Emma Shortt: Waking Up Dead

They scrambled back up, ran, and finally stumbled into the room, slamming the door shut behind them, but of course they didn’t have time to rebar it and so they ran straight for the second door.

“How many are left?” Sebastian gasped.

“I don’t know.”

Jay got open the second door just as the other opened. Maybe a dozen or so zombies spilled into the room and ran straight for them.

Luke lifted his ax and swung, unable to fire his gun in such a close space for fear of hitting one of the others. It sliced through one of the large zombie’s shoulders, cleaving down until the arm came off. Pus arced and splattered him, but now he knew it was harmless Luke didn’t give a shit. He kicked the zombie aside before embedding the ax in its head—straight through skull bone.

Another came and again his ax buried itself in the thing’s head. It hit the floor just as a groan sounded. Luke turned to see a massive female zombie coming right at him. She was huge, the biggest Luke had ever seen and he eyed her fleshy folds wondering where the hell his weapon would make a dent. “Come on then,” he roared. “You—”

But the scream hit him then in tandem with another groan, the sound zinging throughout every cell in his body, and it was so unexpected and so alien that really Luke shouldn’t have recognized it, but of course he did. Jackson was his now. Everything about her was inexorably tied with him.

Luke whipped around to see the woman he loved crumple against a jagged piece of metal on one of the shelving units, the zombie’s massive hands pushing her against it and saw with perfect clarity the metal slice into her face. Her perfect, pretty face.

“Jackson, no!” he roared, and he stepped forward, forgetting about the massive female zombie.

That lapse in attention, that minor slip up was enough for the zombie, and she launched herself on him, her mass sending them both to the floor. Luke actually heard his skull crack against the stone floor at exactly the wrong angle, and pain exploded outward, licking its way through every part of his brain. Nausea reared and blackness colored his vision. He tried to battle against it, but even as he gained a bit of ground and the explosion died just a little, another pain erupted and he heard himself roar.

He lifted his arms to push against it, to push it away. But it was too late and as he pushed she ripped, and the pain was so intense, the wetness flooding across his body so exact that the blackness rushed back at him, like a tidal wave, and before he could even call out Jackson’s name again it swallowed him.

And Luke knew no more.

…

Time slowed for Jackson when Luke roared. She pushed away from the metal shelf, so that the length embedded in her cheek was pulled out, and kicked out at the male zombie. It stumbled back and in one move she whirled around, taking Mandy with her, straight through its head. Gore arced out across them and only habit, two long years of habit, had her ducking at the last moment to avoid the spray. Its body hit the floor with a wet thud , and Jackson shouldn’t have even noticed how squishy it sounded, but her senses were on high alert—maybe because of the pain now screaming across her cheek, or maybe because of Luke. And yes, the battle raged around her, Pete fighting three or four as far as she could tell. And Sebastian holding one off by the redheaded zombie with a syringe, and Jay stuck in the carnage, but in that moment Jackson didn’t care.

She jumped over the zombie’s prone body, brushing at the wetness dripping down her face, and almost skidded across the slick floor to where Luke lay, crumpled on his side. As if in slow motion she saw droplets of blood and pus flick up from her feet and hit the back of the huge female zombie on top of him. They dripped downward, falling onto his denim-clad legs and Jackson lifted Mandy to her highest point.

The waking dead, once a woman, was beyond obese and maybe that should have slowed her down under any normal sort of circumstance, but it didn’t. It hadn’t. She’d gotten Luke and now she turned, teeth bared, blood dripping, emitting a death groan that hit Jackson’s ears in a perfect melody and jumped. One swing. That was all she had. Once chance, and Jackson took it. She brought the machete down with every single bit of power her arms had left in them. Screaming as she did so. It hit the zombie woman on the sweet spot. The place where the skull bone was at its thinnest, and cleaved through.

But this was a zombie and the cleaving happened so quickly that it didn’t register immediately and it kept coming. Its weight barreled into Jackson’s diminutive frame, knocked the breath right out of her and she let out a muffled “oohh” as they both hit the floor. They skidded along it, gore soaked her back, Jackson turned her head just in time to avoid the spray of blood from the woman’s brain. The zombie growled and Jackson let go of Mandy’s hilt so that she could concentrate on lifting her knees, even though the effort it took was almost too much. But Luke was there, and vulnerable, one of the others would spot him soon—who knew how many had survived the flames? With this thought in mind, Jackson gritted her teeth and pulled her knees into her body, right under the huge roll of fat hanging from the waking dead’s middle. She pulled and then she pushed. The zombie moaned and gurgled, but it was dying now, finally dying, and that was enough for Jackson to heave it from her. It collapsed backward, onto its knees, away from her and Jackson grabbed Mandy from where the machete was embedded in its head, and with the very last of her strength she sliced across the zombie’s neck. Straight through the artery, which sprayed outward, a blood and pus arc, combining with that of the brain to soak the floor around it.

Jackson vaulted over it, ignoring the zombie’s final gurgles and twitches, ignoring everything really, and fell beside Luke. Her knees didn’t even register the puddle of blood beneath them, or the fact that the groans continued to sound around her.

He was on his side, almost curled up, and Jackson’s entire body shook as she saw the bite marks across his shoulder. The zombie had gotten a good purchase. There was no doubt about that. Its teeth had sunk in a good inch both above and below. Two perfectly round crescents they should have been, only it had ripped, the way they always did, and all that was left now was a ragged hole about the size of half of a large orange. The hole was leaking blood. Luke’s entire upper body was covered with the stuff. Worse than that though, she could see other fluids. Fluids that weren’t his. And there was skin, rotted bits of skin and flakes of flesh.

She pulled those zombie parts away, desperately wiping at his wound—even though it was coating her own hands and the slash across her cheek was dripping on him—because she had to clean the wound. The saliva, the zombie saliva was in there and as she frantically wiped at it Sebastian’s words came to her. It’s only about the bite because the bite holds the saliva, and the virus lives there. In the mouth fluids…

And this, this bite, she shuddered. She’s seen the scars on Luke’s body, knew that the other bites hadn’t been like this at all. They were shallower, barely even breaking through the skin.

“Luke, can you hear me?” she asked, and her voice broke on the last word. Deep breath she told herself. Stay calm. But the calm was not coming and as much as Jackson tried to get it, the more it wiggled away. “Luke?”

He moaned. Fear lanced her almost to the point of immobility. The moan sounded like one of them and only the years of barriers and holding everything back had Jackson gritting her teeth, taking him by the shoulders, and turning him so that she could look into his eyes. Only then would she know. Please let it be him…