Undead Menagerie, page 24
“Of course you can’t,” Imogen said.
“Is it safe at the zoo?” Gary asked.
Mike glanced at Imogen, concern in his eyes. “We can keep them out. Food’s getting tight, especially for the animals.”
“Can’t you eat them?” Gary said.
“No!” Imogen cried. “We can’t eat them. We’re supposed to be taking care of them.”
Gary raised his hands in surrender. “Sorry. I just thought… things have changed, ya know?”
Imogen bristled, aggravated that the first impulse of so many people seemed to be to eat the animals. Worry followed because Peter was right. If they kept the animals in place, people would eat them. Just based on Gary’s comments, she knew it was only a matter of time.
Sally smiled, looking eager to smooth things over. “We’re getting ready to eat soon. Will you stay? Maybe we can figure out how we can help one another.”
Sandy nodded, smiling. “That would be great. We need to figure out how to get back to our truck.”
“We’ll help you with that,” Gary said. “Let’s eat first. I’m starving.”
Despite the size of the mob that had been cleared out during their rescue, the activity had attracted more zombies. The buses blocking the intersections helped keep the number of zombies on Shop-n-Save’s block down more than before, even with the roadblock being porous at one end; beyond the roadblocks was a different story. They’d taken the Shop-n-Savers’ up on their offer to stay the night and see how things looked in the morning.
The emotional shock of seeing the devastated city firsthand, coupled with the fear and physical exertion of running for her life, had made Imogen confident she’d fall asleep right away.
That had been over an hour ago.
She didn’t know the sounds of this place. Everything from a low voice to the unfamiliar creak of the building amped up her fight or flight instinct. Her nervous system had kicked into overdrive almost as high as that first night in the zoo. Instead of getting up she’d stayed on the borrowed sleeping mat, pretending she’d be able to sleep the same way she pretended she wasn’t cold when she didn’t want to get out of bed to fetch another blanket. She always got out of bed in the end; it was just a matter of how long she was willing to suffer.
Just get up.
She sat up, arching her back, and peered into the gloom. A low light burned at the service desk at the front of the store. Climbing to her feet, she took care to not wake those sleeping nearby. She hugged close to the rows of shelving that ran to the back of the store, even though the aisle between them and the deserted checkout stands was wide. Her heart pounded at the idea of being stuck between the narrow chutes of the stands should zombies attack.
She heard the voices at the service desk before she made out the figures of the speakers. There were three of them, and one was Mike. Her brow furrowed. He’d been yawning widely at dinner and had gone to bed before she did. It seemed odd that he’d be awake now.
“—still don’t think it’s a good idea. It’ll be dark for hours yet.”
It was Gary’s voice, she realized. He sounded unhappy.
Then Mike said, “But you’ll loan me a bike, right?”
Imogen froze. What did Mike need a bike for at this hour? And what was it that Gary thought was a bad idea? She crept among the check stands, close enough now to see Mike, Gary, and Sally huddled around the lantern.
Sally’s voice was next. “We’ll lend you the bike, but why don’t you wait until the morning? What will your friends think when they wake up and you’re gone?”
Mike was leaving? Imogen clutched the rack that held magazines and candy. The metal squeaked and all three heads turned.
“Who’s there?” Sally said sharply.
Imogen stepped out from the shadows and closed the distance between them. Mike’s eyes widened in surprised recognition that was replaced by irritation. “Where are you going?”
Mike grimaced. “Shhh, not so loud. You’ll wake everyone up.”
“Where are you going?” she said again, more softly. He pursed his lips, the gesture almost a scowl. “Well?”
“There’s something I need to do.”
She waited, but again, he didn’t elaborate. Impatience flared at his blatant stonewalling. “I gathered that much already. What is it? Where are you going?”
He didn’t answer. He wouldn’t even meet her eye. She turned to Sally. “What’s going on?”
Sally grimaced, her reluctance to get in the middle clear. Imogen bit her lip, frustration building. Mike needed to answer her question instead of putting their new acquaintances in the middle.
“You tell me what’s going on right now or I’m shouting for the others.”
“Imogen—”
“Right. Now.”
He glared at her, anger blazing bright in his usually friendly face. It didn’t suit him. Then the fight drained away. He sighed and scrubbed his face with his hand.
“My sister’s house is on Friendship Avenue, on the Bloomfield side just past West Penn. I’m going to see if I can find them.”
“You can’t be serious,” she said, almost too taken aback to speak. “You want to go there alone in the middle of the night? By West Penn Hospital? Do you know how many people were going to the hospital thinking they—”
“Of course I know,” he snapped. “I was on the phone with Steph when—”
He shut his mouth on an unbidden sob with an audible click, the pain in his eyes scorching. He looked away, his jaw so tight it looked wired shut. Imogen cringed, wanting to kick herself. She knew his girlfriend had been a nurse. She’d heard the phone call Mike had made when he’d tried to warn her.
After a moment, he continued, his voice soft. He looked at the floor, not meeting her eye. “I know what happened at the hospitals. Everyone was at Faith’s that day—her husband, their kids, my sister Beth. We were meeting for lunch. I have to get to them.”
Imogen opened her mouth, too flummoxed to form a response.
Mike looked at her then, his voice still soft but filled with urgency. “This is the closest I’ve been since this started. From here I can cut through the cemetery. It’s my best chance.”
“We barely survived today, Mike. Without their help, we’d still be on that roof.”
Desperation coiled in Imogen’s throat, making her voice hoarse. She wanted to shout at the top of her lungs and wake everyone up. How could he be so stupid? How could he think he knew better than everyone else? She looked to Gary and Sally for support.
“Friendship Avenue is pretty far now, even cutting through the cemetery,” Gary said. “I understand you want to find your family. Wait until morning and we’ll help you come up with a plan.”
“Gary’s right,” Sally began, but Mike cut her off.
“If I wait until morning, they’ll try to talk me out of it or want to come with me. I can’t ask them to take that risk.”
Imogen huffed at him. “You’re not giving anyone a chance to say no or for you to refuse.”
Mike’s voice got even softer. “If we’re going to survive this thing, we need to leave the city. I know you’re smart enough to realize that, Imogen, even if you don’t want it to be true. I can’t leave without trying to find them. I have to know.”
There was something in his voice Imogen hadn’t heard before. It took a few seconds before she could identify it. Resignation.
She’d known Mike thought they needed to leave the city, to go where there had been less people to begin with. What she hadn’t understood was that he didn’t want to leave, but was resigned to it. He thought it was necessary, not desirable. Somehow, that made the idea more palatable.
She almost shied away from the pain roiling in Mike’s dark eyes. Eyes that implored her to relent, to quit making this harder than it was. He needed to know what had happened to his family and didn’t need to spell out for her what that might mean. She wanted to convince him that going on his own was doomed to failure, but she’d give anything to know if Araminta was all right. Imogen wasn’t all that religious, but right now, she’d sell her soul to know what had happened to her sister.
“All right,” she said.
Mike relaxed, his tense posture deflating now that she was giving way.
Imogen took a shallow breath that didn’t get any air into her lungs. She felt light-headed when she added, “But I’m coming with you.”
CHAPTER 32
MIKE
The bikes were fantastic.
Mike could tell they were top of the line even though he hadn’t been on a bike in years. The frames weren’t metal but some material that was light and strong. The gears barely clicked when shifting, and the ticking of the gears was the softest he’d ever heard.
Gary told them the bikes were from a house on the alley behind the school bus parking lot, which showed just how much the neighborhood had changed in the last twenty years. People who could afford bikes like these hadn’t always lived in two-bed, one-bath row houses in Lawrenceville that went for two hundred grand before the full gut remodel. If the same building had sold for over twenty thousand when Mike was a kid, he was a monkey’s uncle.
Imogen coasted alongside him down the first block of Carnegie Street. They’d left the shopping plaza by the rear entrance onto 55th Street which kept them off Butler Street. They would need to dismount and climb over the barriers at the end of the one-by-three-block area Gary and Sally’s people had secured, where they delivered food to their neighbors.
They slowed to a halt as they approached the barricade at McCandless Avenue. “Just two blocks from here?” Imogen murmured.
“Three,” Mike said. “The second is a double length block.”
They dismounted and climbed over the parked cars—handing the bikes over—as quietly as possible. Once on their bikes again, they eased across the intersection and down the next block. Dark windows shaded by old-fashioned aluminum awnings reminded Mike of hollowed-out eye sockets. Dead eyes looking out at dead city streets. Moonlight spilled through a break in the clouds, its weak rays offering the barest illumination. Opened suitcases had spilled their contents and raccoons scurried among the overturned garbage cans. Some cars were parked at the curb, neat and tidy, like the secured blocks they had just traveled. Others were askew in the street or driven onto the sidewalk with doors left ajar.
Mike’s thighs burned though the road they traveled was more or less flat. His body hummed with dread. A thump from the first car they passed almost knocked Mike from his bike. A lightning bolt of fear lit up his nerve endings. His toes touched down on the pavement to recover his balance while he tried to push away the flare of panic. There was another thump on the window of the car, followed by a growl. Imogen looked over her shoulder.
“I’m okay,” he said.
She slowed, waiting for him to catch up. They rode slowly, navigating with care around obstacles. The occasional thud against doors and windows had them both jumpy as rabbits.
“Pray they don’t break a window,” Mike said, thinking of how the noise would carry.
“Just this next block, cross Stanton Avenue, and hop the wall into the cemetery,” Imogen said when they stopped at the next intersection. “Right?”
He nodded. Her eyes were wide, her posture tense. She was scared—she’d be crazy not to be—but was working hard to keep it under control.
“Yeah,” he said. “That’s it.”
“Without being swarmed and eaten,” she muttered, so low he almost didn’t hear her.
Moans swelled in the streets below, filling the still night air. From Butler Street, two blocks down the hillside where the flats began, and coming closer. The zombies down there had seen or heard them when they crossed the intersection or the one before it. They needed to pick up the pace.
“Hurry,” Imogen said, gaining speed and pulling ahead of him.
Mike pedaled harder. The moon had gone behind another cloud. Hands beat against the windows of the houses. The peaked roofs of the tall, narrow row houses blurred at the edges of Mike’s vision, making his head swim.
Imogen stopped abruptly, forcing him to swerve around her. “We need to back up.”
The fear in her voice wound around him like a contagious breath. The moans and hands thumping from inside the row houses and cars grew louder. He squinted, unable to see what had spooked Imogen. The row houses seemed to press in from both sides of the street. “What’s—”
Then he saw the suggestion of motion, something he couldn’t quite see, followed by a deafening roar of moans. The hairs on his neck, arms, and scalp prickled. The moon emerged from behind a cloud, bathing the street in a dull glow.
“Mike?”
Imogen’s voice squeaked in fear. The mob of zombies filling the last third of the block ahead of them had stilled, as if time had been paused. Then they surged forward.
Mike wheeled his bike around.
“It’s blocked,” Imogen cried.
Zombies were winding around the corner onto the street. Mike’s heart stuttered, stopped, then stuttered again. He leaped from his bike, letting it fall to the pavement, and pulled Imogen by the arm.
“Come on!”
He half dragged her from the bike, his haste not giving her time to react so that her feet tangled on the pedals and frame. Mike’s grip never loosened as she stumbled upright. His foot was on the nearest house’s stoop when Imogen said, “No, through here!”
She pulled free of him and darted into the narrow walkway between this house and the next. Mike followed, praying they wouldn’t run straight into a zombie as the dark passageway swallowed them. Imogen’s silhouette flashed in the fractionally lighter rectangle where the buildings ended. Mike burst into a backyard with two levels—the lower concrete, the upper fashioned into a gravel parking spot.
Imogen had already scrambled over the low wall to the parking spot, gravel crunching under her boots. They raced down the narrow alleyway, past fences and garages and corpses. Some were zombies that people had dealt with, their gray skin mottled but not very decayed. More seemed to have died while still human, the rank scent of rot even harsher up close.
Up and down the alley zombies tangled and clanged against low chain-link fences at the end of yards and gardens. Not every house facing Carnegie Street or the next street up the hill had a yard. Many were separate lots with small houses that faced the alley. A face—a human face—flashed in Mike’s peripheral vision from a window. He almost stopped, almost pulled Imogen up the stoop to bang on the door, but then what? They might get the people inside that house killed. They’d be trapped, if the people there even let them in. He’d be no closer to finding Faith and Beth.
“I can see the wall!”
Mike saw it, too. The end of the alley beckoned like an eager lover. Mike caught up to Imogen, pulling a few steps ahead to make sure she wasn’t running into something worse than what they fled. Just a few more houses, he thought, relief washing through him.
Broken glass sparkled through the air around Mike’s head, the pale moonlight glinting off the shards. He raised his arm, not quite shielding his face from the spray. He tripped over his own feet as he stumbled to a halt. A hulking, snarling shape landed in front of him, blocking their path.
The man—the shoulders were too broad to be a woman—rolled to his feet. His ripped and stained shirt revealed a large gut that spilled over the waistband of his trousers. His frame hinted at a body once heavily muscled gone doughy. Mike couldn’t see the man’s face, it was too deep in shadow, but he knew the eyes would be vacant, the skin gray and mottled and threaded with a spider’s web of black lines.
A runner, which meant they were screwed.
Imogen’s shout of warning sliced through the growing chorus of moans, sharp as a razor. The runner hit him so hard his feet lifted off the ground. Mike sailed through the air, smacking into Imogen. He knocked her down like bowling pin, the whoosh of air leaving her lungs as they hit the ground ringing in his ears.
Then the runner landed, pinning Mike at mid-thigh with Imogen trapped beneath him. The rotten meat smell hit his sinuses like bleach. He gagged, his eyes watering as he tried to thrash free. But he couldn’t. The cold, flabby flesh pinned him.
The runner raised its head and snapped at him. Mike punched without thought, just to keep it away. Sharp teeth grazed his knuckles, and he realized his mistake. The leather glove, the only barrier between his skin and a death sentence, had ripped.
Mike snatched his hand back, the skin of his fingers pale against the black leather. He couldn’t tell if the runner had broken the skin. If he didn’t get away, it wouldn’t matter.
The runner levered onto its hands and knees, creating some space. Mike bent his right knee. He pushed his foot against the ground, raising his hips and core an inch.
“Go, Imogen,” he gasped. “Run!”
He pushed against the runner. Every muscle trembled, so hard they almost spasmed. He could feel them weakening, his strength seeping away as Imogen scrabbled out from under him.
The runner lunged and thumped on top of him. Mike collapsed under its weight, raising his arm to cover his face. The snap of the runner’s teeth rang in his ears. He struck out blindly, wriggling and twisting, trying to keep the snap and bite of teeth from catching his neck or face.
He beat on the runner’s head with his fist, knowing it was no good. The rotting teeth in the shadowed face readied to bite, the dark hollows of its eyes looming close.
Its eyes!
Mike jammed his first and middle finger into the runner’s eye. Viscous liquid chilled his exposed knuckles and spurted onto his face. A rotten taste bloomed across his tongue. He gagged, turning his head aside, and spit. His fingers slipped off the nasal bone. He shoved his thumb alongside the others, twisting his wrist to work his fingers deeper.
The runner jerked and thrashed, almost pulling free. A roar ripped through Mike’s throat, fury detonating in his belly. His sisters and nieces and brother-in-law, Steph… He’d never see them again. Kevin and Sandy and Imogen and Zach. He’d never know what happened, never know if they survived.
