Authors: TS Alan
I thought about crossing the street and going to the auto parts store for sanctuary. Once inside I could call 9-1-1 again. But if I wanted immediate assistance, perhaps rescue, I needed a place that the police would respond to immediately. Whether anyone at the generating plant believed my story or not, gaining unauthorized access to one of the main suppliers of the city’s electrical grids would get the NYPD to us quicker than flies on shit.
As we crossed in front of the gate, I thought I saw a shadow under the truck. I moved swiftly but cautiously to the employee entrance, which lay to the left of the eight-foot fence. The walkway led to a small building, which looked more like a kid’s clubhouse than a storage shed. The checkpoint served as an employee entrance and visitors’ entrance. Inside I would find at least one guard checking identification and doing bag inspections.
As we rounded the gate to the walkway, I could not see anyone through the large window to the right of the door. The white
two-panel steel entry door was ajar. I approached the doorway cautiously. Max halted and let out a low growl. I raised the pistol up and I put an index finger to my lips to let Marisol know to be silent.
“Ruhig,”
I whispered to Max. His growling ceased.
I expected to be attacked by a mob of the undead before I could breach the doorway. Yes, that was what I decided they were. Just like those Romero films I loved. Had I missed something? If I had been working, would I have been aware of the uprising? If I had watched the news the night before, or turned it on before I took Max out, would I have known to barricade myself inside my apartment instead of venturing out? What if? Well,
what if
didn’t matter. It had come,
Dawn of the Dead
. And I was about to jump from the frying pan and into the—
They were dead. Blood and flesh was splattered all over the white semi-gloss walls and pooling on the floor. It wasn’t like the movies. There were fewer dismembered body parts and exposed organs and more lacerated flesh with chunks torn out with teeth. Less Hollywood, more real life, but surreally disturbing just the same.
Marisol entered, took one look, and quickly exited. I heard her projectile vomiting on the sidewalk. Funny, she didn’t have a problem taking the pistol from Rodriquez, but the sight of blood pooling with chunks of flesh sickened her.
She came back in. “I can’t go any further,” she said.
“
What?”
You wanna stay and be meat?”
“No, that’s not it. I got to change.”
“
Change?”
I said, confused by her announcement.
“Yes, change. I can’t go any further. I’m wet.”
“Now?” I exclaimed, keeping my voice low. “You gotta change now?”
“Yes.” She walked behind the low counter where the guards conducted their bag searches, took her backpack off, and opened it. “Turn around.”
“Turn around? Turn around
why?”
“Don’t be stupid. You’re not my boyfriend. You don’t get to look.”
“Ah, Jesus. You’ll change in the middle of dead people, but you’re afraid I’ll sneak a peek at your cooch. Unbelievable.”
I turned away. “Max.
Pas op,”
I said, pointing to the opposite door. “Hey, wait. You might need this.” I took off my backpack, opened it, and pulled out a packet of Nice ’N Clean
antibacterial hand-wipes. “Make it fast. We’re going back to 14
th
Street,” I said, and tossed them to her. “And stay out of the blood.”
She smiled and made little circles with her index finger indicating for me to turn around.
I could hear her behind me as she undressed. My curiosity at what she had in her bag, and the fact that I hadn’t seen a naked woman in over a year, got the best of me. I turned my head slightly and caught a glimpse of the most perfect ass I had ever seen.
“How old are you?”
“Fifteen.”
Her response had not been immediate, and I was not completely sure if she had been truthful.
“Fifteen. Shit,” I said, with slight disappoint in my tone, and feeling like a pedophile.
“
Why?
”
“Ah, no reason.”
She asked, “How come you know Spanish? You fluent?”
“Part of my job. I’m a paramedic for Saint Vincent’s Hospital. I speak some Cantonese, but my Spanish is better.” I heard a zipper go up. “You done?”
“Almost. You can turn around now.”
She had changed into a pair of faded stonewashed blue Levis with narrow legs. Over her school blouse she wore a white hoodie with three distinctive stripes emblazoned across her chest. They were the colors of Columbia. Her soiled clothes were on the floor.
“Where do you live?” I asked, as she began tying the laces to her black Air Jordan sneakers.
“Why?” she asked with suspicion.
I retorted, “Why is everything
why
with you? Every time I ask you something, it’s
why!
How about,
because I want to know?”
“Okay.”
I waited a moment for her to answer the question but she didn’t; I asked again.
“So?”
“I live on—” A look of extreme fear came over her. She realized in all the mayhem she had forgotten about her family. “Oh, my God.
¡Mi madre!”
She pulled her cell phone from her pocket.
I could hear the voice on the phone stating that all circuits were busy, please call again later. Marisol cursed in Spanish, eyeing the phone like the operator could hear her. She looked up at me and sobbed. She walked to me and put her arms around me. She wanted comfort and reassurance that her family were fine, but I couldn’t give it. I didn’t know if her family were fine, or even if mine were all right. I held her for a moment, then Max growled.
I quickly let her go, and approached Max. I looked through the window on the door but saw nothing. Max continued his low growl.
“Gute hund,
Max.
Gute hund.”
I still saw no one, but by the way Max was reacting I knew there was something out there.
Marisol spoke from behind me in a concerned tone, “There are people coming.”
“I don’t see anyone.” I misunderstood what she was trying to tell me.
“No. This way!”
I turned around and saw Marisol pointing out the front door. There were people moving swiftly toward the complex. Alive or undead, I didn’t know; they were too far away, but I wasn’t about to wait and find out.
“Marisol, time to go.”
I walked toward Max.
“Fuss,”
I said, as I opened the door. I followed Max out, and held the door for Marisol, but she was not directly behind me.
“Marisol,” I snapped.
She grabbed her nearly forgotten backpack and locked the front entrance door.
“Marisol! Now!” She ran to me and out the door. “Not too fast, let Max lead.”
Ahead of us the open area of the complex stretched all the way to FDR Drive. The building to our immediate left housed the turbines, the heat recovery system, and the station monitoring system. To our right, as we exited the visitor check-in building, was the guardhouse with the pickup truck adjacent to it. We moved cautiously along the sidewalk, which stretched along the paved lot. We could see the back end of the pickup as we cleared the twelve by twelve foot trailer. Max stopped. He curled his lips back and rumbled a low, guttural growl.
There was the driver, half hanging out the truck, his body dangling and twitching as his attacker gnawed on an arm. He had been unable to escape. His leg was caught in the steering wheel.
The creature looked up and stopped chewing. It wanted fresh meat.
“Run!” I cried.
“Schnell,
Max.
Fuss!”
We ran hard and fast. We came to the entryway of the main building. It was open. He was almost upon us. Marisol went in, followed by Max. I tumbled to the pavement as I was set upon. The gun flew from my hand and landed just out of reach. I struggled to keep his mouth away. I held on firmly with both hands around his throat, trying to strangle him. This would not be a deterrent, but I hoped to hold him back from ripping out my throat. He frantically tried to kill me, whipping his arms and hands at me in a frenzied fit. He scratched at my face. I didn’t know if he had penetrated my skin, but I felt a sting.
I couldn’t punch him in the face, for if I did there was the possibility of lacerating my knuckles on his teeth, so I began to elbow strike him on the side of the head. For a moment the blows disoriented him, enough for me to scoot my body over those few extra inches to reach the pistol. I shoved it in his mouth and blew out the back of his head.
I saw Marisol with weapon in hand. The gun was aimed at me. She had a frightened look on her face.
“I tried to shoot it,” she said, her voice quivering. “But the gun won’t work.”
I responded, “Yours has an external safety. I’ll show you later.”
She lowered the weapon. “You got some blood on your face.”
“Shit. Just tell me it’s my own,” I replied in an agitated tone. “Damn it!” Then I kicked the creature.
“It’s okay. I can wipe it off,” she said in a calming and reassuring voice, as she took out a hand-wipe and cleaned my face.
“You don’t understand. Is there any on my eyes or mouth?”
She assured, “No, no. You’re okay.”
“Not if it got in my eyes or mouth. Shit, what about the scratch on my face?”
“Scratch? It’s just a little mark.”
“Are you sure?” I demanded to know. “Is the skin broken?”
She couldn’t understand my concern. “Why are you freakin’ out? It’s nothing.” She finished cleaning my face and tossed the towelette to the ground.
“You don’t understand. If blood gets into your system, you can turn into one of them.”
“What? Now you’re buggin’!”
“You have no clue to what’s going on. Those crazy people. They’re the undead. And you can get infected through blood or saliva.”
“That’s crazy,” she said, shaking her head.
“
Yes
, it is.” I confirmed, with deep sincerity in my voice.
“
What?
How do you know this? I was bleeding, remember?” She held out her overly bandaged arm. She began to panic. “I don’t want to be one of those things. I don’t want to be—”
I interrupted. “You’re buggin’. You didn’t get bit, right?”
“No.”
“Then chill. You’re fine. I should know. I’m a paramedic, remember?”
“But—”
“No
buts
. Time to go.”
I moved toward the door.
“No. We can’t go that way. There are more bodies.”
“You wanna go back that way?” I pointed to the way we came. Then I saw them: the legion of dead at the gate. “Fuck,” I said, with slight disbelief and despair in my voice. I had become so self-involved that I had forgotten about the mob.
Max wasn’t with us.
“Where’s Max?” I asked, looking around.
He was behind the closed door. I looked at Marisol disapprovingly.
“Kommen,”
I said, opening the door.
“Gute Hund. Gute
Max.” I affectionately roughed up his fur behind his ears, and turned to Marisol. “We go in.”
“I don’t want to go in there,” she replied, despondently. She was frightened but so was I.
“Look,” I told her. “The barbarians are at the gate.”
“What about the pickup?”
“You wanna check out the pickup, go ahead. I’m going in. Your choice!” Max and I entered the building.
Marisol was right. There were dead bodies. And no one behind the reception counter to the right as we entered. The door opened behind me. I was startled. I whipped around with pistol in hand. Marisol screamed.
I said nothing as I surveyed the area.
“Where are we going?” she said, as I moved to an intersection of corridors.
“I’m not sure. It’s all changed.”
“Changed?” she inquired. “You’ve been here before?”
“January 22
nd
, 2000. But this part of the building wasn’t here then. Must have been part of the repowering project a few years back.”
“I remember the crane. It was huge.”
There was a big corridor ahead of us. I hoped it would lead to the old section of the building.
“We can’t stay… this way.”
The corridor led us to two blue-colored,
double-leaf doors, like the ones at the entrance of a cinema. As
I pushed the doors away from me, they struck something. I looked through the long and thin glass window on the right door. There was a body blocking our entry. I pushed the right door away from me again, hard and fast. It struck the body and swung back a few inches. I grabbed the door before it could swing closed and pulled it toward me. The human doorstop was a cop.
ConEdison had started contracting off-duty uniformed police officers for security through the NYPD Paid Detail Unit, like many other places in the City of New York. Using police discouraged intruders, plus they had full law enforcement powers to do whatever was necessary if unauthorized individuals tried to gain access to the facility.