Iain McKinnon - Remains of the Dead

Cahz gave a sigh and nodded.

“Lady,” he called over.

Elspeth was looking drawn and groggy.

“My name is Elspeth,” she said indignantly. “You haven’t used my name once.”

Cahz realised that he’d been avoiding using her name. Maybe in his unconscious mind he’d reasoned it would be easier to deal with a nameless zombie.

“Sorry Elspeth, but this concerns you.” Cahz lowered his tone. “Have you decided how you want to go out?” Even when forced to address the issue directly he still couldn’t help but use euphemisms.

Elspeth straightened up. “I don’t want to be shot, if that’s what you’re asking. At least not until I’ve come back.”

“That’s fine, Elspeth,” Ryan said. “I’ll keep an eye on you.”

“I don’t want you to kill my granddaughter either,” Elspeth added. “Not while I’m alive.”

Ryan hung his head and bit his lip. He knelt down beside her and reached out his hand. Gently, so as not to disturb her, he moved some of the swaddling away from her face.

“How’s she doing?” Ryan whispered gazing at the cherub like features.

“She’s been able to fall asleep, bless her,” Elspeth said. “Look, Ryan, it’s not right her not having a name. I know you’ve had it hard with Samantha’s death, we all have.”

Ryan knelt there, quietly looking at the child.

“I don’t expect a christening or anything like that,” Elspeth added. “I mean, God stopped listening a long time ago. Ryan,” Elspeth said more firmly, “Ryan, it’s not right not naming her.” She looked Ryan in the eye. Her old translucent skin showed the snaking lines of contaminated veins beneath.

Ryan’s bottom lipped trembled involuntary as he thought about Sam.

“You can’t let her die without giving her a name.” Elspeth passed the bundle over to her father. “Samantha would have wanted you to.”

Ryan took the sleeping child with shaking hands. He bit at his lip trying to keep the tears in.

“Oh Elspeth!” Ryan blurted out and started crying.

Elspeth put her arms around the young man and hugged him close.

Cahz nudged his colleague and whispered, “Show me the roof.”

Cannon nodded and the pair made their exit.

Purchase

“Can’t sit here all morning,” Ali said as he stood up.

For lack of a better idea he had decided to try the partially open window again, this time a little more cautiously. He scrambled up onto the broken balcony and dislodged another makeshift crowbar. He wedged the metal bar into the open window and again applied pressure, this time more evenly and warily.

As soon as he started he could hear the PVC frame of the window groan but nothing more.

He pushed a little harder. Still the window didn’t budge.

Ali started leaning into the push then pulsing the force to try and fatigue the joints and bolts keeping the window locked. The third time he applied tension there was a faint ripping sound, like a strip of fabric being torn. Ali pulled on the bar again and this time the noise was slightly louder.

He put the metal rod down and examined the gap. The plastic surround was buckled and chewed and the metal joint the window pivoted on was scraped but still intact. It hadn’t budged.

Ali stood resting for a moment with his hand on the frame. He stroked his long beard with his free hand debating if he should keep at it or formulate some other plan.

Something was sticky against his fingertips. He pulled his hand back from resting on the window frame and looked at it. Pressing his thumb to his grubby fingertips they felt tacky from the sealant. Ali now looked closely at the window frame where he’d been leaning.

The weathered white surround wasn’t flush with the wall.

Changing tack, Ali grasped hold of the edge and pulled. The plastic flexed under the pressure and then started to creak. He tugged at the surround and little by little it started to give.

He stood back and wiped the sweat from his forehead. The gap around the edging was tiny but wide enough now to force his crowbar in.

He jammed the metal rod in and started prying at the window frame. The plastic and glass and metal groaned and splintered and popped.

Ali worked back and forward like an oarsman on some ancient galley. Back and forward, back and forward, teasing out pulses of pressure with each stroke. The plastic buckled and cracked until suddenly there was a crunching noise like a fissure cleaving through ice.

Ali stood back again to see a spindly line of cracks on the glass radiating out from the corner he was working on. He rubbed his greasy palms against his thighs and resumed his task.

Within a couple of minutes the first of the four sides of framing snapped away. Beneath the façade was the raw brickwork and behind the cavity the inside wall. With the inside of the glazing unit exposed, removing the last three sheets of plastic edging was relatively easy.

Soon Ali stood triumphant in front of the exposed brickwork. Only a few wedges of packing secured the window in place and there were gaps between the glazing unit and the wall large enough to squeeze even his thick fingers through.

With a mighty kick he battered the window. The glass cracked and the clunk of the impact echoed around the sill but the window didn’t topple into the room.

He scratched his head. He remembered his mother telling him not to do that or he’d go bald. He’d never expected this innocuous habit would lead to the barren patch on top of his head but no doubt his mother would have taken it as evidence that she was right.

“You’re going to have to come out somehow,” Ali said to his inanimate adversary.

Guessing the weight of the unit was a two-man lift, Ali stepped to the side out of the window’s way. He slipped his thick fingers into the top edge of the frame at his side and braced his body against the wall. He took a deep breath and pulled.

At first nothing happened, then a wedge of packing material snapped and popped out. With that the whole thing screeched and started to slide. Ali flung the plastic frame away from the wall with all his strength. The last few strips of wooden packing disentangled and the huge window unit toppled out, like a tall oak being felled. Instinctively Ali took a step back as the double-glazing unit impacted with the twisted and damaged railing.

The glass shattered and crunched. The whole balcony shuddered with the impact. The metal squealed at the mistreatment.

Ali stumbled as the decking twisted and wrenched against its fixtures. Then the unit tumbled back towards him and collided with the deck. Ali jumped back flat against the wall as the force of the impact reverberated through the whole building. With a loud ping a retaining bolt snapped and the balcony lunged downward.

“Fuck!” Ali screamed as he grabbed for the empty window.

He pushed off with his feet but the energy of his spring was lost as the decking sheared its last brackets and went into free fall. A tortured screech of metal shot out as the metal body pivoted away from him.

The smashed window unit slipped from the decking and clattered its way down the side of the building. With a dull squelch it collided with a clutch of unsuspecting zombies in the street below.

Still attached to the wall by one wrought iron tie, the balcony hung, uneasily swinging to and fro.

Ali gasped for breath and hung on to the side of the wall. He had both hands tightly gripping on the exposed brickwork left bare when the window had sheared free. His arms were sore, from the wracked shoulders, to the battered elbows to his aching wrists and hands and all the burning muscles in between.

The pain, Ali surmised, would only get worse.

The last support ruptured with a screech and the decking smashed its way down the side of the building. It bounced and tumbled as it fell, skelping off the balcony below. Ali looked down just in time to see the metal decking splat to a halt in the mob of undead.