Night of the Living Dead (17 page)

Except ... this last knocking sound hadn’t come from upstairs. It was much closer than that. Almost in the same room with her. From over near the old piano? Behind it? No, not there ...

Barbra turned in her seat, looking toward the dark door leading out into the hallway.

"
... but these are the reports we have been receiving and passing on to you, reports which have been
verified
...
"

The banging, which now sounded almost like footsteps, drifted from behind the door. But the door was open, resting almost flush to the wall. So ... what was making that noise?

Her breath came faster.

The radio told her, "
It
is
happening ...
"

Barbra recoiled. A hand appeared around the edge of the door.

The radio mocked her, "
No one is safe ...
"

The hand pushed the door forward. A young man in a short-sleeved shirt
stepped from behind it, stepped right out of the wall.

Barbra screamed.

Ben heard her cry just as he emerged from the bedroom where he’d laid the dead woman. Hers, and what sounded like
men’s
voices. So far as he knew, those things didn’t talk, but that didn’t slow him in the slightest as he grabbed the rifle and raced down the stairs, his heart pumping faster than his legs.

Ben burst into the room, and almost started firing away: Two men — a younger one holding Barbra by the arms; an older one wielding a broken slat from a bedframe like a cheap sword. They turned, saw Ben brandishing the rifle, and the younger one released Barbra and held up his hands.

"Hold it! Don’t shoot!" the younger one cried, his eyes wide. Then, as though it explained everything, he added, "We’re from town!"

The older one, a balding man with a bruise on one side of his shiny forehead, turned away from Ben, looking around. He blurted, "A radio!" and raced through the study doorway to kneel before it.

As Ben calmed down, his initial fear was replaced by anger.
A sweep of the room revealed the small, nondescript open door that led into the wall
near the corner by the piano and downward — he realized in an instant that these people had
not
breached his defenses,
but had been here all along. He clenched his jaw, could practically feel the steam coming out of his ears. These bastards were lucky he didn’t use the gun after all.

Looking at the younger one in disgust, he demanded, "How long you guys been down there? I could have used some help up here."

"That’s the cellar," the older one answered as he fiddled with the radio. "It’s the safest place."

"You mean you didn’t hear the racket I was making up here?"

"How were
we
supposed to know what was going on?" the older man snapped back. "Could’ve been those
things
for all we knew."

Ben gestured at Barbra, who had withdrawn to the sofa once more. "That girl was screaming," he said, his disgust kicking up another notch. "Surely you must know what a girl screaming sounds like. Those
things
don’t make any noise.
Anybody
would know that somebody had needed help!"

The younger man, his shirt stuck to his chest with sweat, finally spoke up. "Look, it’s kinda hard to hear what’s goin’ on from down there."

"We thought we could hear screams," said the older one, still hunched before the radio, "but ... for all we knew that could’ve meant those things were in the house after her."

Ben sneered. "And you wouldn’t come up and help."

The younger man was a lot more sensitive to Ben’s derision than his comrade. "Well, if there were more of them—"

The older man cut him off, turning more of his stern attention to Ben. "The racket sounded like the place was being ripped apart. How were
we
supposed to know what was going on?"

"Now wait a minute," Ben returned. "You
just
got finished saying you couldn’t hear from down there.
Now
you say it sounded like the place was being ripped apart." He shook his head. "It would be nice if you’d get your story straight, man."

"All right," the older man said, his anger growing. "Now
you
tell
me
..." He stood, gripping his own weapon and storming back toward Ben like a short, contentious bulldog — he was so hunched forward at the shoulders, his tie bulged out from where it was clipped to the front of his business shirt. "
I’m
not gonna take that kind of a chance when we’ve got a safe place. We luck into a safe place, and
you’re
tellin’ us we gotta risk our lives just because somebody might need help! Huh?!"

The man paced away from Ben, and suddenly Ben’s ire deflated. In the face of selfishness at its bitter finest, what could he say? If a person viewed altruism as a detriment, would probably sneer at the notion of someone wanting to become, say, a teacher so that he could craft young minds and make the world a better place ... well, there was certainly nothing Ben could say that would change his mind. It made Ben more repelled by the man but less appalled, now that he could see what type of person he was dealing with.

"Yeah," he said at last in a low, tired voice. "Somethin’ like that."

Again, the younger man proved more sensitive to Ben’s tone. He stepped forward, saying, "All right, why don’t we settle this—"

"Look, mister!" the older one cut him off again, reminding Ben more of a bulldog than ever. "We came up, okay? We’re
here
! Now I suggest we
all
go back downstairs, before any of those things find out we’re in here."

Ben dismissed him. "They can’t get in here."

The younger man perked up. "You got the whole place boarded up?"

"Yeah, most of it. All but a few spots upstairs. They won’t be hard to fix."

"You’re insane!" the bulldog snapped. "The cellar is the safest place."

Ben felt his heat returning. "I’m telling you, they can’t - get - in - here."

"And I’m telling you those things turned over our
car
! We were damned lucky to get away at all! Now
you
tell me those— those
things
can’t get through this," he gestured around the room with his weapon, at all the boarded-up windows, "lousy pile of
wood
?!"

"His wife and kid’s downstairs," the younger man said to Ben in a softer voice. "Kid’s hurt."

Ben considered that; it made the bulldog’s decisions a little more understandable, if not acceptable. He glanced at the bulldog, then turned away. "Well, I still think we’re better off up here."

The younger man approached the bulldog, and indirectly gave Ben the bulldog’s name. "We
could
strengthen everything up, Mister Cooper."

From across the room, Ben threw in, "With all of us working, we could fix this place up in no time! We have everything we need
up here
."

But the bulldog — Cooper — returned with, "We can take all that stuff
downstairs
with us." He shook his head. "Man, you’re really crazy, you know that? You got a million windows up here! All these windows you’re gonna— you’re gonna make ’em strong enough to keep these things out, huh?"

"I told you, those things don’t have any strength. I smashed three of them, and pushed another one out the door."

Cooper strode forward, gesturing at Ben with his weapon. "Did you hear me when I told you they turned over our
car
?"

"Oh, hell!" Ben snapped. "Any good five men could do that!"

"That’s my point! Only there’s not going to be five, or even ten ... there’s gonna be twenty, thirty, maybe a
hundred
of those things. And as soon as they know we’re here, this place is gonna be crawling with them."

Ben shrugged and strolled past him. "Well, if there’re
that
 many, they’ll probably get us
wherever
we are."

Cooper sighed, then made what, for him, probably counted as an attempt to be civil. "Look ..." he glanced between Ben and the younger man, "... the cellar. The cellar, there’s only one door, right? Just
one
door. That’s all we have to protect. Tom and I fixed it so that it locks and boards from the inside. But up here, all these windows? Why, we’d never know where they were going to hit us next!"

Speaking of windows, Ben bent to peek outside between two of the boards he’d nailed up. He made a point of
not
 looking at Cooper.

The younger man —
Tom
, Ben presumed — said, "You’ve got a point, Mister Cooper. But down in the cellar, there’s no place to run to. I mean, if they
did
get in, there’d be no back exit. We’d be done for!"

Cooper grumbled and waved him off in classic curmudgeon fashion, stomping over to stand nearer the cellar door.

But Tom wasn’t ready to give up yet. "We can get out of here, if we have to. And we got windows to see what’s going on outside. But down there, with no windows, if a rescue party
did
come, we wouldn’t even know it."

"But the cellar is the
strongest place
!" Cooper insisted.

Ben commented from where he bent at the window, "The cellar is a deathtrap."

"I don’t know, Mister Cooper," Tom said, "I think he’s right." When Cooper didn’t reply, he joined Ben near the window. "You know how many’s out there?"

"I don’t know," Ben answered, standing straight. "I figure, maybe six or seven."

"Look," Cooper said, getting their attention back, "you two can do whatever you like. I’m going back down to the cellar, and you better decide. ‘Cause I’m gonna board up that door, and I’m not gonna unlock it again no matter
what
happens!"

Tom help up a mollifying hand. "Now wait a minute, Mister Cooper—"

"No, I’m not gonna
wait
! I’ve made my decision, now you make yours!"

"Now
wait a minute
!" Tom snapped, showing more guts than Ben had yet seen from him — Ben kept his own counsel for the moment, letting the young man have his say. "Let’s
think
about this! We can make it the cellar, if we
have
to. And if we do decide to stay down there, we’ll need some things from up here." Cooper didn’t like that; he looked to the floor rather than face Tom’s irrefutable logic. "So let’s
at least
consider this a while!"