stormed into the room the chained girl released a moan that was almost a howl and fought to get to them.

Her mother swiveled and turned the gun on Bea who ignored her and ran to Brian, pulled the gun from his pocket and fired. The girl dropped and lay still, head oozing black fluid onto the carpet. Her mother cried out and fired the revolver at Bea and Brian only to discover what Bea already knew. It was empty. She dropped the gun, ran to her lifeless daughter and cradled the broken skull in her lap. Her husband ran into the room and, taking in the scene, dropped to his knees and sobbed.

“You were going to feed my brother to her, weren’t you?” Bea pointed the gun at them but they never looked up, instead rocking the body of their child in their arms.

“We just wanted to keep her alive until they find a vaccine. That’s all. Oh, God forgive me, I am so sorry. I just wanted her to live.” The girl’s father sobbed brokenly.

“She was already dead and there is no cure for this.” David’s voice was harsh. He was still pale. Dried blood crusted on his face beneath the swollen lump on his temple.

The woman screamed at him, “You don’t know that, you don’t! Leave. Get out of here, now!” She picked up the discarded .38 and threw it at David who caught it and put it in his pocket.

Bea untied Brian’s hands and they left the room. David spotted his rifle leaning against a chest on the landing and snatched it up.

“I should kill them, they’re crazed,” he remarked, slinging the strap back over his shoulder. The weight of it was reassuring.

“Crazed by grief. Maybe now she’s really gone, they’ll come to terms with it.” Bea kept Brian’s hand in hers and for once he didn’t fight to get away.

“Don’t go soft, Beatrice. That’s your brother they tried to kill. We would have been next.”

She gripped Brian’s hand tighter. They went downstairs, looking out the front windows only to see that the infected still filled the small street and the daylight was starting to fade. The sound of sobbing echoed throughout the house.

The door in this attic had never been boarded over and they were soon through and into the next house. Another round window looked out over the neighborhood and they appeared to have reached the end of this row of houses. They would have to take their chances on foot from here.

This house looked as if someone either just moved in or was in the process of moving out. The attic was empty except for a few two-by-fours leaning against a wall. One bedroom on the middle floor had a double bed, a floor lamp and an empty suitcase. The rest were bare of any furnishings. An enormous flat screen topped the fireplace downstairs with a single leather recliner placed squarely in front of it. A few dishes and canned goods remained in the kitchen cupboards but the pantry contained a surprise. Three boxes of hollow point shells and two magazines for a Glock nestled snugly in a box in the back corner on the floor.

Bea snatched them up and opened the boxes. Maybe it was stealing but if she survived and the world returned to normal she would buy replacements for everything. The magazine fit perfectly and she loaded the Glock then stuck the other magazine in her backpack. She called Brian and David over to share the find. They wouldn’t fire unless they had to of course but just having the loaded guns made her feel slightly more secure.

David took his time loading the revolvers, pointing out the finer points of gun use and care. Brian listened raptly like an initiate joining a secret club. David showed him how to hold the gun with both hands when he fired and told him he should never have his finger on the trigger unless he had already acquired his target and was prepared to shoot it.

“Normally, I would tell you to aim for center mass since you’re more likely to hit the target that way but these aren’t normal times. Head shots are tricky but that’s what we have to shoot for. Blowing out knees might work too but get the head if you can. I want you to dry fire a little before we load this one.”

Brian took the gun, using both hands and keeping it pointed at the floor.

“Now aim, take a breath, let it out then fire.”

Brian pulled the trigger and the gun clicked. He was already comfortable with the gun and Bea watched him with approval tinged with trepidation. She really, really did not like this but what choice did they have? She watched him load her gun before she put it back in her coat pocket.

Behind the house was an upward-sloping garden hedged with dark-green hollies and behind the hedge should be Dumbarton Street. She couldn’t see out over the hedge and had no idea who or what they would find back there. The afternoon turned into evening. She called Evan but he didn’t pick up.

“I’m thinking we spend the night here. The homeowner is probably not coming back anytime soon and we have electricity and water and we’re locked down pretty tight. I’m going up to see if I can secure that attic door.” Bea said and left.

David looked around for something to eat. He had MREs in his jacket pockets but didn’t want to use them when other food sources were available. He found three cans of pasta and sauce in the cupboard, heated it on the cooktop and ladled it into three bowls. There were four beers in the fridge and he grabbed one, drinking half the can in what seemed like one gulp.

Brian came in and devoured his pasta then took a loaf of bread with him into the living room. David got another beer, followed him and tried to find something on the television. Only two channels were on and they just ran scrolling messages from FEMA about emergency preparedness.

“Guys, look what I found under the blankets on the bed!” Bea called out, carrying a laptop into the room. She sat on the floor and booted it up, Brian pressing close. The familiar Windows logo popped up on the screen.

David finished his beer and felt pleasantly relaxed, not drunk, but like someone who was glad to put a long and unpleasant day behind him. He would be cutting it close if he stayed here tonight but saw no way around it. It was bad enough facing those things by daylight, night would be suicide. Forty-eight hours until the chopper took off, no, now forty hours. This morning he thought that was too long to wait but now knew he would be lucky to get there in time. The city was a cesspool of the living dead. They might be slow and stupid but they were persistent and their ranks grew every hour, possibly every minute.

He hadn’t expected to take anyone under his wing along the way. He still didn’t know why he made the suggestion. Perhaps it was just that they seemed to be so alone and unprepared. He had more information on the virus than most people and had no illusions about this blowing over quickly. Very few people would survive this and everyone infected would die but wouldn’t stay dead without assistance.

“David? Did you hear that?” Bea asked.

He stopped wool-gathering and listened. “No, what did it sound like?”

“Like something fell upstairs. I’m going up to check. Will you stay with Brian if I…”

“Let me go up. It’s probably nothing but you two stay here.”

Slinging his AR over his shoulder he climbed the stairs, making as little noise as possible. Although there hadn’t been a lot of time for medical agents to analyze the virus, there were strong indications from the start that the dead retained their hearing longer than any other senses. As far as anyone knew, they didn’t feel pain and their vision deteriorated quickly. They seemed to be incapable of coherent speech but could and did moan loudly, sometimes gibbering excitedly when they found prey.

He cleared the second floor and proceeded to the attic where the boards Bea had wedged between the small door and low rafters had fallen. She had done a good job working with what she had. He put them back in, using the hammer to wedge them a little more tightly into place. If he had nails he would board it up but- he had to work with what was available.

Downstairs Bea and Brian washed the dishes and utensils and left them to dry. David thought that funny since it was highly unlikely the homeowner would come back and if he did he wouldn’t care about the state of his dishes. Still, washing dishes was one of the refinements of civilization that people held on to. He put his rifle on the small breakfast table.

“The boards fell down. I wedged them back into place and maybe they’ll hold. They’ll also serve as an early warning system in case our former captors decide to come over. I doubt they will though.”

“I still can’t believe they chained their daughter there, planning to keep her fed until they find a cure.”

“Grief does strange things to people. The world we’re used to is gone. From here on out you’ll have to always be on your guard.” 

“Like we always have to keep a pistol within reach.” Brian reached over to his jacket hanging on the knob of the coat closet and patted the pocket.