Stephen Knight - Left With The Dead

“Yes.”

“Good. It’s going to be very smoky outside in the hall, but we won’t be in it for long. Let’s go.” He raised the AA-12 to his shoulder, barrel pointed at the floor and nodded toward the door. Jolie grabbed the door knob in her right hand and looked back at him. Gartrell nodded again, and she yanked the door open.

A mass of unpleasant-smelling gray-white smoke billowed in. Gartrell stepped into the hallway as Jaden moaned and struggled, uncomfortable with the sudden action and the stress it put on his wrists and ankles. A zombie moved against the wall nearby, feeling its way along with outstretched arms. It was vague and indistinct in the dense smoke, and it did not seem to notice Gartrell even though he stood no more than ten feet away. He saw why that was-both its eyes were gone, leaving only empty sockets in the flesh-covered skull. Gartrell kept it covered anyway as Jolie moved past him without hesitation. He caught the apartment door before it slammed shut and closed it gently, then faded into the smoke as the zombie crept slowly closer. It emitted a long, drawn out moan. It couldn’t see them, but sensed the presence of the living somewhere in the hallway. Gartrell moved to the right, edging toward the stairwell door which Jolie held open. He stepped onto the dark landing, and Jolie closed the door behind him. The darkness inside was complete, and Jaden made a small mewling sound in the back of his throat. Gartrell flipped down his night vision goggles and took them out of standby mode, and the stairwell was clearly revealed to him in shades of green and white. He turned and grabbed Jolie’s hand and put it on his shoulder. She clutched him, strong enough to hurt, and Jaden mewled again, his voice echoing in the concrete-walled stairwell. Gartrell started down, walking slowly enough that Jolie could find her footing. It took her a moment to synchronize her movements with his, but she learned quickly, and soon they were making good progress. As they descended, Gartrell heard voices over the radio: the light infantry platoon reporting their progress, and Summit Six ordering them to advance with all possible haste to link up with Gartrell and the civilians. Gartrell felt a blossom of hope spread open in his chest.

“Terminator Five, this is Summit Six. Are you still on this frequency, over?”

Gartrell keyed his transmit button twice. He didn’t want to talk in the stairwell; even a whisper would carry farther than he wanted it to.

“Terminator Five, Summit Six. Understand you cannot talk, over.”

Gartrell clicked the transmit button twice once again.

“Terminator Five, Summit Six. Pathfinder is aware of your circumstances, and they are proceeding to the Eighty-Sixth Street station. Double-click if you get that, over.”

Gartrell did as instructed.

“Terminator, Summit. You should be hearing helicopters soon. These are not the transports, I say again, these are not transports-they are Apaches from the Tenth Mountain aviation brigade, and they are to give you fire support. As soon as you’re ready to make your run for the subway, let me know and we’ll get them lined up for close-in gunnery, over.”

Gartrell’s spirits fairly soared. He double-clicked the transmit button again, and he started walking faster, pulling Jolie along. She stumbled on one step, and he forced himself to slow down as he reasserted control over his emotions.

Slow down troop, or you’ll get everyone killed.

Above, something pounded against one of the doors leading to the stairs. Jolie squeezed his shoulder, and Jaden wriggled about on his back. Gartrell stopped and leaned over the edge of the railing and peered down. Only two more flights to go.

“Let’s pick it up a bit,” he whispered to Jolie.

“I can’t see a thing,” she said.

“I can. Three steps to the next landing, turn left, down a flight, turn left, another flight, and then the door to-to what?”

“A hallway, and at the end of that, another door. Glass and mesh, like the one on Second Avenue.”

Above, the pounding increased, and the moans of the dead reached their ears.

“Keep up with me,” Gartrell said, and then he started down the steps at a good pace. Jolie hurried after him, her hand still on his shoulder. She stumbled down the steps but caught herself. In the process, she lost her grip on Gartrell’s shoulder.

“Dave!” she said, her voice barely more than a whisper.

Gartrell turned at the next landing and looked up. She was at the top of the flight of stairs. Her hand was on the rail, and she looked right at him without seeing him.

“Come down. Twelve steps, just like in Alcoholics Anonymous. Take ‘em quick, don’t fuck around. You hear that racket upstairs? The dead’ll be in here any minute. We gotta move, so shag it, lady.”

She hurried down the steps, her left hand on the steel rail and the shotgun in her right. He reached out and took her shoulder when she made it to the landing and guided her around to the next flight of stairs.

“Another twelve steps, then the door. You see the light from under the door?”

“I see it!”

“Then hit it. Go!”

Keeping his hand on her shoulder this time, he followed her as she half-ran, half-stumbled down the steps. She almost fell against the door at the end of the stairwell, and her hand fumbled for the knob. Gartrell stopped her from opening it.

“Hold on. We’ll do it like before-you open, I’ll clear. Ready?”

“Ready.”

Gartrell moved around her and ensured the wall was to Jaden’s back and there was nothing that could harm him to the rear. Jaden seemed to be sleeping now, his head resting against Gartrell’s shoulders. Gartrell wondered how that could be, as he must have been in some pain from the bonds on his wrists and ankles. He didn’t dwell upon it. Instead, he flipped his NVGs up on their mount and readied the AA-12.

“Open it,” he said.

Jolie pulled open the door, and filtered afternoon sunlight burst into the stairwell. It wasn’t extremely bright, but Gartrell squinted against it anyway. He stepped into the hallway beyond. To his left, the hall ended at a closed elevator. To his right, it continued down toward a door that was three-quarters reinforced glass. Somewhere in the distance, he heard helicopters. Jaden stirred at the light, whining slightly. Gartrell waved Jolie into the hallway as he heard something give way upstairs. The dead had finally overwhelmed the door, and were doubtless streaming into the stairwell. Jolie hurried out, and Gartrell slammed the door shut. The darkness wouldn’t cause the zeds much delay. Gravity would do its work, and they would find their way to the bottom, one way or another.

“Summit Six, Terminator Five. We’re about to exit the building on Eighty-Sixth Street, and I’d estimate we’re about a hundred meters east of the subway station. I can hear the helicopters, are they in firing position? Over.” Through the glass door at the end of the hallway, Gartrell saw figures lurch past on the street outside.

“Terminator, Summit. They’re ready whenever you are with nine hundred rounds of thirty mike-mike each. Flight of four hovering right close by, over.”

“Six, we’re ready. We are danger close and we need to get the hell out of here, so they should start sending rounds downrange right now, over.” As he spoke, Gartrell heard sounds from behind the stairwell door. The stenches were finding their way down, and it sounded like half of them were falling down the stairs as opposed to walking down them.

“Dave…” Jolie looked toward the gray metal door, her shotgun in both hands. Sweat beaded on her upper lip, and thick strands of her red hair stuck to her face.

“Come on.” Gartrell trotted toward the door, then stopped halfway down the hallway. He motioned for her to cover the exit, while he turned back toward the stairs.