Machines of the Dead (26 page)

He felt a little better after punching Zaun. He shouldn’t have done it, but he was too upset to care. They’d almost been killed, turned into zombie chow, and Zaun needed to comprehend that his friend—his understanding friend
,
needed him to pay in some way, even if that way was in the form of a single punch to the face. Let the guy know how angry he was and that those kinds of actions wouldn’t be tolerated.

“You almost got us killed,” Maria went on. “You know that? And now we’re stuck on this roof in the cold.”

“We need to be able to count on you,” Jack chimed in. “On each other.”

Zaun looked like a kid
who had
been told Santa wasn’t coming this year. “I’m so sorry guys.
”
He looked at Jack, then Maria. “I . . . it won’t happen again.”

Maria was shaking her head, biting her lip and tapping her foot, appearing ready to explode. She didn’t know about Zaun’s past
,
his drug problem, but that wasn’t really the issue. If Zaun had remained in the apartment
,
none of this would be happening. But Jack didn’t want the guy sliding into a depressed state, spiraling downward. They needed him. He had little knowledge of dealing with a recovering addict, but figured it was best to stay positive.

“We need to settle this here and now,” he said.

“Settle my ass,” Maria spat. “How am I supposed to trust this guy? What if you didn’t wake up when you did and the dead came upstairs and into our apartment?”

“I know. But the important thing is that I
did
wake up.”

“Maria,” Zaun said. “I’m sorry. Sorrier than you’ll ever know. It won’t happen again. I should’ve stayed in the apartment. I know we’re a group. We need each other in order to make it out of here. I was only thinking of myself, pretending the situation wasn’t so bad. I was wrong. So wrong. If I’d listened and stayed, we’d be all right now.”

“Yeah. You should be sorry.”

“I know this might sound crazy, but if you want to hit me go ahead. I think it made Jack feel better.”

This only seemed to make Maria angrier as her fingers curled into fists. “If I want to hit you, I don’t need permission or a free swing. I have a daughter I need to get back to. I won’t let anyone jeopardize that. Do it again and it’ll be more than a fist you’ll have to worry about.”

Zaun nodded. “I understand. Again, to the both of you, I’m so, so sorry.”

Maria seemed to calm down a bit, but Jack could see she was still fuming. She looked like a woman wearing an invisible straight jacket, arms folded tightly over her chest and breathing hard.

“Let’s take care of that leg,” Jack said to Zaun.

“I’ll do it,” Maria offered. “I need to do something besides reload my weapons. Fixing you up will help me calm down. Don’t know why, but it always did on the battlefield. Maybe zapping your ass will make me smile.”

Jack looked at her funny, then smiled. “I’m going to check the roofs, see if I can find a way into one of the other buildings.”

“Be careful, Jack,” Maria told him as he left her to tend to Zaun. 

He wasn’t sure how long they’d survive on the roof. They had food and water, making the physical aspect of survival possible, at least for a couple of days, but without sleep—the frigid weather making it impossible—their mental well-being would suffer. And if they planned on making it off the roof, they needed their physical and mental facets to be in top form.

He wondered how the rest of the world was doing
,
if the bot-virus had spread much farther than the metropolitan area? Was his sister, Sara, okay? She was all he had left. He couldn’t think about her now. He needed to stay focused. When they found shelter
,
he would
take out the picture of his wife and reminisce over it, but until then
,
he had to leave his emotions, at least the tender ones, at the door.

He approached one of the other roof hatches. Why he thought it would be easier to open than before was completely lost on him. The thing was rock solid and tightly sealed. He thought about trying to blast his way through, but found the idea unlikely to work.

“Hey,” he yelled to the others. Maria looked up. She was rubbing ointment onto Zaun’s wound. “I’m going to check the fire escape on the other building. The one with the ladder.” Maria gave him the thumbs up, then told him to be careful.

There were eight buildings connected together. Jack went to the only other one with a ladder connected to a fire escape and climbed down. Using the stock of his shotgun, he smashed in the window, then began kicking at the security gate. The thing wouldn’t budge. Shouldering his weapon, he reached out to grab the gate, thinking maybe it was unlocked and he could just slide it open, when a set of gnarled and bloodied fingers shot through the bars. Jack flinched, taking his hand back. Looking through the gaps in the bars, wide enough for digits but not much else, Jack saw an elderly member of the undead, dressed in a blue dress and wearing an apron. Trying to see passed the thing, he didn’t think he saw any more undead inside. If it was just the one, it wouldn’t be a problem. He couldn’t reach his hand through the gate anyway, the bars
were
too close together. The gate was designed according to fire department regulations, allowing a person on the inside to simply pull open the gate without having to use a key or combination. At the same time, the gate could not be opened from the outside, short of cutting through the bars.

Jack was familiar with the devices, having had them on his apartment windows when he lived in Brooklyn. Some of the cheaper ones, or ones that weren’t installed correctly, could be forced open with enough effort placed on them. Apparently
,
the gate in front of him was put in properly. 

He placed the shotgun’s barrel against the gate where the gate opened. What he was about to do probably wasn’t the brightest idea he’d ever had, but he had to try something. Remaining outside wasn’t an option. Cocking the weapon, he secured it with his shoulder, making sure all his weight was on it, and fired.

The gun shot backward, slamming into his shoulder, reminding Jack of when he was younger and fired a 12 gauge for the first time. Studying the gate, he saw that it was no longer flush against the window frame. Kicking it, it was still locked. He’d only loosened it. Again, he placed the shotgun against the gate and fired, grimacing as pain erupted from his shoulder.

“What’s going on, Jack?” Maria said.

Looking up, Jack saw the woman leaning over the roof’s edge, using the ladder for support.

“Nothing. Trying to get us inside. Figured the noise doesn’t matter so much anymore.”

“Guess not, but now you have an audience.” Maria pointed to the ground.

Jack looked down to see a crowd of undead below him, coming from the building he and the others had been in.

“Think you’ll get in?”

“I think so. Maybe another blast and she’ll open.”

“Don’t you dare think about going inside without us.” 

“I won’t.” He didn’t tell her about the zombie in the apartment.

Jack cocked the shotgun again, lined up the barrel against the gate and fired, wincing as the butt kicked into his already sore shoulder. The gate flew open, knocking into the zombie, and sent it falling backwards.

Pulling the Sig Sauer out, Jack aimed at the downed living corpse and put a bullet into its head. Holstering the weapon, he waited for the others before going in.

As soon as Maria stepped onto the fire escape, Jack tossed his pack into the apartment and climbed through the window.

He took Maria’s pack from her, placing it away from the corpse, and told her and Zaun that he was going to do a sweep of the place.

He headed for one of the bedrooms and saw how the residence’s layout was identical to the apartments in the adjoining buildings. The master bedroom was clear. The queen-size bed was neatly made. Dresser drawers were in place with knickknacks and framed pictures lying along the top of the bureaus. The closet doors were closed. Whoever had lived there had made sure to tidy up before leaving, probably wanting to return to a clean home.

The other bedroom was also orderly. The bed was made, the covers decorated with a purple floral pattern. Posters of current music groups and movie stars hung on the walls. A row of stuffed animals lined a shelf, while others sat in front of the pillows on the bed. Thinking about the zombie he had just killed, he didn’t think it was a former tenant to the apartment. He was in a family’s home, and from the looks of it, they had a young teenage daughter. Unless grandma had come to visit and was left behind, he believed the elderly zombie must have wandered in from the hallway.

Exiting the bedroom, he passed by the kitchen and the bathroom, both zombie-less and clean-looking. The apartment’s front door was wide open. He approached cautiously and stepped into the hallway. Checking the stairs, he saw they were clear. He heard nothing. No rubbing of fabric. No footsteps. Satisfied, he went back inside the apartment, also labeled 3R, and closed the door.

Maria was waiting for him. “Everything okay?”

“I think so. Maybe we got lucky for a change.”

“Should we do a check of the building?”

“I don’t know. I’d rather just sit tight here. Not take a chance of attracting anything to us. If there were any undead in the building
,
I think they’d have been up here by now, unless of course they’re trapped in the apartments. If that’s the case
,
I say let them be.”

Maria nodded. “Amen to that.” 

Heading into the living room,
they
decided Jack would take the first watch. He was the
best
rested
of the bunch. Sure, he was tired, but told the others he was fine. He and Zaun carried the corpse into the kid’s bedroom, not wanting to smell the thing as it decayed. Maria slept in the master bedroom while Zaun took the couch in the living room. All the backpacks were kept packed and in the living room in case the need to leave hastily arose.

Jack went to the peephole and checked on the hallway. Seeing that it was clear, he went into the kitchen. Before using the group’s supply, he checked the cupboards, finding a few cans of vegetables, a box of crackers, packets of jello, sugar, and a box of instant oatmeal.

Wanting something substantial, he opened a can of baked beans from the group’s supply and sat at the table with the box of crackers. A tea kettle rested on the stove. Jack filled it with tap water and set it to boil. He grabbed a bowl from one of the cupboards and poured in a packet of cinnamon and brown sugar oatmeal. While waiting for the water to boil, he looked around, finding moldy bread in a
breadbox
. He lifted the lid off a ceramic jar and discovered it full with bags of caffeinated tea.

Just as the
teapot
was ready to scream, he turned off the burner and made the oatmeal and a cup of tea.

Sitting at the table, eating his meal, he noticed that the microwave wasn’t showing the time. Looking around, he saw nothing indicating that the electricity was on. He got up, went over to the light switch and flicked it on. The overhead light flared to life, brightening the window-less kitchen.

After finishing his meal, he sat back, letting his stomach settle. The apartment was so quiet. Closing his eyes, he could be anywhere. Now was the time to let a little of his emotions out, having no idea when
he would
get another chance. 

Reaching into his jacket, he pulled out the wallet photo of his wife and stared at it. His heart began to ache.
He had
mourned her at the bunker, but not nearly enough. His throat felt tight. Sipping the warm tea helped with the uncomfortable sensation.

He and Jess had been sitting on the couch, watching television. By morning
,
she was sick. A few moments later
,
she was dead. He still couldn’t believe it, and if he hadn’t gone back to his apartment after the fact, he wasn’t sure he would believe it. Yes, he’d seen her body in the bunker. Pressed the button, putting her corpse down, but it was still so hard to fathom. Seeing their apartment the way it was had been surreal, but at the same time it was waking, truthful.

Staring at her beautiful face, he remembered their time together, from waking up in the morning and seeing her tired eyes, to eating dinner at a quaint little downtown joint. Tears filled his eyes. He blinked, sending them down his reddened cheeks. He missed her so much. The picture he was holding had captured her smile perfectly. He’d do anything to see her again. Feel her. Smell her. Touch her. Anything. Bringing the photo to his lips, he kissed it gently.

He sat staring at it for some time, lost in the past, when Zaun startled him. “Miss her a lot, huh?” he asked.

Jack wiped his cheeks and stuffed the photo back into his jacket. He turned around to see Zaun standing in the doorway.

“You should be sleeping. You need the rest.”

“Tried. Couldn’t. I just lay there, staring at the ceiling, thinking.
”

“About?”