Brian Steele - 4POCALYPSE - Four Tales of a Dark Future

Thirty against one hundred may not sound like much of a challenge, but most of our numbers were children or adults who were not fighters. They were office clerks and waiters and website designers.

One man stepped forward and the others watched him with reverence. It was Haise. He was no longer dressed like a cop.

“Open the doors and let us in,” he shouted. “We deserve to be protected too.”

“We have rules here,” I shouted back. “If you abide by them, you are welcome to stay. We help each other. We share with each other. We—”

“We’ll take whatever we want,” Haise said, his face darkening with rage. “Let us in or we’ll find a way in!”

There wasn’t much chance of that. We had reinforced all the doors and ground-floor windows, and most windows had large signs on them reading Attempts to enter will be met with Deadly Force. No one was getting into the fortress of the Palace unless we wanted them to.

After a few hours the crowd moved on. We had no idea that Haise already had a plan of attack in place.

Renfield was spending almost all of his time on the roof now. As another day drew to a close and the evening air grew cool he stood and took a few paces away from a folding chair and a small worktable. His wrists and fingers were stiff from hours of sending code and writing down replies. He walked, stretching his legs and loosening the kink in his back, turning when he heard a muffled thud near the edge of the roof.

There was nothing there.

It had been a week since Haise and his mob had made their threats, long enough for any worries to seem unfounded.

Renfield heard voices and wondered if they were coming from the street. He walked over to the Market Street side of the roof and looked over the edge. The silent street was still filled with cars.

To Renfield’s left were narrow Annie Street, and a building that housed stores on the ground floor and offices above. The building across the single lane of Annie Street was a few stories higher than the Palace Hotel.

He went back to his seat. He sent another message. He received another message. He read what he had just written down, and stared at his radio in disbelief. He sent another message asking if what he had received was true.

He read the reply and stood, fighting panic.

Renfield looked up just as a body was flung into the air, the arms slowly flailing as it soared over the gap of Annie Street and slammed face first onto the roof of the Palace Hotel. He looked up from the body in time to see a loop of material, some kind of cord, hanging over the edge of the building next door. The silhouettes of two men appeared as the cord was pulled up and out of sight.

Renfield moved closer to the unmoving body lying near his work area. He used one outstretched foot to roll the body over and saw a ravaged face. It was one of the infected. His body tensed and he was about to run, when he saw the angle of the shattered neck and the thick dark blood oozing from the nose and mouth. The grin was dead.

“What the hell?”

Another body was flung over the gap, landing on its side near the edge of the Palace roof. It was another grin, and it was getting to its feet, one arm hanging uselessly.

Renfield reached for the two-way radio and shouted the code word for grins inside the Palace Hotel.

“Breech! On the roof! Breech! Breech! Breech!”

The grin was coming closer. Renfield didn’t have any weapons at all. Why would he have needed them? He was on the goddamned roof!

He grabbed his radio as another grin was launched from the roof of the building next door. This one hit the raised edge of the Palace roof and slid out of sight as it fell down into the street. Renfield ran for the door that opened on a stairway down into the hotel, thinking, bungee cords, they must be using bungee cords or something like that to catapult grins across Annie Street. He heard another thud and looked back, seeing a grin lurch to its feet, one leg dragging behind it.

Both grins were bloody from their falls, and deadly to anyone who was not immune.

He stepped into the stairway, tried to pull the door closed, and cursed. The door and the jamb were covered in layers of duct tape to stop the door from latching shut when closed. It was one of the doors that had been opened with a master keycard weeks ago and had been rigged to stay open— who could have anticipated an attack from the roof?

I was already running up a flight of stairs at this point, holding a two-way, listening to Renfield as he screamed into his radio and wishing I was in better shape as young men and women in the Wrecking Crew raced past me.

By the time I reached the roof, Renfield was standing back from the door and protectively cradling his radio as he watched the Wrecking Crew get to work with pry bars and long handled axes. The rest of the crew reached the roof a minute later and then all ten of them were fighting to put down five grins when Renfield pointed to the sky and said, “Oh no.”

It looked like a huge balloon arcing up and then down toward us. I saw Haise look over the edge of the roof next door and grin down at us triumphantly, his short blond hair glowing like a halo.

The heavy-duty garbage bag struck the roof of the Palace and burst open, showering Renfield and me and every member of the Wrecking Crew, our most fit and aggressive fighters, with the blood of grins.

I heard the Wrecking Crew coughing and gagging and heard a few of them cursing, and then they began to twitch and snap at the air as the parasites in the blood invaded their brains.

As more grins were catapulted onto the Palace roof I shoved Renfield toward the stairs and keyed my radio, shouting, “Emergency evacuation!”

Evacuating the hotel was something we had discussed in weekly meetings among the entire group, but we had not yet carried out any drills since going out into the street as a group was deemed too risky.

As we ran down the stairs Renfield told me about the message he had received.

We aren’t ready, I thought, realizing we had to get out of the hotel, out of the city, as soon as possible.

“We have until midnight,” Renfield had whispered fiercely behind me as we came down the stairs.

Fifteen minutes later I was opening a door and stepping onto New Montgomery Street. I was holding my sword. Benjamin and Randall were on either side of me with their handguns. Benjamin had four rounds left. Randall had a full clip of fifteen rounds. There aren’t any places to buy bullets in the city of San Francisco.

Most of us were also carrying go-bags, large and small. At minimum each contained a few pull-tab cans of food, two bottles of water, a disposable flashlight, a warm sweater or sweatshirt, and a jackknife. Jillian had been an absolute bitch about keeping go bags handy. Just in case. Most of the adults in decent shape were carrying larger bags, with more food and water, extra clothing and blankets, and first aid supplies.

More than half of the people in the hotel refused to leave; they were convinced they would be safer in the hotel. The fact that night was coming probably fed their fear. One of them had one of our three guns.

I was relieved to see that Dr. Anders was with us. I would have taken her by force if she had decided to stay behind.

As I ushered the crowd out onto the street, a small group of Haise’s people rounded the corner and ran at us.

I held out my sword and let a man run into it. The old steel blade sank into his diaphragm and he looked at it curiously. I pulled the blade free and swung it at the arm of another attacker who was swinging a length of wood. The sword cut into flesh and bone and made a sickening sound when I pulled it free.

It was a melee. People were swinging weapons, fighting with fists, and inside the hotel I heard the first screams as the grins made their way down the stairs. Standing to one side was Renfield, hunched over and cradling his radio as he stayed clear of the fight.