Authors: William Kenney
The thundering of the zombies' feet on the pavement grew in volume and intensity as they closed the gap. Klaus and Conor pulled Diane to her feet, completely supporting her weight between them and dragged her to the van. Conor jumped inside, helping Klaus as he helped Diane into the door.
Klaus was not fast enough.
Decomposing fingers wrapped around one of Diane's outstretched legs and began to pull. Immediately the single zombie was joined by others, also latching on to the lower half of her body.
"No!" Klaus cried out, jerking Diane backward with all his strength. "Conor, help me! They've got her!"
Conor jumped to his side, wrapping his hands around Diane's arm and kicking out with his boot, catching a zombie square in the face. It did not phase the thing. Even together, Klaus and Conor were far outnumbered. The resistance was too great.
"Fuck!" Conor shouted as he nearly lost his grip. The zombies were crazed, having fresh meat within their grasp and they began to tear at her legs and bite with their bloody teeth. She screamed so loud that Conor's ears rang even after a night of performing. Diane slid farther out of the van, the tug-of-war shifting heavily into the zombies' favor.
"God, no..." Klaus moaned as the strain became to much for his arms. "Please...Diane!"
She was thrashing in pain and terror, knowing what fate had befallen her. She turned and caught their eyes and they could see her pure fright as her shoes came free and teeth sank into her feet, blood squirting into the night air.
There was no way to save her.
The zombies were crawling up her body toward the van, ripping her clothing and flesh as they sought out more meat.
"We gotta let her go, Klaus..." Conor said, kicking at the zombies that began to move closer. "It's too late."
"No. I can't!" Klaus screamed, his arms bulging with the effort. Suddenly he fell backward, the weight somehow less heavy. He was able to pull Diane up a bit, her head level with his chest. Her face turned and he could see that she was in complete shock and incoherent.
"Klaus, let her go." Conor said, pointing down below into the horde. They had torn one of her legs from her body and were in the process of brutally consuming it. Blood pulsed from the stump, several of the monsters dropping to their knees to lap it up with their blackened tongues.
When Klaus saw this, he howled in grief, the sound of it vibrating the roof of the van. He put his hand to Diane's cheek, the zombies now returning to her other leg, trying to pull her away once more. Her eyes had rolled into the back of her head and her mouth hung open. She was so far gone that the pain no longer registered.
"Diane? Diane, I'm sorry, Honey..." Klaus whispered, tears and snot running down his face as he cried.
From up the street another large horde of zombies came running, their skeletal arms flailing about as if they swam through the air.
"Klaus!" Aiden shouted, revving the engine and pulling the van forward a few feet. "I'm sorry, man, but it's over. You have to let her go!"
Conor was kicking out like a madman, keeping the dead things from climbing into the van. He was scratched all over his forearms. He would soon be overrun.
Klaus looked to Conor, then back to Diane. He gritted his teeth and cursed, slamming his fist against the floor of the van.
"I love you..." he mumbled as he kissed her forehead and with a long sigh, he released her, the zombies instantly tearing her away. He closed his eyes as Conor smashed another one in the face and slid the door shut. One of the creatures managed to get its arm inside as the door slammed, chopping it from its body. It fell to the floor, fingers clasping, then opening, reaching out for anything to destroy.
"Aiden, go!" Conor called out and the tires squealed, the rear-end of the van swinging out wide as Aiden pulled away from the curb, throwing everyone across the back seat. The van scraped the side of several parked cars as he regained control and roared up the street. There were dead bodies everywhere, most being gnawed upon and dismembered. In the flickering firelight, people ran in every direction, their shadows bouncing around chaotically, making the entire scene one of confusion.
It took no time at all for downtown St. Louis to be completely overwhelmed by the living corpses, those who were bitten almost instantly transforming into more of the same and carrying on the bloodbath.
"Where you going, Aiden?" Gibby asked from just behind his left ear. It seemed as if the van had been going in circles and never truly managing to leave the city. Aiden had shattered the right headlight on his way out of the Landing and one wiper was standing straight up after a group of zombies had been struck, rolling over the hood before they hurtled past.
"I don't know," Aiden said, biting his lip. "All the major streets are blocked. Everyone had the same idea - get the fuck outta Dodge. Not sure where to go, just need time to think..."
"This is insanity," said Conor, now sitting in the passenger seat. "I mean, this shit's just not possible, is it? Am I losing my mind?"
"The stories were all true, man," Klaus said in a low voice from the back. "That shit in Korea, those videos... all true."
They all spun to look at him, this being the first thing he had said since losing his wife.
"It's the goddamned end of the world," he added, putting his head in his hands. "It just can't be real..."
It was a strange sight - seeing the big guy brought to tears - and the others looked away in discomfort.
Things that could only be zombies slammed against the van as it cruised down the littered street. Aiden had nowhere to go, all the main avenues of escape impassable, but he didn't dare stop. He knew that eventually they would run out of gas and have no choice. Then they would be done for.
"We need a place to hide, like right now," Gibby said staring out the side window at the massacre that now had the undead outnumbering the living. "What about the Arch?"
"Fuck no!" Conor said. "That's a stupid idea. Even if you could get up to the top, you'd be trapped up there. You'd starve to death. When we drove by, the base was swarming with those bastards. No way."
Gibby turned back to the window, feeling defeated. It had been a stupid idea, but what else could they do?
"We need to reach the top of a building," Aiden said, staring at the nearby rooftops as they drove by. "But getting to the top... that's going to be nearly impossible."
"Yeah, but that might be our only hope," Conor replied.
They rounded a corner, turning left, feasting monsters covering the center of the street. As the headlight hit them, many of them turned, bloodshot eyes staring in insatiable hunger, entrails hanging from their teeth. Aiden swung the van wide, the tires going up on the sidewalk as he passed, clipping a mailbox and sending it rolling.
They could hear and feel the zombies claw at the vehicle with a grating sound, like the proverbial chalkboard. Aiden accelerated, covering three blocks in no time, leaving the corpses behind. He took another left, having no other option. A burned out Greyhound bus blocked the street on the right and a brick building had collapsed straight ahead, flames licking the sky.
As he straightened the van, his light hit a group of people sprinting down the sidewalk. About two-hundred yards ahead of them, a man stood holding a manhole cover open, helping others descend the iron rungs that led below.
"That's it!" Aiden called out, pointing to the group. "The sewer tunnels are as safe as any place right now. Come on!"
He slammed on the brakes just ahead of the man holding the sewer lid, the tires screeching much louder than he had intended. They could hear the man shouting at them but could not make out his words.
"Right! Grab whatever's important to you and let's get the fuck out of here! Get the flashlight out of the glove compartment," Conor said. He reached over and pulled the keys from the ignition, then turned the volume knob on the radio all the way up. He crossed into the back seat, then into the cargo area. He grabbed two guitar cases and passed one up front to Aiden. "No way I'm leaving this."
"I heard
that
," replied Aiden, motioning to the sliding side door next to Klaus. "Klaus? You ready, man? We gotta scoot."
Klaus sighed and nodded slowly, reaching for the door handle.
"You guys ready?" he said, looking from face to face.
"Wait!" Gibby said, throwing his hands up. "What about my shit? Who's gonna help
me
?"
"You expect us to carry all of your drums down there?" Aiden asked. "Not gonna happen, dude. Besides, they're not gonna fit down that manhole. Leave it. We gotta go."
Gibby grumbled, tucking his drumstick bag under his arm and staring at his equipment in the back of the van.
That shit cost me an arm and a leg... and a nut.
"Here we go, guys," Klaus said and threw the door to the side. The crazed sounds of the besieged city hit them as they jumped down to the street and they could feel the tension around them. Gibby was the last one out and he slammed the door behind him, praying that his drums remained unharmed.
Conor glanced up and down the street. It seemed clear of zombies for now, but it was difficult to tell without working streetlights.
"Go," he said and made a crouching run for the manhole and the dozen or so people that were in the process of entering it. The others were right behind him, their shoes scuffing the pavement loudly as they crossed.
"No!" someone barked as they drew close. The man with supporting the manhole cover was shaking his head vigorously. "Get away. We found this place. You find your own. We'll be safe here and I don't trust anyone right now. Now get going!"
"Quiet, buddy," Gibby said, finger to his lips. "Noises bring these things runnin'. Now give us a break and let us in."
"Fuck you."
"Listen," Klaus said in a near-whisper, holding out a hand in an offering of peace. "I... I just saw my wife killed by these things. Please, just let us join you."
The man raised his eyebrows in surprise and looked away, shaking his head.
"Look, I'm sorry about your wife, but... I've got to protect my family. I told you, find your own place."
"Is that really how you want to play this?" Conor asked, stepping toward the man. "We can help. Safety in numbers, ya know?"
A sudden burst of noise came from down the darkened street, zombies charging toward them, not yet visible but numerous by the sound of it.
"We don't have much time, man," Conor asked, looking over his shoulder nervously. He cracked his knuckles and turned to the man once more. "Like I said, we can help you."
"Don't need your help, goddamit," the man replied with a scowl. "Need you to get the hell away from us."
"You got a gun on you?" Conor asked.
"Won't need one if I can get us into the tunnels..."
Conor punched the man square in the nose, the sound echoing hard against the building fronts, blood spraying out both sides as the man's head whipped back. He dropped the manhole cover and fell to the side, but Conor got his hands under it and held it open for the others to continue their exodus.
"That's all I needed to hear," he said as he motioned for everyone to hurry down the hole.
CHAPTER TWO
The man sat against the wet wall of the sewer, bloody cloth against one side of his nose, his eye beginning to swell as he scowled at Conor. Just before the slobbering zombies had reached them, Conor had pulled him by the ankles into the manhole and dragged the heavy metal lid into place. Together they had fallen down the rusted rungs of the ladder that was loosely bolted to the curved concrete wall.
Now the group, some seventeen shaken people in all, huddled together against one wall of the sewer system, their eyes wide and full of absolute fear. They had taken the nearest tunnel, traveling in a crouch as the ceiling dropped and the numerous rats scattered before them. After nearly half an hour of shuffling through the darkness, a point of light had pulled them forward into a round chamber, a junction of three tunnels, each passage that led into it covered by a heavy iron grate.
With luck they were able to squeeze through a break in the grate that blocked their way and enter the chamber. The place was roughly thirty feet across and twice as tall, lit somewhat by moonlight that filtered in from above, ladders rising up the sides to other manholes and drainage openings. To save the batteries, the flashlight was turned off and they sat in shadow. It was beyond filthy, with every imaginable type of debris and human excrement gathered in piles and clusters around them, giving off a vomit-inducing stench that had them covering their faces with the backs of their hands. At the center of the room was a pool of coagulated liquid about ten feet across that bubbled occasionally from the trapped gas within it.
"Did you have to hit me so hard?" asked the man, his voice muffled from the cloth.
"You were being an asshole..." Conor answered in a low voice as he stared up at Gibby who had climbed to the top of one of the ladders and was watching the horror taking place on the streets above. "We were desperate. You were going to let us all die."
"I was just trying to protect my daughters," the man said. The two young girls sat next to him, huddled against either shoulder, staring at Conor warily. They were beautiful blonde girls, one fifteen, the other seventeen, their faces now smudged and scraped from the night's ordeal. "This was my weekend to have them. Was on my way to take them back to their mother's when this shit happened. Those things are zombies, aren't they?"
"Looks like it," Conor replied, glancing over at his brother who sat next to a silent and brooding Klaus.
"They always said it was impossible, all this zombie apocalypse stuff," the man said, pulling the cloth away from his nose. The bleeding had stopped it seemed. By the looks of it, the nose was broken, switching angles abruptly about halfway down the bridge. "They made fun of everyone hoarding weapons, stockpiling supplies. Guess they weren't fools after all."
"Can't be zombies," came a new voice from across the room. He was a large black man, long dreadlocks hanging in a clump over his shoulder. A cane sat across his lap, a silver skull for its handle. He seemed to be in his thirties as did his two companions, both black as well. "That's some made-up Hollywood shit. Gotta be some virus or somethin' got these people gone crazy. Ain't no people fixin' to come back from the dead, Jackson."
Gibby began to climb down from the top of the ladder, Aiden standing to help him manage the last few steps.
"It doesn't matter what you call it," Conor said. "Zombies, undead, mutants, a virus. Either way, there are thousands of monsters that used to be human up there, tearing the city to pieces and killing every living thing they come in contact with."
"True, true," the black man agreed, tapping his thumbs on his cane. "I guess it don't matter. The motherfuckas wanna kill us all no matter what we call 'em."
"Hey, man. Language," the father said, pointing to his girls.
The black man rolled his eyes and waved it off.
"So you don't think they heard that word before, huh? They ain't two, daddy," he said.
"I'm just sayin' show some respect, that's all," said the man, Vernon was his name. His daughters, Trish and Mina looked at one another with small, secretive smiles.
"Dad, it's all right. The guy's right, we're not babies," Mina, the youngest of the girls said.
"Thank you, Miss," said the black guy with a nod. "My name's Uncle Leo. These are mah boys Bobo and Ink."
"Those aren't your real names..." Mina said with a smile.
"Straight up, but we don't like our real names. Ya'll be laughin' yo ass off, if you knew 'em," Uncle Leo said with a shrug. His buddies nodded and grinned, gold teeth shining in the dim light.
"Whoa... did that hurt? Getting those gold teeth?" asked Mina. Trish slapped her on the leg, feeling thoroughly embarrassed with her younger sister's line of questioning.
"Nah..." Ink said, his voice much higher than they expected, almost feminine. "Hurt a helluva lot more when dey got knocked out."
Conor noticed several others trying their cellphones with no luck. He grabbed his as well, scrolling through the address book for his wife. In all the craziness, he had not had time to contact her.
Soon everyone present was staring at their phones in frustration. All lines were busy or so the operator's voice said.
Then amazingly Conor's phone began to ring and after a few seconds, his wife Felicia answered.
"Conor?" she asked.
"Yeah, honey, it's me. Listen, I don't know how long this connection will last-"
"Is this all real, what we saw on television?" she asked. "Are you-"
"Yes, it's real. Listen - pack your bags and head to my mom's. Hopefully, that far out in the country, you and Luke will be safe-" Conor explained.
"Where are you? I'll just wait for you to-"
"No, no. Go now. I'm trapped downtown, me, Aiden and Gibby. Klaus is here, too. I have no idea how soon I can get home, honey. This... this is just insane," he said.
"Conor, I'm scared. Dead people? It's true?"
"Yes! Now, please go to my Mom's house. Do it now!"
The phone line startled to crackle, her voice stuttering as she spoke.
"I love you, Felicia," he said, but had no idea if she had heard him. Then the phone went dead.
The others stared at him with concern as Gibby approached, returning from his vantage point atop the ladder, his face as white as a sheet.
"Hey, you guys need to keep it down, all right. Everybody," he said as he crouched down next to them. "The zombies are pretty much finished with their business up there and things are getting quiet. We already know that they can hear a pin drop from miles away, so they'll be able to hear us down here."
"Stretch, I done said they ain't zombies," Uncle Leo explained. "Ain't no dead people comin' back to life-"
"Wrong," Gibby said, shaking his head. "That's exactly what's been happening since I started watching up there. They bite someone, half an hour later, that person pops back up. Everyone that gets bitten, comes back as one. I'd say that fits the zombie description, wouldn't you?"
"For real?" asked Bobo, rubbing his fingers over his goatee.
"You can go up and take a look for yourself if you want," said Gibby, motioning to the ladder with his thumb.
"Nah, I believe ya. Don't want to... but I do," said Bobo.
"Conor, your plan worked, I think," Gibby said, dropping down to sit next to him. "I heard the radio kick on in the van. Someone tried to steal it, got it started and the music brought about a zillion zombies down on them. Hopefully the van is still there. Hopefully it and my drums are still in one piece."
"I think you need to forget about the drums, Gib," Conor said. "I really don't think they're going to make it."
Gibby had no response, glancing over at the two guitar cases that rested against the wall.
"Maybe things will have calmed down enough in the morning to let us get out of here..." Klaus said, snapping everyone to attention. He had not spoken in some time and everyone had let him be. "I'm not staying in this shithole a moment longer than I have to."
"Me neither," Uncle Leo replied. "I agree. When the sun comes up, I say we do, too."
"Young man," came the voice of one of the other six, sitting together in a group apart from the others. She was a grey-haired lady in her late fifties, dressed in business attire, clutching a red leather handbag to her chest. Another woman, bearing a strong resemblance to her sat at her side, obviously her daughter. "Some of us are not as physically fit as the rest of you. If those things see us, we can't outrun them."
She looked at the other four that sat with them. Two older couples, women with hair of white, men with no hair at all, save for the bushy tufts that sprouted over their ears.
"Nonsense," one of the old men said. "I can get you out of here. Not a problem. I can protect you as well as these guys can. Go into the bedroom and get my gun."
The entire group looked at one another in confusion, one of the old women holding up her hand apologetically.
"Albert suffers from dementia," she explained as she placed her hand on top of his.
"So... playah won't know if he's gettin' eaten or not..." Ink said with a chuckle. No one laughed, only shot him warning glances. "Come on, I'm just playin', ya'll."
The woman ignored Ink's comments and went on.
"We can't go out there. Albert will never make it," she said.
"What's your plan, then?" Aiden said, holding up his hands. "You gonna camp out here for awhile?"
"Come back for us," said the woman. "We'll wait here while the rest of you go back up."
"What happens if we all get eaten alive and never come back?" Klaus interjected. "You could starve to death down here. I'm sorry, but that's a stupid idea. No offense. You'd be safer with us."
The woman held her tongue though she was visibly angry.
"I have to agree with Klaus," Conor said. "If we are lucky enough to make it to the van... and if the van starts... and if the streets are clear enough... we are getting the hell out of here."
"So you would just leave us here to die?" asked one of the other women.
Conor hesitated.
Was she right? Was that what he had said?
"I just... I mean we may only get one chance to escape. We may not be able to come back to get you. We are not that close to the van right now. We walked much farther than you think down here. We shouldn't separate. I truly believe that."
"He won't make it very far," Albert's wife said. "Please go get your van and come back for us."
"So some of us go for the van, the rest wait here," Aiden said, thinking the plan through. "We need to be able to find these manholes from above. We bring the van here, everyone climbs out and we drive off into the sunset."
"Shit... if it's that easy, I'll kiss yo white ass," Uncle Leo said with a smile.
"Well, I'll probably have a lot of lonely ass. You're right, no way it's gonna be that easy," said Aiden.
There came a shuffling sound from the passage that they had taken to arrive there. Everyone stopped talking, listening intently.
"What was that?" Trish whispered and her father grabbed her by the arm, motioning for her to keep quiet. More sounds echoed from the near distance, though the tunnel was so dark nothing could be seen.
"It's those things," Uncle Leo hissed, looking to the ladders for a means of escape. He was a big man, though, and knew it would be difficult for him to reach the top. "If we managed to get in here, so can they."
Everyone began to stand, glancing around anxiously as the sounds drew closer. Now gurgling moans were evident among the scraping of feet as the things moved toward them.
"We have to secure that grate, man," Aiden said as he moved over to Conor's side, looking down at the bent opening that they had squeezed through. "They'll come right through there."
Conor nodded, eyes darting around the room as he thought.
"Belts! Anyone with a belt on, toss it over here. I'm gonna tie this thing closed and hopefully buy us enough time to get up those ladders. The rest of you start climbing," he said. Six belts flew his way, landing near his feet, some of the owners grumbling as they gave them up.
Conor took of his own belt, one he only wore onstage with metal studs fastened into the black leather. He hoped the metal would give it a little more holding power. He and Aiden worked on the grate, pushing it, bending it back to its original position. One would hold it and the other would feed a belt through the openings and fasten it closed. Just as they finished the last belt, the dead eyes became visible as the group of zombies emerged from the black.
As soon as they made eye contact, the things bolted forward, slamming against the grate, forcing it inward, the bolts holding it squeaking with the pressure. Their arms reached through the openings, grey hands and fingers clutching at the air, trying desperately to reach the living flesh within. Their faces were in every manner of decomposition, some jawless, their wagging tongues hanging down upon their neck. They barked and growled like animals, the spit flying from their teeth as they struggled against the obstacle before them.