One Blink From Oblivion (26 page)

Now, over the buzz, she can hear the high-pitched yearnings of the newly infected as they race toward the sound of their gunfire.

“
Up!
” Brooke sees Max motioning upward toward the roof with his gun, “
They’re on the stairs!
”

Brooke spryly flies up the stairs, her footfalls a hollow echo inside her head. Max hits the first step and pushes upward with a grunt. His level of fitness is high but the ongoing strain of his passenger’s weight is taking its toll. He had planned for this to be an entirely downhill trip. An old saying about best-laid plans falling by the wayside blips through his mind and is immediately supplanted by the second step and the burn in his thighs.

Shrieks from underneath, reverberate into the stairwell and rise up like a cold wind through a crypt. Max gets his mind right and begins to gain momentum. By the time he reaches the first landing, he is in full stride and nearly oblivious to the increased gravity he endures.

Brooke reaches the roof-access door and pushes on the crossbar to open it with no joy. The door is locked,
‘Of course it’s locked. Why would they catch a break now?’
Brooke reels-in her emotion and turns around to inform Max of their dilemma, she is surprised to find him already at her heal.

“Locked!” is all she manages to say.

“Back up!” Max yells while looking her in the face to be sure she can hear him.

Max points his handgun at the small cylindrical lock imbedded in the long handle of the door and fires point blank. This time Brooke manages to muffle her ears before her hearing is compromised. As soon as she removes her cupped palms that bracket her face, she can here the stampede of infected pouring up the stairwell beneath them.

She yells at Max, “Hurry!” and spins around ready to defend.

Max checks the door but is disappointed when it still does not give. They make it seem so easy in the movies, but in reality, a lock is not such a simple thing to circumvent. The 9mm ammunition in his handgun simply does not pack the punch necessary to break the lock.

“You shoot it!” he yells to Brooke and they quickly trade places.

Max can now see the first of the biters on the landing just below. He opens fire hoping to hit something vital on the fast moving creature. One second and two ineffective shots later he finds himself losing a game of tug-of-war between him and the biter with his unconscious charge as the rope between them.
‘Crack!’
Brooke’s gunshot and the sound of metal being penetrated ring out behind him and a moment later he can feel the cool rush of fresh night air and a hand on his collar pulling him through the open door. Max loses the pulling contest but thankfully, the lady with auburn hair wrapped neatly under chin remains unconscious while being eaten alive by the thirsty horde of fledgling infected.

Suddenly and unexpectedly free of his passenger, Max loses his balance and reels backward through the door before falling hard onto his back. Brooke scrambles to find something to block the door with, but realizes that anything they can move in front of the door would offer little resistance to a group of the infected. Even these Fledglings possessed more individual strength then two fit grown men put together. With little time to search and less to be creative, she slips out of the rifle sling and wedges the rifle between the gravel roof and the L shaped door handle. She sandwiches the door handle between the flashlight and the barrel and kicks the base of the rifle until the handle is pushed upward at a strained angle. Immediately the handle begins to wiggle slightly as the biters –unsatisfied with what the storage room refugee had to offer- push the bar on the other side.

Brooke runs to Max, who is not yet on his feet. Losing the lady from the storage room was going to open some old wounds that were never properly bandaged to begin with, but if they are to survive, then all of that would have to wait and Brooke knows it.

“Move your ass!”

The foreign sound of an angry, cursing and forceful Brooke snaps Max back from a decent into self-deprecation and he scrambles to his feet.

“I used the gun but it’s not going to hold them!”

Max nods his agreement, “We need to get off of this roof.”

Light rising up from a one hundred square feet long skylight brightens the immense roof that is otherwise shrouded in darkness. Like moths to a flame, they are drawn to this light where they peer through layers of unbreakable Plexiglas at a drop that even a biter probably could not survive. From this high perch, they have a God’s eye view of the hell below. The battle was over… the biters had won. The only soldiers that still walked below in the mall had joined the ranks of the infected. Biters in plain clothes, fatigues and scrubs of different colors co-mingle through the mall. Like a Black Friday extravaganza, they search diligently for whatever bargains they can find; an injured teen here that still contains a few pints of blood, half of a soldier there whose heart chambers hold a yet untapped reservoir.

Max and Brooke share a brief look of anger, disgust, shock, horror and grief all rolled up in a messy ball of emotions, none of which are helping them to get off of the roof any faster.

“Going back in is not an option,” Max declares aloud to his audience of one.

“Then what?”

“Try to find a fire escape,” Max indicates to Brooke that she should search one side of the roof while he searches the other.

They go in separate directions and upon reaching their respective ledges, they search the sides of the mall for a fire escape or a means of descent.

“No luck on this side!” Brooke calls across to Max.

              She straightens her back and takes a brief moment to try and stretch some of the tension from her shoulders. While doing so she allows her gaze to settle on the bigger picture from the waning safety of this perch. Up till now, the franticness of their situation had kept her eyes focused on her immediate vicinity. For the first time since this madness had begun she takes a moment to absorb the entire scene. Fires glow on the distant horizon like a multitude of rising suns encircling a strange and distant planet. A war torn valley extends out before her in every direction. Clouds of ashen smoke waft up and darken the moonlit sky. She is thankful for the illumination from the mall’s skylight. If not for it, they would be babes in the woods of this high haunting platform.

              As if the Devil had read her last thought, an explosion roars up north east of the mall and mushrooms into the air. A moment later, the lights of the valley begin to fall like dominoes. Centrifugally from the site of the blast, section-by-section goes dark and she can only assume that it was the power station that had just been reduced to flames and ash.

Max has spun in the direction of the explosion and his facial expression morphs from confusion to understanding and finally settles on dread. He checks the door over his right shoulder. For the moment, the handle has ceased its incessant wiggling, but he knows that he and Brooke are merely in the eye of the storm. In only a matter of seconds, the wave of darkness will reach the mall and the infected too will understand what has happened. They may be blood crazed but their thinking appears to be as rational as his.

              Before the lights inside and around the mall are extinguished Max scans the rooftop and the area around the building as far out as he is able and tries to commit as much as possible to memory.
Suddenly, darkness falls
,
the rattle of the doorknob, the high-pitched bone chilling squeals of understanding from the infected
. This was their time now. They knew it, and they wanted to be sure that he knew it too.

              “Come to my voice!” Max knows that after watching the fires Brooke’s vision would take longer to adjust to the darkness than his but if he crossed the roof to her he could lose his bearings and with them, the thin thread of a plan he had devised.

              Max waits until Brooke is close enough to grab. He takes her hand and whisks her towards the far end of the roof. He moves so fast that all Brooke can do is keep her feet moving and trust that he won’t run her face-first into an exhaust vent or head first off of the side of the building. Her trust in him is shaken when she suddenly finds herself freefalling through the cold dark night air.

              When Max had made his survey of the rooftop, he had noticed an area where the roof was undergoing repairs. He couldn’t be sure in the failing light but it looked like the graveled tarpaper was being replaced over what had probably been a leaky section of roof. With the sudden thievery of what little light he had, it was necessary to make a snap decision. That was when he called for Brooke to come to him. On a hope and a prayer, he had taken her hand and ran for the construction area. All the way, he tried to match the ghost images of dark obstacles with the map in his mind to avoid catastrophe. He could hear the infected breaking through as he ran and knew that they had no chance at outrunning the pack. Desperate times called for desperate measures and times didn’t get any more desperate than this. For that matter, neither did measures.

              They reach the construction area –verified by the change in sound of their footsteps on the gravel beneath them- and Max wills his eyes to find what he has only prayed would be here. He can not only hear the infected closing in on them, he can practically feel their sour breath on his neck and he knows if he breaks stride for even a moment then he and Brooke are no longer for this world.

Finally, he sees –or at least imagines- the outline of a box shaped rail stretching out from the edge of the roofline. He pulls Brooke closer to him and with a final prayer leaps toward the rail and wraps her in his arms.

              They fall for so long that he is sure they have past the ground altogether and will soon be in hell where the devil awaits them, pitchfork in hand and grinning widely at his good fortune on this night. But, bit-by-bit, their trajectory starts to change until they’re moving at more of a forty-five degree angle than a straight line of descent. Max begins to feel the canvas beneath his back and hugs Brooke tighter in preparation for impact. When the impact does come all of the wind is knocked out of him, more from Brooke landing on top of him than the discarded fragments of wet roofing paper in the trash bin beneath him.

              Max pushes Brooke –whose is trying to figure out what just happened- to the side and frees his gun from his waistband. A zipping sound, fast approaching from above, confirms Max’s fear that at least one of the infected had followed him down the trash chute. Lying on his back, he grips the 9mm with both hands and steadies his aim. Like the birthing of Rosemary’s baby, the infected emerges from the chute like a hell spawn infant already hungry for flesh. His target is moving, but it’s moving directly toward him. With each pull of the trigger, his odds of a kill-shot increase tenfold. He is able to get two quick shots in before the creature is on top of him and the real fight begins.

              Max loses his grip on the gun but manages to get one hand around the serpent’s throat. He intends to keep its teeth at bay at all costs. A warm tapioca-like substance drips onto his face and Max presses the creature upward with all of his strength. He is surprised to find that it offers no resistance. He levers it away and lets it fall limply onto its back beside him. A quick glance at the twenty-something longhaired boy reveals all that Max needs to know. One of the biter’s eyes drips from its ruined socket that has become a black scorched hole of powder burn. Apparently, one of Max’s shots had indeed gotten lucky.

      Lying here on his back, feeling more vulnerable than usual, Max gropes for his gun and after finding it, frees himself from the dumpster including both the organic and inert refuse within it. He joins Brooke who is already standing on the pavement and peering back up at the roofline of the mall. Max follows her gaze and sees a rank of infected neatly lined up at the edge and staring down at them, their expressions blank. A moment later, they all just seem to dissolve back into the night, seemingly in search of closer and less dangerous game. Brooke and Max share a sigh of relief. But, just to be on the safe side Max redirects the construction chute away from the relatively cushioned landing of discarded tarpaper and moldy insulation, to the hard pavement of the parking lot.

              “We need to get you someplace safe so I can go back in and find Vinny.” Max says in a tone of matter-of-factness.

              A look of shocked contempt appears on Brooke’s face, “Have you lost your mind? First off, you don’t even know if Vinny is in there. He could have gotten out just like us, or he might not even be alive still. Secondly, the mall is totally dark now. Even you can’t fight what you can’t see. Thirdly, nobody appointed you our savior. When does your life start to matter? Vinny knows the plan and how to get there. He can meet us at your house.”

              Max listens to Brooke and shakes his head when she gets to the part about being their savior. When she finishes he realizes that he hasn’t told Brooke about his conversation with a neighbor back in the cell.

              “I don’t think you two should come with me. It would be better if I went home alone. I don’t know what I might find or have to do.”

              “What are you talking about?”

              “I heard some things, things about Big Mama’s neighborhood. Stuff got bad there. There’s a good chance that she could be…” Max trails off either unwilling or unable to complete the sentence, as if saying it aloud might make it more real.

              Brooke places a gentle hand upon his shoulder, “Oh Max, I’m so sorry… I don’t know what to say.”

              “Whether or not it’s true I still need to go to her. If I can’t save her then at least I can free her soul.” The last two words cause his voice to crack just a bit.

              Brooke can only hang her head and stare down at the black pavement under her stolen white sneakers, “I’m going with you, and that’s a period not a question mark on the end of that sentence. And, for all we know, Vinny might be halfway there by now so we better get going.”

              Brooke removes her hand from Max’s shoulder and instead grabs his hand and gives it a squeeze.

To Max her touch feels warm and reassuring, like together they can do anything, and for the moment, he chooses to believe that, “Whatever you say. Let’s do it then.”

              He pulls the magazine from his gun and does a quick shell count -eight in the magazine and one in the chamber. That won’t get them far but as his father always said, ‘it’s better than your skin,’ though usually he was referring to the homemade body armor he would don before going out to “enforce”, as he would call it when his particular skill set was requested for a job. Max inserts the magazine back into the gun and slips it back in his waistband.

He pauses for a moment to take a look around the moonlit parking lot and neighboring street, “We can’t walk out in the open anymore. We need to stay as invisible as possible. We’re going to cross that street,” he indicates Topanga Blvd, “and stick to the alleys behind the houses.”

Brooke nods and they proceed at a brisk but cautiously quiet pace toward the main thoroughfare through this part of the valley. Prior to tonight’s events, this area around the mall (that has the great distinction of being California’s first indoor shopping plaza) had always been one of her favorite spots in the valley. The constant bustle of cars and foot traffic made her feel like just another person lost in the crowd rather than the heir to an empire being viewed under a microscope. Though, she guesses the whole heiress thing may all be over now, depending on how wide spread the problem has or
will
become. The distinct lack of anything resembling local or government help outside of the mall (now a buffet for the infected) gives her little hope that the outbreak is being contained. Despite her usual feelings about the area surrounding the mall she is glad on this night to find it desolate; no trucks pull up to the mall entrance to unload their passengers, no dozer pushes bodies into a flesh fueled blaze after they’ve been dumped by a random trash truck, and –most importantly for the moment- no biters roam the street in search of her blood.

As soon as they reach Topanga Blvd the loud rumble of an engine pierces through the moon-rays and black of night. A vehicle is quickly approaching and Max and Brooke stand flatfooted in no man’s land trying to decide if it would be more prudent to assume that the vehicle approaching contains friendlies or enemies. They both seem to come to the same conclusion at the same time and without a word sprint across the street and into the safety of foliage and shadows nestled in front of a quaint but valuable row of bungalow style homes across from the mall.

The rumble nears and in short-order a four-door opened-top Jeep can be seen barreling down the street with several men of varying ages standing and/or hanging this way or that from the front and rear of the vehicle. Their excited hoots and hollers seem right at home with the rebel flag that whips in the wind at the rear of the Jeep. Two of the men brandish weapons, one a hockey stick, and the other a baseball bat. Sparks trail the vehicle from a chain tied to the rear hitch and clattering against the pavement as it passes at a high rate of speed. A pair of severed limbs still bound by the chains links leaves a broken and bloodied streak down the boulevard.

The jeep hits a pothole and one of the men is nearly thrown up and out of the vehicle. He holds on like a bull rider trying to survive the required eight seconds and eventually manages to regain his footing –and eventually his rear when he decides it would be more prudent to sit. The bump causes the chain to rise from the pavement -temporarily defeating the sparks- before it slams back to the road and dislodges one of the dangling arms. Not having or not caring to notice, the Jeep charges onward and out of sight.

“Wait here.” Max tells Brooke and before she can protest, he is off and nearly at top speed sprinting for the street.

Max may be strong, but his truest gift is that of speed. Even if Brooke had a mind to give chase, when Max starts to run, Carl Lewis himself would be remiss to catch him. All she can do is wait, watch and worry.

Max arrives at his destination quickly. He stands motionless, frozen by the sight of what he’d expected but hoped not to see. The severed arm is fitted with a tattered but recognizable yellow hospital-style bracelet. The label is too blood-soaked to read and the arm too badly mangled to identify gender –much less race or age. Max maintains his statuesque pose and internally debates whether or not to inform Brooke of what he’s found. In the distance, he hears the howl of a newly infected and decides he’s been standing here in the middle of the street long enough.

He returns to Brooke’s side where he is greeted with a look of mingled curiosity and confusion.

“What was that all about?” she asks with more than a little attitude that Max finds quite endearing despite the situation.

“That Jeep was dragging something behind it. It came loose. I went to check it out.”

              “Well, what was it? Or do I even want to know?”

              Ignoring her second question Max responds bluntly, “An arm.”

              “Okay, now the regular people have even gone nuts. What’s happening to us?” Brooke drops her face into her hands, whether in sadness or disappointment Max is unsure.

              He decides that leaving off the rest of the information is the best course of action and lets the half- truth stand. He grips Brooke under her elbow and lifts her from her coiled position behind a holly bush to her feet.

              “Let’s cut through this yard to the alley.”

              They proceed down the left side of the house and Max stops to peer through the first of two single pane windows.

              “Looks like a bedroom. The whole house seems dark -no candles, no flashlights. Maybe they just don’t want to draw attention but more than likely they were taken to the mall or split when the shit hit the fan.”

              “I’ll take a look in this one,” Brooke indicates the last window on this side of the house, ten feet down from Max’s, “same thing here…” she begins to say and is interrupted by a loud bark and boom as a German Shepherd awakened by her words lunges at the window between them.

              After her heart begins to slow, she informs Max –who is already on his way at a brisk pace, “It’s just a dog. They must have left him behind.”

              “Does he look infected? Can dogs even catch a human infection like this?”

              “I don’t know, usually I would say no, but with this infection? But, even if it is transferable between humans and canines, it stands to reason that the dog would have to be bitten. I doubt that even the infected could manage
that
easily, at least not with a German Shepherd.”

              As if it understood their conversation and agreed with Brooke’s conclusion the dog settles down on its haunches and discontinues its bark.

              “Look at it. There’s no way it’s infected. We have to let it out of there or it will starve.”

              Max considers Brooke’s words for a moment. The fact is, since he saw the arm in the road he’s been knocking around the idea that they need to get out of these scrubs lest they be targeted by those infected with stupidity as well as those infected with the virus. No one came when the dog barked. That was a good sign that the house is truly empty. Besides, Brooke isn’t wrong about the animal starving if they leave it like this. Now he just needs a plan to deal with the dog when they enter the house. An open wound from a dog bite is as dangerous as any, and he doesn’t plan to take any chances.