Eric Brown - Season of Rot

The dead ate her splattered remains.

One of them, a woman wearing a tattered wedding dress, stood from the feast and stumbled through her brethren toward the hospital. One of her legs was broken beneath her bloodstained gown. It barely held her weight.

She looked up at the hospital, catching the scent of living flesh above. She opened her mouth to scream as the hunger burned hotter inside her, but sprayed blood and stale bile instead. The corpse woman staggered, fell to her knees and thrashed about as her body rippled and spasmed, leaving red patches upon the street until at last she lay still.

The other dead close by quit howling and turned to look at her. Her eyes sprung open once more, only now they glowed a pale blue in the darkness. Had a living human been able to see her face, they would have sworn she smiled.

The woman pushed herself up, and without a single stagger, she walked to the nearest zombie and vomited blood into his face.

Daniel sat in the hospital’s stairwell, watching the dead. His head hurt from one too many beers. He’d finished off his entire stash, but it had been worth it. It wasn’t every day he got to see an asshole like Jack get what he deserved. Sure, it had really messed things up around the place, and he was pulling watch instead of sleeping because the person who was supposed to be out here was locked up with the rest of Jack’s men, but oh well.

Daniel wished for an aspirin, which, unlike his beloved cigarettes, were nowhere near running out. The damn things were all over the place, but he couldn’t leave his post to get one.

He turned his attention back to the dead, hoping to see one of the idiots fall off the broken stairs below.

Daniel’s breath caught in his throat. His knuckles went white as he clutched his rifle.

The dead had stopped howling. They weren’t pushing and shoving each other or trying to jump across the gap in the stairs. They were all just standing there, staring at him with glaring blue eyes.

A sudden warmth filled Daniel’s jeans and trickled down his legs. “Oh hell…” he whispered and raised his rifle. As the dead saw him taking aim, they opened their mouths in unison and screeched . Daniel dropped the rifle. It fell, spinning toward the ground floor below as he jumped to his feet and raced up the stairs.

Vince, who had been coming to check on him, was nearly smashed in the face by the stairwell door as Daniel came bursting out.

Seeing how freaked out Daniel was, Vince grabbed him by the shoulders and slammed him into the wall. “Are they on their way up? Answer me, damn it!”

Daniel shook his head wildly and managed to stutter the word “No.”

Relief washed over Vince. “Then what the hell is wrong?”

“The dead are fucked up, man! They’re just really fucked up.”

Daniel broke free and darted off without looking back.

Vince turned to the stairwell door and knew he had to go down there, had to see. He drew his .38 and checked the chamber. Pistol in hand, he entered the stairwell.

It hit him then, sinking in, that the dead were silent. He stepped onto the stairs and peered over the railing into a sea of cold blue eyes. The dead stood motionless, as if they were all locked in some sort of waking dream.

Vince carefully backed into the hall and then broke into a run. Laura had to see this. Maybe she’d know what was going on; he sure as hell didn’t.

Daniel had run all the way back to the makeshift communications room.

In an effort to stop shaking, to take his mind off those dead blue eyes, he switched on the radio and listened to R.E.M.’s “What’s the Frequency, Kenneth?” as he went to work trying to boost the hospital’s signal. His head bobbed to the music as his fingers danced through the wiring of his radio. A cold cup of black coffee sat at his side. He took a sip, grimacing at the bitterness and almost spit it out when the incoming signal light lit up.

He shut off the music and tried to tune in the radio, but remembered he’d just taken it apart. The light had to be a glitch, but something told him to check anyway. He opened the channel and smiled as static crackled on the airwaves. He reached again for his coffee, laughing at himself for being so foolish.

“You are ours,” said a voice on the radio, a single voice that sounded like a billion souls speaking at once. “We are coming.”

Daniel spilt his stale coffee on his lap and cursed. He had to be imagining this. The radio wasn’t working— couldn’t be working.

“We are coming,” the voice said again. “Your flesh is ours.”

Static crackled loudly as the channel closed itself.

Daniel leaned into his chair, wide-eyed and shaking, wondering if he had gone mad.

Laura stood by the window as Vince and Martin watched her. “Something is certainly going on down there. I’ve never seen the dead just stop like this.”

“Really?” Vince asked sarcastically.

“I don’t understand it,” Laura said. “It goes against everything we know about their behavior.”

“What the hell do we do about it?” Vince asked. “And I swear to God, if you say some shit like ‘let’s just enjoy the silence,’ I’m going to throw you out that window.”

“It’s got to have something to do with the virus. It’s changed, mutated somehow.”

“How could it do that?” Martin wondered.

“Oh my lord,” Laura blurted. “It’s you. You and your helicopter.”

Vince stepped away from Martin, aiming his .38 at the man.

“I did nothing,” Martin said, completely unafraid of Vince and the weapon pointed at him.

“You didn’t have to. You brought the airborne strain of the virus with you. It does exist, and you’re not only a carrier of it, you’ve spread it all over the city when you flew in. The airborne strain must have altered when it encountered the original, altered itself in some way where it affects the dead rather than the living, changing them into something completely new.”

Martin nodded. “Please understand there is no way I could have known my presence here would cause this. I am sorry.”

“Laura?” Vince asked, keeping his gun trained on Martin.

“Put the gun down, Vince. What’s done is done. The only question is what’s happening to the dead. They’re changing, that’s clear, but into what?”

“We’ve got to get out of here, Laura. Staying around to find out is just asking to get our butts gnawed off.”

“Agreed, but Martin’s helicopter is the only way out. It’s not going to carry everyone.”

“I know that, damn it! Let’s just grab who and what we can and go. Right now.”

“I’m not leaving,” Martin informed them. “Your Daniel is also a pilot, I believe. Have him fly you out of here. There’s a map to the base inside the helicopter. My purpose is to save as many as I can, and I will make sure the hospital doesn’t fall until Daniel can come back for a second group of your people.”

Laura tried to argue, but Martin cut her off. “We must prepare. There is a storm coming, and even I cannot fight so many alone.”

Jack paced back and forth in the waiting room. Most of his crew slept on the couches, but Mitchell was still awake and staring out the window.

“What are you looking at?” Jack asked.

“The dead. They’re bringing ladders and rope into the building. Fucking ladders and rope.”

Jack laughed. “You’re shitting me.”

Mitchell was pale as he looked up at Jack. “I wish I were.”

The door to the waiting room opened. Martin stood in the doorway. “You may kill me now, or you can help save all those who may be saved. The choice is yours.” He tossed a shotgun into Jack’s hands and raised his arms to the sides, presenting his chest.