When The Light Goes Out (13 page)

Unlocked wooden doors. Jesus, why?

T'was the nature of the beast I suppose.

Murphy's Law coming to butt his zitty little head in where it didn't belong. "
Guys!
"

Everyone's head shot in my direction when I shouted, although I couldn't figure why. Maybe I'd just managed a tone of primal panic that not many people could accomplish at will. Maybe I outright startled them. But no matter the way, they were all staring at me, one or two realizing the problem right as the door started to slip open.

I'm not ashamed to say that I nearly dove away from it. But the thought of being over run by zombies, in a place where there were just as many hiding places for us, as for them, made me turn around. I did find myself, instead, body slamming the door closed. Holding it that way as best I could.

One figured there was a small mob outside those doors with the pressure working against me. I felt my feet slip. The stinging pain in my thigh was coming back full force. For a moment, I just wanted to die, again. But I pushed as hard as I could, holding the doors as shut as possible until reinforcements arrived.

Luckily they arrived quickly, or we all would have wound up dead. Door nails, dead.

I just sighed in relief, and moved out of the way, allowing the boys to do the dirty work long enough for the pain to stop shooting up through my body. Then I was right back next to them, pushing the door as hard as I could to keep the nasty little creatures out. We really didn't need their like in the place. I comforted myself, however momentarily, by considering the warehouse some A list club. Foolish as it sounds.

Even more foolish was the thought that "Z listers aren't allowed in."

The sanest thought that passed my mind was "What if Malachi's out there?" It struck fear into me. I was sure that, if he was out there, he wouldn't be coming back. Not with a mob of man-eating undead trying to get us. He was probably dead, half eaten, possibly rising in some alleyway in the distance. Either barely remembering us, or not at all.

I hoped for the latter.

Malachi was a strong boy; I didn't want to think of him unable to fight the urge to kill us. We may not have been his friends, but in such rough times, we were the best he had.

He was the best I had. Aside from Ian.

But Ian was different. He really was.

I'm not so sure how long we were standing there, up against the door, praying that the thing didn't give way. They were too thick to, if you asked me. But one wouldn't bet on it. Until, suddenly, all the pressure stopped. Stopped long enough for someone to jam something in the lock, and twist. Effectively keeping it shut.

One just hoped we'd be able to get it open again.

I'm sure we all had that thought, at the same moment, as I exchanged glances with the boys.

"Erm." I looked over at Ian, who was looking at the boys, who were looking at me. They all exchanged looks suddenly, some thought that completely went over my head, one assumes, as the chess dweeb threw a chunk of cloth (which I identified as a shirt after a few moments) at my head. I was grateful, but then had to go through the difficulties of finding a place to change. "Babathroom's over there."

"Thanks man."

And I walked, not appreciating the bathroom as much as the privacy. Gave me a moment to splash water (which I wasn't so sure was safe) over my face, and try to regain myself. Try to calm down. Try not to cry. Dammit, I wanted Malachi to walk through that door. Not because I liked him, but because I didn't want him to die. I really didn't want him to die. I didn't want anyone to die.

"Jesus, I'm a wimp."

The shirt was nice. A sort of elegant button up. Not too feminine, not too masculine. It was navy blue, maybe silk, I couldn't be sure. At all. I didn't want to be sure. I didn't know why I cared about the shirt, other then it gave me something to focus on. Something that wasn't the situation.

Back to the shirt. It was cold.

Soft.

I started to cry anyway. Dammit.

CHAPTER EIGHT

From the beginning...

The guns were beautiful really. How a child came across them no one was entirely sure. How he'd gotten caught in such a terrible situation they didn't understand much better. At first glance they could tell that he was skilled. Shooting, point blank and from a distance, without wavering once. He hit dead on the mark just about every time. Missing only once or twice. Having to shoot one of the monsters two or three times because, for some reason, it wouldn't stay down.

They'd felt rather bad, just watching from the car as the young man had to shoot several living people. They all knew that said people wouldn't be alive much longer. At least, not alive by normal standards. If you considered moving around, absentmindedly consuming flesh living, then sure, they were just that. But that was all a matter of opinion.

The only opinion that matter was that they needed that boy. They needed his help.

His expertise.

They hadn't expected this. Wanted this.

Worked for this.

It just sort of happened.

They were terribly worried that he wouldn't wake up, with his shirt half torn off of his body, and a chunk of hair missing from his skull. Sure, they'd packed off the wound, but it would scar. That was another thing that hurt. The sight of a fat, wobbling dead guy grabbing hold of the boys head, pulling. Watching him hold in a scream of utter agony.

He couldn't be much older then twenty. Maybe a year or two, at the very most. But that meant nothing as he rested there, looking completely innocent. Pained. Pale. Sick. Had the virus passed when his hair was pulled? Was it possible? They couldn't be sure. But they knew they were chopping the length as soon as he awoke.

Something told them he wouldn't be very pleased about that. Not even a little.

But it was something they had to do.

She was staring again, and they all laughed.

She was the youngest. Twenty five, attractive, and mostly single. Every once in a while they'd get her drunk enough for a good night, but other then that she was off limits. She believed in love, marriage, and losing her virginity to the coach of the football team at fourteen (however you'd better not say that to her face.) They really did love her, not only because she was the only girl, but because she was mostly the brains of the operation.

One could swear to it.

The young man was attractive too. They were straight enough, but had to admit he was nice to look at. Sort of girly, but not in a bad way really. It was the long hair that did it. Sure, his face was a bunch of soft lines, but maybe that was because he was relaxed from sleep. He hadn't looked nearly as feminine when he was fighting earlier. Before he got taken down.

They'd almost been afraid they wouldn't get to him in time.

But the car wasn't good enough to mow down half a dozen zombies, pick up the kid, and then run them over again. It was a Chevy.

An old one.

Like ancient old.

But it did the job. Got them around, even though they wouldn't be able to keep it much long. Eventually all the gas would run out and they'd be screwed. "Welcome back sleepy head."

The boys looked over again when the woman's voice sounded. She had one of those smiles. The kind she used on them on only two occasions, when she was about to inform them that their latest experiment finally came to maturity. Or that the hand in warm water trick worked, and they'd need to get their bed sheets washed quickly. With, of course, the exception of the time that an entire head of hair had to be shaved away after a terrible accident with a Bunsen burner and grapefruit.

Still didn't understand that one. "Did you sleep well?"

"Who're you?"

It sounded like he'd been rather drunk the night before. Maybe it was the antibiotics.

"My name's Serena. That over there is Jared, Luke, and everybody's father Wolfgang. Call him that and death arrives while you're sleeping in the form of a small, mutated rodent named Steve though. Call him Billy."

"Billy?"

"Long story." "I see.."

"Who might you be darling?" "Confused."

"I said who, not what." "Still confused."

Serena sighed, and sat back on her heels, staring down at the boy. He was probably woozy, so she could forgive him for the attitude. But the way that Billy was getting to his feet, fire shining behind his chocolate brown eyes. The old man was never willing to put up with people speaking to Serena that way, and ran a hand through graying locks before he got close enough to look down at the boy.

"Have some respect kid."

"Sorry, chock out of respect. How's about a little insolence for you?" "I'm more then willing to crack you in the teeth."

"I'm more then willing to bite.."

Luke and Jared were both biting back laughter. "..Grandpa."

That did it. The two were nearly rolling, tears streaming down their faces as Billy's face turned bright red. However the older man shot around like a whip, stalking over to the chortling men in such a fashion that they went stone still, and lost all expression. Cracking grins only after they'd been stared down, and the man turned again. Obviously still very angry. But probably wondering who should bare the brunt of it.

The young man, laying there, with bandages wrapped tightly around his skull, skin pale from exertion, was not above insults. He kept muttering to himself, and Serena of course,

as the older man paced. He didn't know whether to feel bad for him, or for the boys he kept sending glares to. But none of it made the boy stop. He didn't even know where he was. Or why he was there.

Hadn't he been fighting zombies? Was it all a dream?

Please say it was all a dream. "Where am I?"

"Southside Clinic. Aptly named not for location, but to confuse people. North side of town, about a mile away from city lines." Serena supplied the explanation helpfully, grinning a toothy grin at the boy. He may have been rude, but he was charming.

Especially when he grinned back. "What happened?"

"We were driving down the rode and you were sort of.. well.." The girl waffled.

"You were being attacked by a group of zombies." Billy didn't normally feel bad for his words, but when all color drained from the long haired mans face, he almost did. Almost. He couldn't help but realize the boy had been under the impression that the zombies were all some clinic food induced nightmare. "Sorry kid, but you were."

"Not bitten though!" Jared spoke up, popping to his feet in a second, stringy white blond hair swinging about his shoulders. He knew that look. That look said 'please kill me now.' But they needed him. "We got you before they did, don't worry."

"Only thing is they got some of your hair"

"Some of my..?" The boy raised a hand to his head, wincing, and suddenly realizing what the brunet meant.

"we're going to need to cut it." Luke finished speaking. Running a hand through his red tinted, brown locks. As much as he could with the short hair cut he'd only recently gotten. "You may not want to, but it's the only way."

"I'd like to see you try." "Don't tempt"

"Can't we do this later!?" Serena demanded, glaring at Luke for even bringing up the thought of a hair cut, knowing it would probably upset the boy. "We've got more important things to discuss."

"Like?"

"Like how you're going to help us, kind, and incredibly skilled stranger." The young man only just realized they were all wearing lab coats.

"What the hell have I gotten myself into?"

Seeing the look on his face, Luke and Jared were both laughing themselves to tears again. Falling against each other in a failing grab at composure. They only calmed down after

Billy gave each of their head a nice smack, and even then their shoulders were shaking with suppressed giggles. "Scientists?"

"You could say that.." Luke spoke with a grin, winking down at the wounded boy, ignoring the dirty look. "I'm the only professional." Was Billy's response. "These bozos were in college."

"What's with the coats then?"

"We're trying to fix something.." Jared didn't sound quite so happy anymore.

"Fix what?" "Fix this."

"Oh dear lord."

He's seen Serena go for the curtain, but hadn't expected to see a snarling, foaming animal caged there. It looked sort of like a small dog. A large cat maybe. He wasn't sure, it was so torn up. Every once in a while it would reach its head back, and seemingly tear off a chunk of its own flesh.