Tower Of The Dead: A Zombie Novel (2 page)

“Oh yeah, there were these two white boys on the roof of the building across the street earlier today. They had this big old machine set up, looked like some sort of fog machine or something, they were spraying this shit out all over the place. So I closed the windows and turned off the AC.”

I go to the window. The roof across the street is empty, save for a few pigeons. “Fog machine?”

“Yeah, it was shooting this white smoke out everywhere. I called the police and the dispatcher told me they knew about it, said it was pest control or something, said something about rats.”

“Rats? I’ve never seen no rats.” With no sign of the mystery men and their smoke machine, I give up and let the curtains fall back. “City is probably gonna send us the damn bill.”

“Probably.” Tasia is spooning the soup into three separate bowls. “Dinner is ready. Is your mom coming tonight?”

“I doubt it.”

Tasia shakes her head. “That woman, I swear, we see less of her now than we ever did before.”

“She don’t like to leave her apartment, especially since the elevator went out; the stairs are hell on her fibromyalgia.”

“Well, alright, we’ll bring some down to her later. Go tell Alisa that playtime is over.”

“Yes ma’am.” I make way for the front door, still dressed in my dirty coveralls.

“Oh, one thing before you go,” Tasia speaks just as my hand closes around the handle. “I wanted to be the one to tell you before you hear it from Alisa.” She’s staring at the line of bowls on the counter in front of her, intentionally avoiding eye contact. “You’ve got to promise you won’t overreact.”

I’m facing her with my arms crossed, the heat already rising in my face. “Okay, I promise I won’t overreact, but I can’t promise I won’t react.”

“Markus, you’re gonna behave, promise me!”

“Fine, I promise, what is it?”

“It’s Looney Tune; Alisa had a little run in with him and his boys when she was coming up the stairs from school today.”

Looney Tune is top dog for the Golden Boys; he runs shit. He rarely leaves the eleventh floor—the Golden Boys home base—he sends out his lieutenants and foot soldiers to do his dirt. They bring him money, food, and girls, whatever he needs; he lives like a king. Everyone calls him Looney Tune behind his back because of his oversized facial features: cave like nostrils, bulging eyes, fat ear lobes, swollen lips. To his face everyone calls him Wallace.

My eyes go to the hatchet sitting on top of the fridge; I could probably grab it and make it out the door before Tasia could stop me. She must have read my mind because she takes a step forward and places herself between me and the weapon. “What kind of run in we talking about?”

“It was just words. Him and a couple of his boys backed her into a corner and put a scare into her, nothing worth blowing up over.”

The blood is pounding in my ears. I feel the kind of fury that only a daddy can. I’ll be goddamned if any man is going to back my little girl into a corner. I shove it down and fix my face for Tasia, giving her the illusion of calm. “Alright then, thank you for telling me.”

“So that’s it? You’re gonna keep a cool head?”

“Of course, I promised.” My smile is sweet, too sweet, I’m sure she’s gonna see through it.

She studies me for a moment, nodding, searching. “Okay,” she leans in and gives me a quick peck on the lips, “go get our girl and hurry back, dinner is getting cold.”

I’m fighting back a wave of guilt as I step out into the hall. I don’t like lying to my wife. The guilt is gone by the time I hit the staircase. My feet move quickly. Carrying me down towards the eleventh floor.

2

There are Golden Boys scattered everywhere: leaning against the walls burying cheap bottles of beer, crouched in the middle of the floor rolling dice, moving from apartment to apartment with strung out whores on their arms.

Everything freezes when they see me.

“Look at this muthafucka, man.”

I can’t see who said it, but they all seem to be thinking the same thing. Most of them are openly carrying handguns. A couple even have compact machine guns hanging by their sides. And why not? The eleventh floor is a no-man’s land, unless you’re a Golden Boy.

“Good Times lookin’ muthafucka, what you want, you punk ass bitch?” He’s got a black handgun peaking just over the top of his waistband. 

“I’m here to see Wallace.”

The laughter echoes from one end of the hall to the other.

“Man, you done lost your muthafuckin’ mind, don’t no one see Wallace less they got business.”

“I’ve got business.”

“You don’t got business less Wallace says you got business, you feel me? Take your old ass back up them stairs before you get hurt.” His hand is creeping towards the gun at his waist.

There is a considerable lump growing in my throat. “Listen, I’m not here to start nothing, alright. It’s a small personal matter that I just need to get sorted out, that’s all, no big thing.”

“A small personal matter?” The gangster curls his top lip, exposing a shiny gold grill. “You got a problem with Wallace then you got a problem with me, muthafucka.”

The gangster takes a step forward and I take three back, my back banging against the stairwell door as the rest of his crew falls in behind him.

“It’s about my little girl, alright. I’m not here to start no shit. I’m here as a father.”

“Man, don’t no one give a fuck about your little girl.”

“He’s talking about that pony-tailed little bitch from the stairwell.” The man that called my daughter a bitch is standing about three rows back from me, some skinny ass punk covered in crooked tattoos.

I come off the door. It’s just instinct; a father defending his daughter. The gangster that’s been in my face the whole time pulls his gun and jams it against my chest, shoving me back into place.

“What you gonna do? Huh? You wanna die today?”

Before the whole thing can spin any further out of control, before I can get my stupid ass shot, Wallace appears, shoving his way forward, ordering his men off me. “Ya’ll get back, put them guns away, ain’t no one shootin’ no one less it’s me pulling the trigger.” He steps up to me, getting close, uncomfortably close. “What you got to say, pops? Why you starting a ruckus in my home?” I don’t see a weapon. He doesn’t need one. Despite his comical features, Wallace is a very large man; size is its own weapon.

“I ain’t trying to start nothing in your home. I meant no disrespect. It’s about my daughter. I heard that maybe you, or some of your guys, may have had a run in with her earlier today.”

“What if we did?”

“Listen, I don’t know if you got kids, but if you do, imagine hearing that a couple of grown men were messing with them, putting a scare into them. You’d want to come to their defense, right? I can’t have you guys messing with my daughter; it’s my duty, as a father, to protect her. You seem like a guy that can appreciate duty. Now I get that there’s more of you than me and that you’ve got guns. You’d kill my ass if I tried something, most likely; I get that.” I stop and breathe, trying to still the shaking in my voice. “But the next time I hear about you or your crew fucking with my little girl, I’m going to come down here and tear a hole through this place. You’ll get me, no doubt, but you’ll remember I was here.” I’m not sure what the hell just came over me; bullshit bravado. It’s gonna get me killed, no doubt. I’m telling myself that I did the right thing, but consolation is hard to come by in light of the impending pain.

Calls of, “Man, kill this mothafucka!” echo through the crowd.

Wallace raises his hand and rolls his fingers into a fist.

I flinch and curl my arms up around my head, hoping to lessen some of the impact.

I hear laughter.

I peek between my elbows and see Wallace with his fist propped beneath his chin, smiling, his gold grill twinkling. I’m hesitant in lowering my guard, sure that I’m being fooled into exposing myself.

“You know what, old man?” Wallace purses his lips and nods. “I respect that.”

“Well…uh…thanks.”

“Nah, I do, for real. You came down here like a real muthafuckin man and you let me know what’s up. You didn’t go talking shit, you didn’t call no police, you came to me. Ya’ll muthafuckas realize he coulda called the police out here, right?”

Slow nods.

“Well, I mean, I’m not really the type that calls the police.” No one in this building is.

“Smart man,” Wallace confirms.

“Well, I mean—”

“Here’s the deal, smart man. I’m gonna give you a fifteen second head start.”

“Wait, what?”

“You got fifteen seconds to get your bitch ass back up them stairs and then me and my boys are coming after you.”

“But I don’t understand, I thought you just said—”

“Make it ten seconds. You better get moving, less you want a bullet in that ass.”

The men behind him are licking their lips. Guns are coming out. Bullets are being chambered.

I stumble back into the stairwell, not sure which direction to run at first.

Should I get Alisa?

No! Hell no!

My little girl is safe where she is.

Do these assholes know where I live?

I’m running up the stairs and am almost to the twelfth-floor landing when the first gunshot rings out.

I hit the deck.

Instinct? Cowardice?

I don’t know.

I wrap my hands across the back of my head and begin praying.

More gunshots.

A lot more.

One after the other.

I’m no expert, but it sounds like machine gun fire. The gunshots sound muffled. They’re definitely not coming from inside the stairwell. I slide towards the railing and peer down at the eleventh-floor landing.

Empty.

The battle is raging on the other side of the door.

Some dispute turned deadly, maybe? I feel relief, curiosity, and fear; I mean, it’s still my building, where I live with my family, my little girl is only a few floors away, and it sounds like a small war is taking place.

The building shakes and then there’s the sound of an explosion. The sound of glass breaking and people screaming. Doors are flying open, there are feet racing down the stairs.

The explosion definitely came from outside.

First thought: I’ve got to get my family out of here.

Second thought: Which one do I get first?

It’s not a hard question. Bottom line is that I don’t know what’s going on up there. If I grab Alisa then I’ve got to drag her through potential danger. Better to pick up Tasia and get Alisa on the way back down.

I don’t waste no time. Folks are shoving past me; I’m the only one trying to make it back up. Some of them are covered in blood. All of them look scared…terrified.

“What’s going on? Where’d the blood come from? Was that a gas line exploding? Ya’ll hang on, what the fuck happened?”

They aren’t having it. They act like they can’t even see me. So I continue moving upward, questions unanswered.

I’m on the sixteenth-floor landing and I can still hear folks making a hell of a racket below me. As I step out into the hall, I’m not sure what the hell I’m gonna find, yet, despite those open-ended expectations, the sight still surprises me.

There’s blood everywhere: pooled and smeared across the cement floors, red handprints and streaks on the walls. Light fixtures dangle from the ceiling, pulsing and sparking, casting eerie shadows that blink in and out of existence every couple of seconds like phantoms. There are bodies too, but I can’t make out the faces, not from where I’m standing.

I count three.

Two are curled up, knees to chest, as if they died trying feebly to defend themselves.

The third is sat up against the wall and he’s mangled something awful. His feet are pointing in two different directions, as if his legs were snapped at the knees. His belly is torn open and his intestines are piled in his lap; it’s an awful sight.

There are two other folks in the hallway as well. One of them is standing among the bodies and the other one is pounding rhythmically at my door, straining the hinges with every angry blow. I recognize both of them. The woman, standing among the bodies, is my next door neighbor, Ruth. The man pounding at my door is her father, Amos.

“What’s going on?” I’m rushing towards them; the bodies and the blood are now the furthest thing from my mind.

The way Amos is pounding on my door must mean that Tasia is hurt or trapped. I get about a foot or so from Ruth when I realize something else is wrong entirely. Her skin looks like it’s melting, like it’s trying to slide off her bones. Her head comes up; I can see the underside of her blood red eyelids. She twitches a little as she takes me in, her chin moving from shoulder to shoulder like some curious dog.

“Ruth?” I take a subconscious step back, holding an arm straight out in front of me; a barrier rather than an offer of assistance. Something about the way she’s looking at me chills my blood.

She takes a step to match mine, her foot hovers in the air for a moment before touching down, as if she’s practicing balancing on one leg.

Then she takes another.

I retreat further. “Hang on now, Ruth. You just hang on. What happened?”

Her lips quiver. She’s about to say something. Her mouth opens and a river of blood flows forth. It hits the ground between us, splashing both of our feet. A gurgle in her throat turns into a growl. Her hands come up, her fingers are bent, her nails pointing at me like ten tiny daggers. Her pace quickens and the growl in her throat intensifies.

I am running backwards now. I’m not sure what Ruth plans to do when she gets hold of me, but I don’t plan to find out. “You just stop! Stop, goddamn you!”

Amos is still at the other end of the hall. He’s going at my door like a man possessed, kicking and punching. It’s obvious to me, now, that his aim ain’t to help. I’ve got to get down there before he can get to Tasia. I played some football in high school and one year in college. I still know how to duck and weave. I stop suddenly on my back right foot, get low, and propel myself to the left, going under Ruth’s right arm. I don’t stop moving, breaking into a full on run. I jump the bodies and the blood. The world around me blurs. All I can see is Amos; he’s got that same sagging skin, and is emitting that same hungry growl. There’s a window at the end of the hall, right beside where Amos is standing. An idea occurs to me. It’s probably stupid, but it’s all I’ve got. My daddy always told me that desperate men are stupid men and, right now, I don’t think there’s any man in America more desperate than me.

I hit Amos in the side with everything I’ve got. I’m pretty sure the impact breaks his damn spine. He folds up on my shoulder and I carry him towards the square of thin glass and brittle wood. It shatters as soon as he makes contact. I stop completely and use my arms to push him and keep him sailing forward.

Once he clears the window and has begun his journey towards the sidewalk I turn around to see Ruth coming at me. She’s not running, but she’s not exactly walking either. It’s a shaky and deliberate pace. I look around at my feet, find the longest piece of broken glass I can, and hold it out, pointy side down.

“Ruth, I don’t know what the hell is going on, but I don’t wanna kill ya! Talk to me, girl! Let’s work this out! Did you hurt those people, you and Amos? Is that what this is? Whatever happened, it’s not worth dying over!”

She don’t stop. She just keeps on coming. I don’t try to stab her, it just sort of happens. She doesn’t stop and I don’t move the glass. It goes right into her, a few inches above her belly button.

I immediately start apologizing. “Oh, lord! Oh, god! I’m so sorry, Ms. Ruth!”

But she’s still coming. The glass in her belly don’t even faze her. She’s going for my shoulders, my throat, her mouth open and drooling blood. The glass goes in further and before I know it I’m wrist deep inside her, my fingers fishing around her organs. Her teeth are coming for my throat. I retract my hand and push her away. I’ve lost my weapon in her guts. I pick up a piece of wood with glass still attached to the end, wielding it with both hands like an axe.

“Oh, forgive me, Jesus!”

As she recovers and starts back towards me, I swing down and send the piece of glass right through the top of her skull; that shuts her down instantly.

I just killed Ms. Ruth!

Fuck…Ms. Ruth was just trying to kill me!

Didn’t even look like her. Looked like some monster wearing a Ms. Ruth Halloween costume.

I turn and take notice of the apartment building across the way. I’d missed it in all of the excitement.

The entire front half is on fire.