Among the Living (40 page)

He rolls to his feet and backs up to join us. I am at the door with Erin pulling me, trying to get me outside. I jerk my hand out of hers and raise the gun. I take steady aim and shoot two of the deaders, including the big woman, in the head. I’m pissed, and the sacrifice of the female Guard weighs heavy on my mind. Nelson stalks toward me, picking up his empty machine gun in the process. He doesn’t speak, but when our eyes meet, I see approval there.

We are all out on the deck when I decide to do something stupid. I run back inside the lobby. It is filling with deaders very quickly. I grab a gold pole and rush back outside. The nearest one was four or five feet away, but I don’t think I have ever been so scared in my entire life. My scrotum is shriveled up under my gut, and I’m shaking like a leaf when I jam the thing against the door in the hope that it will hold them back for a few seconds.

The parking lot is surprisingly calm as we descend the stairs. Nelson slaps me on the back once, then peels off and joins his comrades. The National Guard guys are pushing back a group of civilians who try to jump on the ferry. A guy with a bullhorn is ordering calm, but no one is interested in that. Three or four of them leave the ferry and jump onto the dock with guns at the ready. More pile out of trucks and make a beeline for the deaders across the way.

A group of deaders prowl the street under the viaduct. They seem to be going car to car as if hunting like a pack. A siren goes off at that moment—a loud shrill that reminds me of the old air raid sirens you hear in videos about World War II. It howls, and every deader in view stops to stare into the sky as if searching for the source.

“Please proceed to the football stadium. You will be safe. Please proceed to Qwest Field football stadium. You will be protected. You will be safe.” Then the thing repeats. The sound echoes across the waterfront and rolls over the city.

“At least we’re close,” Erin says as we jog across the parking lot through which a stream of people walk and run. Many have cell phones pressed to their ears, but there is no talking. Some stare at their screens, but they are probably having the same problem as earlier. No signal. Could it be that the military has cut it? Or maybe the government decided to …

“Oh my God!” I actually stop and grab Erin by the arms. She looks at me as if I have lost my mind, and I wish that were the worst of my problems. “They are cutting off the city!”

She looks at the Guards standing by the ferry entrance, and as if on cue, the massive boat slips free of its mooring and putters away on the calm surface of the Puget Sound. There is no fanfare, no howling whistle, just a calm departure under ideal sailing conditions with the exception of one problem: there are no passengers.

We dash down the sidewalk with other runners, all of whom seem unaffected by the virus. The deaders are still across the street, a street filled with cars that can’t go anywhere. Some of the guards take up positions on top of the stalled automobiles and open fire. The infected ones drop, but there are many more to replace them.

Some of the deaders have figured out that people are hiding in these cars. They roll up windows as the things pass, and some even start their engines, probably to run the air conditioner. Then one of the things leans over and peers into a car, a little blue compact with shiny rims.

The deader bangs his head against the window a few times, and the couple in the car recoil in horror as the blood-drenched man leers at them. It strikes a few more times, and the window shatters. The girl in the car jumps out of her side but is swarmed by a waiting horde. The one that broke the window leans in and pulls the struggling man out by his hair and one shoulder. He thrashes in his grip and punches at the deader with little effect.

One of the monsters, a woman missing her hair and part of an arm, grabs a screaming infant from the back and hauls it out, then tears at the soft belly like an animal with a fresh kill. I can’t help myself; I break off from the crowd with my gun held high and walk into the middle of the street. The rifle comes up just as I have learned in the past fifteen minutes. I aim carefully and stroke the trigger.

The woman falls when one side of her head disappears in a spray of blood. Then I aim at the one who is tearing at the driver and shoot him through the throat. A spray of blood erupts from his back like a consumptive’s cough.

I drop the last one and turn the gun on the man and woman who were attacked. My arms shake and then my body reacts violently, and I nearly fall over. With an effort, I stagger forward and put my hand on a car hood to steady myself. The shakes are setting in badly. One of the National Guard approaches me, a slim man with a shaved head. He puts his hand on my shoulder. I turn to face him, and he gives me a dour look.

“That was a brave thing you did, man. Fucking brave.”

I don’t feel brave. In fact, I feel small and used up. The day has been a nightmare, with the exception of the time I spent with Erin, and isn’t it ironic that just yesterday I had the best day of my life? Erin has been a dream today. From the shower, the night of lovemaking, to seeing her in the kitchen moving around with a soft smile on her face, unaware that I was watching her.

“I just did what I had to,” I tell the guy.

“Sometimes that’s the only thing you can do.” I think I understand what the brotherhood of battle does to warriors, because I suddenly feel very grateful for his reassurances. “Here, man, take what you need,” and he drops a belt at my feet.

It is like his, loaded with magazines and a handgun.

“Don’t you need this?”

“That was Stewart’s, but his black ass is dead. I know that because I shot him myself after one of those things bit him. Just take it, man. It’s weighing me down, and I need to keep my arms free.” We walk at a brisk pace to the sidewalk as we talk. Erin is at my side again. She turns to stare into my eyes, but I don’t want to think about anything right now, so I don’t bother looking for anger or pity.

I buckle the belt on, and it fits better than I expected. I have to loosen the buckle an inch or two, but it is snug on my waist. I check the pouches and magazines; there is a handgun that I hand to Erin. She takes it without a word, pops the magazine like she knows what she is doing, and then slams it back home. She pulls the slide back a bit and peers into the chamber. Satisfied, she carries it at her side.

“Shit is getting crazy, man. They’re everywhere. Most of my guys are gone, dead. We fought them off as long as we could, but there are too many of them and more by the minute. Get to the football field and you should be safe. They are going to ship people out from there as soon as things are sorted out.”

“How did this happen?” I ask. I’m exasperated with how calmly he is informing me that the city is losing its battle with the monsters.

“I don’t know. All I can say is we’ve been running all over the damn place trying to contain it. We had some neighborhood in Queen Anne locked up for two days before the things got out.”

Of course, the ridiculous gas leak they talked about on the news. But how did it start there? I will ask questions until I get what I am looking for, and then Erin and I will write the story of the decade told from the viewpoint of the survivors on the street.

Assuming we survive, of course.

Screams erupt behind us. The things have broken out of the terminal, and there are more running down Alaska Way. A lot more. In fact, I can’t count how many. My new friend waves and runs off to join his companions. Gunfire starts up again, and this time there are many rifles firing.

We run straight up Yestler Avenue. There are none ahead of us, but they may be coming up one of the side streets soon.

We make it to Occidental, then First Avenue before going north. In the distance, Mount Rainier shows clear as a picture against a deep blue sky. The roof of the football stadium is dead ahead.

There are crowds of people walking, running, on scooters, and even a pair on Segways. Behind me, there is a yowl that sends chills down my spine. I glance back, and there they are. It’s like a sea with hundreds of them in pursuit. Someone catches my eye, a familiar figure with two blades in hand. She is being followed by one of the female National Guardsmen we saw earlier. Hot on her heels are at least a dozen of the things, and they are howling for blood.

“We have to help her!” I yell at Erin, and before she can answer, I run to a red BMW stuck in the middle of the street. I slam my upper legs against the car, raise the gun and begin firing at the deaders pursing her. One or two drop in a heap. I miss one by a lot, as I jostle the shot at the last minute, but the bullet smacks into a thigh and the thing goes down as well.

The girl looks behind her and puts on a burst of speed straight toward us. Erin raises the handgun and fires. I watch this from the corner of my eye, and it is a beautiful sight. She aims, fires and shifts. Then aims and fires again. So smooth and so calm. When I first held the machine gun, I wanted to lean over and throw up.

Then the girl is there, and she shoots us a look of gratitude. She is covered in blood like she just showered in the stuff, and for a split second I wonder if she is one of them. But her moves are far too coordinated. She moves like nothing I have seen before, fluid and deadly.

There are far too many people ahead. We will never make it before we hit the back of the mob, and then we will be picked off. As if thinking the same thing, the deaders advance in numbers so great that they fill the avenue.

“Let’s go up a few streets and cut over,” the girl yells.

We nod and join her, and she is suddenly our leader. I follow gladly, since I am not cut out for that the way Nelson had been. We run up Yestler, and the street ahead is clear. Then we hit Second, Third and cut toward the football stadium, which is now just to the northeast. The girl with the rifle slows first. She looks behind, but there are none in the immediate vicinity. She leans over and puts her hands on her knees, drawing in deep breaths.

“I’m Kate,” the girl with the swords says. She is much younger than I thought earlier. I do introductions. The other woman doesn’t say anything, and I don’t ask. Her eyes look more haunted than those of the woman in the ferry terminal, Alice. I wonder if she lost someone or if she is just sick of the killing.

“So Mike, you are pretty handy with that machine gun … wouldn’t know it from looking at you.” Kate grins. She wipes blood off her face and smears it on her jeans as if it were just water.

“I’m a fast learner, sort of on-the-job training. Normally I’m a writer.”

She nods, and we start walking again. Three helicopters zip by us, and for the first time, I see that one of them is a news chopper. I wondered how long they would be able to keep this a secret.

“It was a real bad idea to take the whole fucking city off line,” the woman says and hefts her machine gun up and onto her shoulder.

“They were trying to isolate the city, weren’t they? That occurred to me when the ferry set sail and there were no passengers,” I say.

“That was the plan. Fucking stupid one if you ask me. Said they didn’t want a panic, they thought they could contain it, but we all knew that was bullshit,” the woman in green fatigues offers.

We continue walking, trying to catch our breaths. There are none of them behind us, and I welcome the respite. I could go the rest of my life without seeing another deader and be as happy as a clam.

We are very close to Qwest Field; I can make out the river of people streaming into it. Here and there, cars race along sidewalks, jitter into streets that aren’t blocked too badly and swerve around people when they can. I can’t wait until Erin and I are safe inside so I can tell her how much she means to me, even though our feelings have only been out for a day.

“Must have been hard to cut everything off and not raise a panic,” Kate says.

“Not from what I heard. I heard that homeland pulled the plug just like pulling a telephone cable out of the wall.”

“They can’t do that … There are rules,” Erin says with indignation.

“Fuck rules, this is the end of the world. If one of those things gets outside the city and spreads the virus, how are they going to contain it? And what do you think the odds are of them getting all of the dead fucks? Not a chance, man.” The soldier spits on the side of the road.

“It can’t be that bad.” There is disbelief in my voice, but I think about what she said and wonder, just wonder how fast it would spread. I have seen one bite take someone and change him or her in a matter of minutes. She’s right; if it gets out, we are all screwed.

“Here they come!” a kid with long blond hair and a black t-shirt yells as he careens down the street. He grips a tire iron in one hand, and there are spots of blood all over his pants.

“Where ...” I start to wonder out loud, and then I see them running down Main. There must be hundreds, and they are all moaning for blood.

“Oh holy fuck!” the woman whose name I still don’t know screams.

Some Guardsmen come around the corner on their way from Fourth Avenue and set up a line of fire. They open up, and the staccato sound is loud. A Humvee pushes into the street, and the big machine gun on top starts rattling like a chainsaw.

We don’t wait around. We are close to the stadium. A few blocks and we will be safe. Then more of the things arrive on Fourth Avenue, and we start to run toward the water again.