Tomb With A View

Three weeks into mayhem and destruction that looked like it would never end, the zombies quit trying. It happened literally overnight. One moment, they were slapping halfheartedly at our shiny glass doors; the next, the only sign they had ever been was streaky red-brown handprints. Our headquarters in the library went from DVD-bent-to-near-breaking-point tension to a stunned silence that lasted days.

Not that the undead completely up and vanished. Groups of stragglers could still be seen from time to time, but they didn’t seem to care anymore. Lyn grumbled something about us having lost too much weight to be appetizing, but even her dry musings soon died off as we realized that she might just be right. Our food supply was dwindling.

Which was why I now sat at Mel’s desk on the upper half-level of the library, scheming. Most of the book shelves had been moved downstairs in that first onslaught from the mercenaries and the rest had since been pushed out to the walls. Most of this floor was taken up by a kitchen-type area that consisted of a couple deep freezers, some commercial fridges, a scavenged receptionist’s desk and a couple rows of collapsible tables and flimsy chairs. Someone had managed to drag in a stove, too. Aside from that, there was a seating area against the far wall. A few couches and recliners made a cozy nest around an electric fireplace with towering stacks of books interspersed among the furniture. That area was separated from the rest of the floor by a semicircle of bookshelves. And between our nested “library” and the kitchen was where we now sat

Floor plans littered the table between us, wrinkled from heavy use. Every outside doorway was marred with the word “Secure” in red Sharpie and a blue line drew a path from our building to the food court of the nearby mall. I had breathed thanks to the city engineers more than once for the network of pedways that spiderwebbed beneath the entirety of Downtown.

“It’ll be like ordering takeout,” I said, tapping the Sharpie on the nearest food court in the mall. “I can take care of a few stragglers. And that’s assuming there are any. Your guys didn’t see any.”

Mel frowned. “I know what they saw.” He leaned forward on his elbows. “I can’t put these people at risk, Jimmy. We have food left for a few more days, at least. We can hold off a bit longer.”

“Hold off for what?” I demanded. “None of us are getting our fill at meal times anymore. There’s a huge supply of food a block away and you want to sit here and just wait?”

He hesitated. “I can’t jeopardize the safety of the people under my charge,” he said at last. “You have to understand my position here.”

“Dammit, Mel!” I barked, leaping to my feet. “You’re jeopardizing them already!”

The small amount of children we’d found who had survived the outbreak had been gathered together by a few would-be mothers and put immediately into a makeshift homeschool system. They were gathered in the dining area. A few of them glanced our way at my outburst, but quickly returned to what they were doing.

Mel noticed and looked back at me. “Would you keep it down?” he muttered tersely, then motioned with a sigh for me to sit down. I sat, grudgingly.

“Look,” I said, “I don’t like our options any more than you do. But we’re going to have to take risks if we want to make it out of this.”

His eyes asked the question none of us dared give voice to. Make it out of what? And to where? But all he said was, “Okay. But we’re locking the doors behind you.”

I nodded and grinned. “Just open them when I get back, will ya? I’d hate to come home to find the locks changed on me.”

* * *

Lynette found me downstairs, in the corner with the gun racks, as I selected a Sig Sauer M1911 model from its bevy of companions and holstered it at my hip. I had already donned a black t-shirt, matching fatigues and sturdy boots.

“You’re an idiot if you think you’re doing this alone.”

I glanced at her. “Then stop me.”

She snorted. “Hell no. I’m coming with you.” Her shoulder clipped mine as she reached past for her own sidearm.

I looked at her, weighing this time. Finally, I said, “You’re sure?”

She spared me time enough for a quick glare, checked the Glock’s magazine, slid it back in and racked the slide, then turned to give me a meaningful look. “I’m sure.”

Shrugging, I said, “Okay, it’s your skin.” But inside, I wondered if I would ever win an argument with her. I swear, women do the dumbest things for a little conflict. I picked up the shotgun I’d laid on a nearby table and slung it over my back. I glanced at a second ammunition belt, studded with red shotgun shells, and grabbed it after a moment of thought. You can never be too careful. “Don’t get left behind,” I told her and jogged away.

The pedway looked completely deserted as the doors slammed shut behind us with an echo that rolled ahead of us down the hallway. I grimaced. “Honey, I’m home,” I muttered.

Lynette glanced at me questioningly, but didn’t say anything. She had eyes only for the hallway ahead. We moved quickly, both unwilling to stay in this place longer than we needed to. The place looked completely deserted, but that only got me worried. It’s terribly unnerving, hearing only the sounds of boots. People had once milled about down here, hurrying more than they needed to, absorbed in cell phones and iPods that put them somewhere else, anywhere but here.

Funny how desires like that never seem to change.

We passed through another set of doors and into the train station. A long, brownish streak of blood stretched from the far doors all the way to the stairs leading down to the platform.

“I wonder if they had a ticket,” I mused.

Lynette drilled me with a hard look halfway between mirth and disgust. I wasn’t sure which I felt either. “Let’s get out of here,” she said.

The next set of doors opened to an upward sloping hallway of blue-grey tiles under harsh, flourescent light. We moved ahead at an easy jog. I unslung the shotgun at the crest of the hallway. No need to go in unprepared.

“I hate this,” Lynette growled. She was running with her sidearm in her hands.

“What?”

“Give me safety or give me a fight. I hate this in-between shit!”

Boy, did she ever have it right! My heart was beating way faster than my jogging was cause for.

Another set of doors, and the hallway changed direction again. We passed through a parkade without incident and slowed to enter the mall through a set of automatic sliding doors.

“Yeeeeaaaaaggghhhhh!” A skeletal figure was sprinting for us with two bony arms raised high over its head. My shotgun blast obliterated its chest as Lynette’s single handgun round punched through a cheek. It landed shoulders first on the floor and slid for a few feet before coming to a final rest.

I gave the room a quick survey, checking for more undead. An abandoned cart sat against one wall beside a mop pail and a Wet Floor sign. I motioned for Lynette to follow me and hurried over to peer inside the cart. It was half filled with folded New York Fries uniforms. Quickly, I snatched them out onto the floor.

“We’ll use this. I hope you like potatoes.”

Lynette gave me a questioning look between darting glances around the room, but followed when I led forward again. I pulled the cart up in front of the New York Fries booth and vaulted over the counter.

“What’s that smell?”

“Four-week-old fries,” I replied. The deep fryer was still bubbling. “That’ll be a hell of a power bill.” I poked my head into the back room. Empty, except for all the boxes. “Perfect!”

“What’s that?”

I turned back, holding a box with “NYF” printed boldly on the side. “Potatoes,” I grinned and handed it to her.

A guttural groan came faintly from somewhere inside the mall.

“You’d better haul ass,” she muttered as she dumped the potatoes into the cart, then turned to watch the room.

I agreed by tossing boxes two at a time into the cart until it was full. “Okay, kids, play time’s over!” I hauled at the cart with my left hand, Sig in the other.

The groan came again, in choir form this time. “You’re kidding...” I groaned. The cart was damned heavy! We left the food court and made for the sliding doors, past the dead skeletal zombie. The doors slid open, and Lynette barked a curse. I turned.

A group of fifty or more of the undead were shuffling out of a hallway near the food court. “Can you take the cart?” I barked at Lynette as I swiveled down to one knee and grabbed for my shotgun.

She didn’t answer, but grabbed the cart and started moving back toward the parkade. The shotgun roared, zombies fell, but the rest kept coming. Buckshot doesn’t do a whole lot to a zombie at far range. Not when you’re trying to kill all motor function.

We passed through the parkade and entered the hallway. Lynette strained with the cart with her Glock in her free hand, watching ahead for any threats while I hurried backwards alongside her, dropping smoking shells on the floor. For a brief moment, I was intensely thankful I had decided to bring the second belt of shotgun shells, but then a group of sprinters broke free of the growing crowd of undead.

“How’re you doing, Jimmy?” Lynette yelled.

“Oh just”--I slammed a round of buckshot into the gaping mouth of the nearest runner--”fine! How are you today?” I thought I heard her tsk, but it was drowned in my next shot and the sound of two more falling bodies.

We stopped at the doors exiting the train station. “We have to make sure they don’t follow us through here,” I told her as I whipped out the handgun and send more zombie brain matter splattering. Something caught my eye, then, as a figure darted through of another set of doors. “Shit!”

“What?”

“Stay here and hold them off!” There was no time to explain. That had been a kid, and he had been alone, and he had been alive! A couple zombies were on his tail, I saw, as I pounded through the doors and ran after him. I dropped them easily; the bastards never thought to look for prey behind them.

The boy stopped to eye me carefully in a suddenly very quiet hallway. I slowed to a walk. “You okay?”

He shrugged. “Fine. You?”

I stopped gaping. The kid looked to be no older than ten years old, but acted like an adult. There was nothing to show that he had just been chased by two dead men. “Come on, kid. It’s not safe here.” I motioned for him to follow.

“I have to find my mom,” he said. This time, a hint of childishness showed through. He looked tired.

Shots rang out behind us. Lynette hollered, “Jimmy!” She needed help. I couldn’t just leave the kid, though.

“Come on,” I said. “I’ll help you find your mom.”

His eyes brightened. “Really?”

“Yeah, yeah, come on!” He followed eagerly.

I crashed back through the doors to see Lynette fending a few stragglers off with the cart. Hurrying closer, I opened fire and watched them fall limply.

“Where the hell were you?” she demanded. “I ran out of--” She spotted the new arrival. “Who--are you okay?” That was directed at the kid. She didn’t wait for a reply, but looked back at me. “We should get back.”

“My thoughts exactly.”