David Bernstein - Machines of the Dead

“No,” Jack said, shaking his head. “It can’t be.” He knew it was true though, his gut telling him so since the warehouse. “The bots made it out of Manhattan.” He pulled the. 45 from its holster, prepared to shoot, when Zaun stopped him.

“That’ll make too much noise,” he said. “Let me.”

Zaun stepped forward and removed his sword from its sheath. He met the zombie halfway and sliced off its head. After wiping the blade clean on the undead guy’s shirt, he re-sheathed his weapon.

Jack felt his legs want to give out. He was exhausted. The bot epidemic had spread, hopefully just to the Long Island-Brooklyn-Queens area and not to the mainland. Of course, that was ridiculous, but he still thought there was a chance it could be true.

“I need to sit,” Jack said. “Rest.”

“I think we all do,” Maria said. “And we need shelter; it’s too cold to stay outside and hope to catch some shut-eye. There might not be many undead around here now, but that could all change in an instant.”

“Yeah,” Zaun said. “They might all be in the buildings, but one sound and we’ll have them coming after us.”

They all agreed that shelter was the most important thing. The warehouse they were currently behind was most likely empty, where as the apartment buildings across the street were probably crawling with undead. Jack didn’t like being only a block away from the operations center, but getting off the street was essential.

They worked their way along the rear of the building, coming to a one-way street, with a large, factory-like building on the other side. It had no windows and a large mural of people working in a lavishly green-painted garden.

Jack peered around the corner, saw the way was clear, and ushered the group onward. They worked their way toward the front of the building, the frigid wind causing Jack’s eyes to tear up.

A zombie came ambling down the street from the main road that ran adjacent to the apartment buildings. Everyone froze, and Jack knew they were all thinking the same thing-please let it be alone.

The zombie saw them and picked up its slow pace, shuffling a bit faster. Jack grimaced at the sight, the thing’s jaw distended, hanging low from its face like a huge rubber band. The fingers on its left hand were gnarled stumps of flesh.

“Let it get closer, then take it out,” Jack told Zaun.

When the bot-controlled thing came within a few feet, Zaun quickly and quietly, sliced off its head. With no other undead showing up, they moved on.

At the street’s corner, Jack saw they were now on 4th Avenue. He looked up and down the street and saw no sign of any undead, only numerous vehicles either parked along the curb or stopped in traffic. If people had escaped the city, he imagined many took mass transit, hoping to avoid the overcrowded roadways.

Jack and the others ran to the building’s entrance, only to find its metal gate was down too. With no other options, they ran across the street to the closest apartment building.

The entire row of houses looked decrepit, with exteriors appearing as if they hadn’t been painted since the 1970’s. Security bars covered almost every first floor apartment. Jack thought it a shame that people couldn’t live in a house and look out a window without feeling as if they themselves were locked away, but for now, he was glad to see the steel bars.

He pushed open the badly scuffed front door, the glass having been replaced by non-transparent Plexiglas. Inside, were a small foyer and another door about ten feet away. It was covered in wire mesh; breaking in would be extremely difficult. Jack tried the door, finding it locked. Along the wall were six mailboxes, indicating the building held six apartments, most likely two on each floor. He began kicking at the door, taking turns with the others, surprised at how sturdy the thing was.

“Cover your ears,” he warned, then readied his shotgun and blasted the lock apart. The noise was deafening in the small room, leaving a slight ringing in his ears. With nothing holding the door closed, Jack easily pushed it open. He cocked the shotgun, and entered the hallway.

“Hey,” Zaun said, holding up a piece of mail. “We’re in Brooklyn.”

The building’s interior wasn’t any better than the exterior. The air was stale, with a mixture of rot and sewage. The walls were filthy, the color of a smoker’s tobacco-stained teeth, and marked up. The black and white patterned linoleum tiles were cracked and worn, revealing the dullness of the wooden floor beneath. An overhead light was on, indicating the electricity was still flowing.

“Let’s clear the building,” Jack said. “It’s only three floors, two apartments per level. Shouldn’t take us long, then we can get some rest.”

The first apartment, 1F, was on the left. Jack tried the door, but it wouldn’t open. A single lock was all that kept the place secured. Most doors in the city had two locks, one on the doorknob part of the door, the other about a foot above it, usually a bolt-action of some kind. He stepped back and gave it a good kick. The door flew open, colliding into something solid, followed by a crash as if someone had fallen.

Pushing the door open all the way, Jack saw what had made the crashing sound. What had once been an elderly woman-now a member of the undead-lay on the floor, attempting to get up. Its arms were covered with open sores. She was still wearing her glasses, but the knock she had taken had knocked them askew as they rested crookedly on her face. The air was putrid, a mixture of mold and rot. Not wanting to waste a bullet, Jack asked Zaun to take care of it.

Zaun stepped forward and put his sword through the zombie’s left eye and into its brain.

Jack and Maria went in and checked the place out while Zaun stood guard at the door.

In the bedroom lay the corpse of an elderly man, his flesh almost completely eaten away, leaving mostly grizzled bone and bloodied clothing.

There were no other dead or undead bodies in the apartment and not much in the way of supplies, at least not anything worth taking.

They moved on to apartment 1R, finding the door unlocked and no one inside, alive or dead. Clothing drawers were left open in the bedrooms. The cupboards were open and bare; toiletries were missing too. It appeared whoever had lived there had left in a hurry. All in all, the place was clean and seemed like a good place to make camp, but the group agreed that living on a higher floor was safer.

Next, they made their way up the creaky stairs, and with each step, the odor of rotting meat grew stronger. As Jack broached the landing, he saw a dead man’s body, wearing only underwear, lying in front of apartment 2R. Its left arm was stripped of flesh, leaving only bone and a few stringy tendons. The legs were missing chunks of meat in various places, as if the zombie hadn’t been able to find the right spot to begin chowing down until it got to the arm.

Jack walked around the body and saw that it had no face, appearing to have been blown off, the nearby wall splattered with gore. He stepped over the corpse and entered the apartment.

“Gross, man,” Zaun said.

The place was filthy and stunk of dead animal. Litter boxes with more shit than sand in them lay in the hallway and in the bathroom. Newspapers and magazines lay everywhere, as if the man had been a collector-no, a hoarder. As they went through the place, Jack heard gasps and other sounds of displeasure from the others. No one wanted to remain in the apartment any longer and the group quickly left to check on the apartment across the hall.

2F was void of life. The place was somewhat clean, the beds made, kitchen garbage empty. There was a television, a couch, a bookcase filled with hardcovers and paperbacks, mostly appearing to be romance in nature. Jack checked the bathroom, finding a small shower radio. Overall, the place was decent, a good spot to set up camp, but first they had to check out the rest of the building. They left the apartment and headed to the third floor.