Tower Of The Dead: A Zombie Novel (3 page)

Actually…no, that’s the wrong way to describe it.

The front half of the building is missing. It’s the middle of the building, the stuff that’s left, that is actually on fire.

There are folks on the roof trying to escape the flames, screaming for help, and there are other folks up there with them that remind me a lot of Ms. Ruth: same sagging skin and jittery walk. One of the messed-up-looking folks gets hold of a young girl, probably somewhere around my daughter’s age, and just starts ripping into her. She tears right through the front of her throat. I feel my stomach drop out as I watch a red spray of blood from the newly severed artery cut through the air.

But I don’t look away.

Instead, I start screaming at the monster to get off her, to leave her alone, as if it’s gonna do a goddamn bit of good. I mean, shit, Ms. Ruth kept coming at me with an eight-inch piece of glass lodged in her stomach, screaming ain’t gonna do nothing; doesn’t stop me though. None of the other folks around the girl try to help her, as if they know the attempt would be futile; they’ve got other things to worry about, like the flames and the other five monsters that are coming at them.

One fella sees me and starts yelling back at me and waving his hands. I can’t hear him over the flames, but it’s easy to see that he’s signaling for help.

As I’m trying to formulate a way to communicate back, I can hear a helicopter approaching. Finally, the cavalry is arriving. I can see it in the distance, through the smoke. I start pointing and yelling for the panicked man to turn around, trying to let him know that his help has arrived. He cocks his head at me, but before he can turn he’s cut in half.

I mean it, literally.

The top half of his body goes spinning across the roof and his legs just hang there for a minute before buckling at the knees and going to the ground.

There’s a soldier hanging off the side of the copter behind a minigun and on either side of him are two other soldiers carrying long rifles; all of them are decked out in fatigues and black sunglasses. They’re strafing everyone on the roof, killing them all, man and monster alike.

“Stop, we got innocents up there! You’re killing innocents!” In my desperation, I chunk a handful of glass at the distant helicopter to try to get their attention.

Desperate men are stupid men!

The discarded glass travels in a small arc and catches the sunlight before plummeting to the ground somewhere near Amos’ corpse. The bodies on the roof across from me are now still, reduced to broken up chunks of bloody flesh. The helicopter cuts through the smoke and buzzes my building, sending a downdraft through the window that pulls my clothes tight around my body.

3

My wife is standing just inside the door of our apartment, holding the hatchet I’d brought home, and shaking like one of Alisa’s windup toys.

“He just…kept…pounding…I looked out the peephole…I saw,” the words keep getting caught in her throat.

“Hush now, it’s alright.” I take the hatchet, set it on the counter, and wrap her up in my arms.

Behind her the television blares.

“They’ve sealed off all the streets around the neighborhood.” She’s crying against my shoulder, I can feel her hot tears soaking through my clothes. “News said they’re not letting anyone in or out; they closed off the airspace over the entire city.”

“Did they say what’s going on?” I have a hand cupped around the back of her head and am massaging her scalp with my fingers, just trying to get her to calm down so we can formulate some kind of escape plan. I’m watching the television behind her. I recognize the images.

It’s our neighborhood.

Our streets.

Except now they’re lined with military fellas and armored vehicles. The soldiers are dressed up in camouflage, wearing bulky body armor, with their faces all painted; ready for war. Judging by the constant gunfire I hear taking place outside, the war has already started.

“Said it was some kind of disease, makes people dangerous.”

“That it does. It makes them wanna kill. You heard Amos going at the door. It wasn’t a social call. Ms. Ruth attacked me too, tried to kill me, never seen anything like it in all my days.”

“Lord Jesus, help us.” She gives a heavy sigh. “They’re evacuating everyone around us within a five mile radius.”

“But not us?”

She shakes her head. “They’re just shooting folks down in the streets, anyone that steps outside.”

Another explosion rattles our building. This one is further away than the first one. “Okay, listen, if we stay here we’re gonna die.”

She steps back from me, her cheeks still wet, wringing her hands together. “You’re right, I know you’re right. But what’re we supposed to do, huh? Those men out there will shoot us the moment they see us.” As if to drive home her point, another round of automatic gunfire kicks up outside. “But that’s if we even make it. How many others are there like Ms. Ruth?”

I shrug. “I don’t know, Tasia. We won’t know till we know. But we sure as hell can’t stay here. We need to get to Alisa and my mom and get out.”

She nods nervously and looks to the television, as if hoping to find some sliver of assurance among the chaotic images, something that will tell her everything is going to be okay and that we don’t need to leave, something that says we can just stay put and wait for the government boys to come to our rescue. But there’s no one coming to our rescue, and if there were, it sure as hell wouldn’t be the government. I think back to the chopper flying overhead and the men on the guns, shooting indiscriminately into the small crowd of civilians screaming for their help. Nah, the government boys aren’t here to save us, they’re here to kill us, all of us, and I’ll be goddamned if I’m gonna let that happen to me and mine.

4

Me and Tasia are standing at the top of the stairwell; I’ve got the hatchet and she’s wielding a kitchen knife. She’s still breathing pretty heavy, but her tears have dried and she seems resolved to do what she’s gotta do in order for us to get out of here safe with my mom and our baby girl.

I’m looking down over the railing; the stairwell is empty. By now folks have either made it out, they’re dead, or they’re ducked down and hiding, waiting for the storm to pass. “Anything, babe?”

Tasia flips her cell phone closed and gives a frustrated growl. “Nothing, line is completely dead.”

“You try calling my mom?”

“You’re not getting it, Markus. The phone literally isn’t doing a damn thing, I hit the call button and nothing happens.”

“Alright then, I guess we’ll have to go take a look for ourselves.”

Tasia scoots in close behind me, getting up on her tiptoes to peer over my shoulder. “You see anything?”

I’m afraid she’s going to stick me with the kitchen knife so I reach back, grab her wrist, and take a step to the left, letting her come up next to me under my arm. “It’s quiet right now. Let’s start down. Step softly and try not to talk unless you really need to.”

She nods and crouches at the knees to match my posture.

Alisa is on the thirteenth floor, three landings and six flights of stairs away from us. We’re both holding onto the handrail as we move down, trying to support our weight and keep our steps soft and fluffy. But everything echoes in this chamber of metal and cement, even my shallow breathing sounds like waves crashing across a rocky shoreline.

We stop on the fifteenth-floor landing and just look at each other and listen. I don’t think I can hear anything but I can’t be sure. Maybe some distant shuffling? Maybe a door opening and closing? Tasia shrugs and shakes her head and we decide to continue on.

We’re five steps from the fourteenth-floor landing when the door flies open and a skinny kid—about fifteen I’d say—with a blood-soaked head of hair, comes stumbling out. He catches hold of the railing and catches sight of us. I recognize the face, but I don’t recall the name. I’ve seen him pushing dope for the Golden Boys before, but he doesn’t wear the grill or the shirts; far as I can tell, he’s just one of their runners. He starts pointing backwards into the hall, his eyes wide and fixed on mine, his lips moving but not making any sound. Clearly he needs help, but the ability to ask for it has been shocked from his body.

I jump the last two steps and get between him and the door. There are four of them in the hall and they are coming straight for us.

The group varies dramatically in age.

Two of them look like they are around Ms. Ruth’s age. The other two are much younger; a boy and a girl. The boy is probably a teenager. The girl is probably around ten, dressed up in a pink night gown with her hair all done up in pigtails.

Jesus Christ! Is this what it’s coming down to? Killing kids? I’m not sure I’ve got the stomach for this.

“That’s my family,” the boy finally speaks, sobbing between words. “Please, don’t kill them. They are just sick, that’s all.”

“I’ve seen this sorta sickness already, son. You kill them or they kill you.”

I’m getting ready, getting my center of gravity set up, spinning the hatchet in my right hand, deciding how I’m going to take down the two adults—they’re the ones leading the pack. I don’t remember committing myself to this fight, but apparently some deeper instinct that I’m not fully aware of decided for me, it’s kill them or let them kill the boy; I’m not letting them kill the boy.

Tasia steps in to help by trying to console the kid and keep him contained. She rubs his back and speaks in soft tones, but the quiver in her voice lets me know she’s just as shit scared as any of us.

I start trying to talk them down. Sure it didn’t work with Ms. Ruth, but that doesn’t stop me. These folks are sick, but they’re still human. That thing, that thing that makes…us…us, it’s still in there…it’s gotta be.

His parents are closing in fast. They seem to morph closer with each flicker of light in the hall. “What’s your pa’s name?”

The boy whimpers and squeaks something about me not hurting his family.

“What’s his goddamn name?” I’ve got the hatchet up and I’m ready to strike.

More whimpering.

“What’s his name, sweetie?” Tasia asks.

There’s no more time to wait. The boy’s father swipes for my face and flashes his bloody teeth, growling the same way Ms. Ruth did. I duck back and bring the hatchet down on top of his head, splitting it like a melon. The boy is screaming for me to stop, but I’m in survival mode and my focus is now zeroed in on his mom; her mouth is open and aimed directly at my windpipe. I punch her once in the nose, sending her stumbling backwards against her two kids, giving me enough time to dislodge my weapon from her husband’s skull. I come around on a backswing and take her head right off her shoulders.

The two kids at her back aren’t deterred by the death of their parents. Instead, they take advantage of the space that has opened up in front of them and continue to advance.

I hesitate, gritting my teeth.

These are kids!

Crazy ass kids with blood-drenched clothes, flesh under their fingernails, and wearing skin that seems to be sagging from their bones. Kids that I’m sure, if given the chance, would tear me limb from limb. But still, killing a kid, that’s some heavy shit.

All I keep seeing is my daughter’s face.

Could I do it to her?

What if she’s like this?

I jump back as the two kids snarl and snap.

Before I can finish working up the nerve, the boy breaks free from Tasia and throws himself between me and his brother and sister, shoving me hard in the chest. “No! Stop hurting my family!”

Desperate men are stupid men!

“No don’t!” Tasia, her motherly instinct on full display, tries to rush in to pull him out of harm’s way.

I wrap her up with one arm and spin her back against the railing. “There’s nothing you can do!”

The boy is screaming now as his sister tears his intestines from his side an inch at a time; she looks like a butcher with a set of sausage links. At the same time, his brother has his neck cranked back and is ripping into his jugular, sending blood squirting against the ceiling, where it beads and begins to fall back down like raindrops.

These aren’t children; these are rabid animals.

I don’t hesitate. I end it with two blows, one for each of them.

I drop the hatchet and catch the boy as he falls. The wound on his neck is still spraying blood with every beat of his heart, splashing the side of my face and dripping down and staining the neckline of my coveralls.

Tasia falls to her knees in front of me and presses her hand against the wound. “There’s got to be something we can do! We’ve got to call for help!”

“Who we gonna call? Phones aren’t working! Goddamn world’s falling down around our ears! Who we gonna call, Tasia?”

She’s crying, the blood from the wound escaping between her fingers.

The boy is thrashing in my arms, choking, trying to hold onto the life seeping from his veins. Soon he is still and Tasia is devastated. She falls back onto her butt, weeping, her forehead against her knees.

I roll the boy to the floor, gather my hatchet, and stand. “We can’t stay here. This same shit is happening all over this building. Alisa is out there waiting for us.”

Tasia takes my hand and I pull her up to her feet.

“We did everything we could.”

She nods. “I know. I just…I don’t get it. What’s happening to these people?”

“They’re sick.”

We’re both looking down at the body of the boy; the blood leaking from his throat is starting to slow its flow.

“Let’s go,” I say, ushering Tasia forward.

Something grabs my ankle, firm and true. I kick my leg out hard, trying to break free, thinking that I’ve somehow gotten myself hung up on one of the bodies. Then I hear that familiar growl. I look down to see the boys’ mouth going for my ankle. He’s still ashen from blood loss, his intestines are still snaking from his side, and his throat is still torn open, but he’s moving, just as full of life as you or I. “Oh shit! Oh shit! Oh shit!” I start kicking him square in the face. His nose caves in from the impact of my boot heel and one of his eyes dislodges from the socket, but he keeps on going at me.

Tasia slides down to her knees and starts jamming the knife in his back, over and over and over again, her face is twisted up, and she’s screaming with each stab, “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”

“Jump back, look out!” Tasia rolls away and I swing the hatchet down and split the back of the boys’ head; it doesn’t break the skull. I didn’t put enough force behind the blow because I’m trying not to cut my fucking leg off; he’s still latched to my ankle, still trying to get his teeth in me. I swing again, harder. That does the trick. The boy shuts down a second after impact. I shake loose of his grasp and jump away from him. I watch him and his family closely, looking for any other unexpected signs of life.

“That boy was dead!” Tasia has a hand on her hip and tears in her eyes and is pointing her knife at his body. “He was dead, Markus! We watched him die! What the fuck is going on?”

I shake my head. “Some disease or virus or something, I don’t know, but I think I know who does.”

Tasia looks at me, question marks in her eyes.

“Them boys outside with the big guns, shooting everyone down in the streets, they know.”

“What makes you so sure?” She’s holding the bloody knife in a reverse grip, looking down the hallway and then walking over to the railing to check the floors below us.

“They got here too quick. Shit started popping off and they was out there, setting up roadblocks, fully kitted out in less than twenty minutes.”

“But how would they—” Tasia gasps. “The men I saw on the roof, that shit they were spraying, you don’t think…”

“It’s a possibility. One of the only ones we got at the moment.”

“But why? And how come we aren’t sick?”

“You said you saw them and immediately turned off the A/C and sealed all the windows. How many folks didn’t?”

“I just…wow…I can’t believe it.” She steadies herself against the railing. “People coming back to life and eating each other, what kind of fucked up shit—”

“Now is not the time. We just need to keep our focus on getting the hell out of here. We can ask questions later. What we do know is that we’ve gotta get them in the head. You stabbed that boy…what…a dozen times? He didn’t even flinch. We’ve gotta get the brain, put em’ down for good.”

She nods, still looking a little sick. “After you.” She waves a hand towards the stairs, eager for me to lead the way.

We make it down to the thirteenth-floor landing. We’ve got our backs on either side of the door. I look to Tasia. She gives me a weak smile, waiting for my lead. I wonder how Alisa is gonna react when she sees us like this; Tasia soaked in blood up to her elbows and me with blood all over my face, neck, and clothes.

“You know what apartment it is?”

Tasia presses a thumb and index finger against her eyes, thinking, her lips moving silently, rattling off numbers. “1310…I think?”

I sigh. “Well, we’ll keep kicking doors till we find her, ain’t leaving without Alisa.”

“Let’s get our baby girl.”