Iain McKinnon - Remains of the Dead

“You been in here before?” he asked Elspeth.

“I don’t know… I don’t think so. They all look alike, these new office blocks.”

Elspeth was right. Even if she could have given him a detailed plan of the building, he doubted it would be much different from his imagination. Stairwells either side of the elevator shafts, open plan offices on each floor. The only surprises being the ingénues places where the undead would choose to hide.

“I didn’t do much of the scavenging. Jennifer, George and me would wait outside when the others went in.”

“That’s fine, lady. We’ll just wait here for the-”

A loud crash from above cut Cahz’s sentence short. For an instant his muscles tensed, ready to run before he checked himself. He pressed his full weight against the door and listened.

“What was that?” Elspeth asked.

“Be quiet,” Cahz whispered.

Again came the booming crash, closer this time, sharper and less muffled. Elspeth took a step away from the stairs, sliding her back along the wall, trying to distance herself from the sound.

The dead at the windows and behind the door heard the noise, too. They paused their incessant banging and listened.

The respite wasn’t long, for within moments a moan rose above the silence and the frantic hammering began anew.

Long seconds passed in the empty corridor as the sounds of shuffling and groaning grew louder.

Elspeth looked at Cahz. He could tell from her eyes and nervous curl of her lips that she wanted to say something, anything to break the terror.

Over the noise of the pounding and the moaning, emanating from the landing, came a snarling.

Des-Res

“Ali!” Ray screamed.

Ali was furiously battering the zombies around him-too many for him to pause but Ray kept screaming.

A hand touched Ali’s shoulder. It was a strangely gentle action, not at all frenzied like the normal clawing. Ali turned, half expecting to see a familiar face, but instead all he saw was the chewed up remains of something that might once have been human. The decrepit cadaver sported ugly chunks torn out of its body like it had been run over by a speed boat, its feeble grasp the result of the disintegrated tissue wrapped around the splintered bones.

The faceless wretch loomed in to try to bite. Too close for a killer blow, Ali swiped his elbow into its temple. Thrown off balance, the zombie fell, but its fingers clamped shut, trapping a handful of Ali’s jumper. And as the zombie toppled over it dragged Ali with it.

Ali hit the ground hard.

It was dark. Only small chinks of light penetrated the thick forest of overhanging dead flesh. Behind him came a satisfied chomp and slurp as a zombie took its fill.

Ray’s screams were high pitched and childlike in timbre. There were short breaks in the shrieks as Ray guzzled down the air to fuel his cries. Each gulping scream punched into Ali’s chest and crushed his stomach in its tight clench. Ali gasped for breath as the terror laden screams pulsed and climbed an octave. Suddenly the cries became stifled, slipping down to a wet gargle.

Within moments a gasping and choking was all that remained of Ray’s protests. Gradually even those dull sounds abated until all Ali could hear were the moist smacks of the undead feasting and the agitated moans of those jostling to get their share of the kill.

A zombie shuffled forward to join the sweet banquet and stamped on Ali’s beard. As it ploughed forward a clump of hair was wrenched from his chin. Ali clamped his lips shut and rode out the pain, desperate to avoid detection.

The creature, drawn by the smell of blood or the noise of eating or whatever macabre sense drove them, stumbled forward. It kicked at Ali’s thigh before sideling away for its meal.

Ali slid onto all fours and looked out at the multitude of dead legs ahead of him. There were innumerable zombies in front of him, too many to fight.

I don’t stand a chance.

Then it struck him.

Still on all fours, Ali gingerly eased himself forward.

I may not be able to stand, but I can sure as hell crawl.

Ali pushed forward, his head down, shuffling forward on his forearms like some religious supplicant.

A zombie brushed past him on its way to sup on the feast of Ali’s fallen friends. The corpse’s leg brushed close enough for Ali to smell it. It was the fusty smell of gangrene, a pungent tang that sucked the hope from the air.

Still edging forward across the broken tarmac of the street, Ali heard something change: the constant beating of chopper blades that had echoed around the dead city. The noise had suddenly shifted pitch.

Ali wanted nothing more than to stand up and to see what was happening, but he knew he couldn’t. Instead he continued his penance-like crawl.

He was only a few more inches forward when he collided square on with one of the walking dead.

Ali froze.

The zombie brought its left leg even with its right, shins flat against Ali’s head. It nudged forward sheepishly, testing the resistance with its palsied muscles.

Ali held firm, not moving but not actively resisting either. All he could see were the scuffed rubber toes of a pair of ruined trainers. Once these shoes would have been bright white; now the plastic was torn and stained yellow, the soft leather buried under a layer of filth. An accent of thin red could still be made out under the grime, and above it a logo that once meant something to the dead man wearing them.

Inside the zombie’s mind a simple calculation was taking place. All the billions spent on brand recognition, market penetration and mass media brain washing didn’t mean much now, to the living or the dead. Like the brethren of cadavers around him, only the deepest primordial sense remained. Through the stodgy infected brain matter it finally came to the conclusion it had met an impasse. And so after an age, the cadaver pivoted and hobbled away.

Ali breathed a sigh of relief as he watched the trainers trudge off.

Shuffling forward himself, he came to a storm drain clogged with rotting vegetation and the flotsam of urban decay. The drain meant he wasn’t far from a building and the possible safety within its walls.

Past the drain, only a few short metres of pavement and a dozen or so zombies separated Ali from a derelict apartment building. He and his fellow survivors had long ago looted all the surrounding buildings, but Ali hoped he could find sanctuary inside. The doors had all been forced open during their scavenging, and as long as the wood hadn’t swollen shut in the subsequent years he could secure it and take time to think. He just had to crawl to the side of a building and follow it until he found an entrance.

Ali placed his hand on the kerbstone and eased himself on. Slowly crawling between the zombies, Ali desperately tried to stay calm, fearful his laboured breath would attract attention.

His concentration was snapped back to the square as the sound of gunfire barked from behind him.

The helicopter sounded more distant now and he guessed it was airborne.

But the shots sounded closer than the chopper. That could only mean there were people on the ground-well-armed people. Now an impossible thought clawed its way into his mind. Was there still the chance of a rescue?

Ali let a smile take control of his lips. There was a way out of this. He just needed to be smart and-

A bony hand clasped his own. Hauling itself forward with its tattered arms, the legless zombie was at eye level with Ali. The narcotised jaw slumped open to utter a moan. A thick black tongue flicked behind punctured cheeks, but instead of the dry howl nothing came out. No rallying call to alert its fellow undead.

Ali cast his eyes over the crippled ghoul. It had been dragging itself along for so long that its chest was a ragged pulp of grated flesh. And where the ribcage ended so did the zombie. The docked stub of its spinal column whipped excitedly like a Dobermans stumpy tail. And like an attack dog its teeth were bared.