Coscom Entertainment

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The fiction in this book is just that: fiction. Names, characters, places and events either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons living or dead or known horrific events is purely coincidental.

ISBN 978-1-926712-54-3

Possession of the Dead is Copyright © 2010 by Adam P. Fuchs. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce in whole or in part in any form or medium.

Published by Coscom Entertainment

www.coscomentertainment.com

Text set in Garamond

eBook Edition

Cover Art by Gary McCluskey

Interior “Zombie Head” Art by A.P. Fuchs

For all Coscom Entertainment authors, past and present.

Thank you for being part of the family.

Entrails

1: Big Zombies

2: Birds of Prey

3: Left Behind

4: Dirt and Shadows

5: Strange New World

6: Submission

7: Hidden Rooms

8: Good Night

9: Morning

10: Outside

11: Surrounded

12: Stuck

13: Search Party

14: Big, Big Trouble

15: No Way Out?

16: Out

17: The Rubble Heap

18: Josh

19: The Car-Truck

20: The Parkade

21: Death

22: El Camino Roadtrip

23: Emergence

24: Dillon

25: More Pain

26: Humans Weren’t the Only Ones

27: Michael

28: The Hitchhiker

29: On the Side of the Road

30: Soda Cans

31: Huge, Dead Fat Guy

32: The Reason for Time Travel

33: Dead Grass, Dead Forest

34: It’s Getting Darker

35: Night in the Hub

36: The Shed

37: The Undead in the Woods

38: The Breach

39: Walking

40: Hank

41: Internal and External

42: Hordes of the Dead

43: The Dust Cloud

44: The Gathering

1

Big Zombies

The crack of the X-09 sent a shockwave through Joe’s system as if he’d just heard the gun go off for the first time.

Des jerked to the side, his skull still intact.

I missed hi—But before Joe could finish the thought, Des grabbed him by the wrist, and forced the gun skyward.

Des opened his mouth, revealing cracked, yellow teeth, which moved in fast toward Joe’s neck. Joe shot out his palm, shoving it into Des’s chest, trying to keep him from taking a chunk out of his throat. It was no use. Des pushed forward, folding Joe’s arm in at the elbow. Leverage gone, Joe allowed Des to take him to the ground.

Billie shrieked from somewhere to the side. August shouted something too, but it was hard to make out above Des’s growling.

Des’s decayed thumb and forefinger dug into Joe’s wrist, contracting the tendons, forcing the X-09 to go off again. Billie yelped, and Joe hoped he hadn’t shot her. Des’s dead weight on top of him kept him from moving. The guy seemed to weigh more than his skinny frame let on.

Those teeth came in again, Des’s cracked lips brushing up against the side of Joe’s throat. Giving it everything he had, he dragged his left arm up between their two bodies and was able to get his palm underneath Des’s chin, just enough to push his dead friend’s face away. With a flick of his right wrist, he threw the X-09 across the rooftop.

“Grab the gun!” Joe shouted, hoping Billie heard him.

Footfalls. Good.

He craned his neck back, his cheek scraping across the roof’s rough finish. Billie bent over and picked up the gun. August stood off to the side, his lips silently moving. Praying, perhaps.

Joe bucked his hips a few times and got his lower body out from underneath Des. He drove his left knee repeatedly into the dead man’s side, hoping the blows would be enough to force the creature to move off him. Nothing. Each slam into Des’s kidneys was just as effective as kneeing a pillow.

Des’s white eyes lit up with rage as he shoved his face toward Joe’s neck again, his teeth ready to take a bite out of him.

“Shoot him!” Joe screamed. “Billie, shoot him!”

She just stood there, both hands around the gun, eye line down the barrel . . . but not squeezing the trigger.

“Billie!”

“Pull the trigger!” August yelled, slowly making his way toward her.

Breathing in deep, Joe pressed his right hand against Des’s, pushing against his hold. His movement was slow, as if trying to do a one-armed push-up against it.

Des’s teeth settled on Joe’s neck; he felt them begin to press into his skin.

Adrenaline pumping through his system, Joe used his left hand and pushed Des’s face away. He jerked his right hand free and came in with a hook to the side of his head. Des’s face snapped to the side with the blow. Joe hit him again. And again. And hit him a third time. Finally, Des rolled off him.

Joe scrambled on top of him.

To the side, August ripped the X-09 from Billie’s hands. The old man eyed the piece, as if quickly trying to figure out how the thing worked; Joe brought his fist repeatedly into Des’s decaying face, putting it from his mind that the young man used to be human, alive and one of them, a survivor trying to stay alive in a world of the undead.

Des thrashed and growled, each cry silenced by a punch to the face.

The next thing Joe knew, the tip of the X-09 barrel was pressed up against Des’s forehead, August leaning over opposite him.

“Kill him,” Joe said, glancing up at the old man.

There was hesitation in August’s eyes.

“What’s the matter with you? Kill him!”

“No!” Billie screamed off to the side.

Des reached his arms up and clasped his hands around the back of Joe’s neck and tugged his face toward him.

Joe arched himself back and broke free. “Fine. I’ll do it.” He grabbed the gun from August.

The old man took a few slow steps back, a look of worry on his face. What was he so concerned about?

Des swatted at the gun, knocking it from Joe’s fingers, sending it across the rooftop.

Shouting, Joe punched Des in the face once more then got off him and raced for the gun. No sooner did he take a few steps did a pair of strong hands wrap around his ankles, tripping him. He fell forward, landing face first on the roof. He crawled toward the gun.

“Joe!” Billie screamed.

“What?” He couldn’t believe he answered her at a time like this.

Suddenly, everything grew still and the low drumbeats of the enormous walking dead filled the air once more.

He had almost forgotten about the giant dead men roaming the city streets below, each around fifteen stories tall.

A loud boom echoed on the air.

The building shook.

Des jumped on Joe’s back, sending his face back into the roof. Jerking around like a wild man, Joe tried to get out from under him. He gained about half a foot before a tremendous weight nailed him between the shoulder blades, sending him back down.

Seeing nothing but darkness, Joe braced himself for an onslaught of pain.

The familiar thunder crack of the X-09 shook the air and Des’s weight settled on top of him.

Joe glanced up. August stood beside him, the X-09 at his side, smoke trickling out of its barrel.

The old man’s eyes bore into him.

“Thanks,” Joe said.

August dropped the gun then moved to join Billie, who was standing near the side of the building, peering over the edge.

Joe wriggled himself out from under Des’s body. Getting to his feet, he took one final look at the face-down corpse. A hole the size of a quarter sat prominently in the back of Des’s head, black blood oozing from the wound.

Joe moved to join the others.

Another loud boom thundered on the air.

The building shook again and all three of them lost their footing and fell to their backsides.

A few moments later, Joe got up and made his way to the side of the building and looked over the edge.

A giant zombie stood at the building’s base, bringing its arms back, about to pummel the side of the building with car-sized fists.

Another wasn’t too far behind.

* * * *

Billie braced for impact.

The gigantic zombie wound up, its enormous, decaying hands pulled way back, fists clenched. She couldn’t see enough over the edge to assess the damage already done to the building, but she assumed the windows had already been shattered and some of its concrete siding was already cracked.

She wanted to look back over her shoulder at Des’s body, but her eyes stayed fixed on the giant undead creature below. The thing looked like any other zombie—balding head, skin broken and torn in places revealing patches of dried, decaying flesh, ragged clothes—but how the dead had gotten the size they were, she didn’t know. Everything had changed when they came back from—the past?—and there hadn’t been enough down time to seek answers.

The giant zombie, grimacing, arched itself back even further.

Billie glanced at Joe and August. The two men stood there, transfixed on the beast, Joe’s empty right hand seeming to be instinctively curled inward as if he was still holding his gun.

The zombie’s fists came in and pummeled into the side of the building, sending out a rain of rubble. The building shook, rocked, and all of their legs went out from beneath them. They hit the ground hard with a shout, Billie landing on her backside.

“Get up,” Joe said, partly on his side. Looking Billie square in the eye: “Move!”

The three of them got to their feet. Billie and Joe ran toward the center of the roof; August limped. She could only guess what kind of pain he must be in after the crash.

The rooftop rocked beneath them and the mental image of a spinning top flashed at the fore of her mind.

“We need to get down. Now!” August said.

Billie caught sight of the stairwell. “The stairs!”

“Go!” Joe shouted as another boom shook the air and sent all three to the ground.

She crawled a few feet on her hands and knees then got her feet under her and ran with the others to the stairwell door. Joe and August went in. She paused, looked back at Des’s body, then joined them.

“Guys?” she yelled as she bounded down the steps.

“Down here!” Joe shouted from somewhere below, probably a couple of flights.

Keeping one hand on the railing, Billie ran down the stairs as fast as she could, straining her eyes to see inside the dimly-lit stairwell.

Something didn’t feel right.

Wait. It was pitch black the last time we were in here, she thought. The further she descended, the lighter it got. She looked back over her shoulder; things got steadily darker further up the stairwell. Using the hand railing as a guide, she rounded the corner to the next flight and the bitter taste of chalk coated her tongue.

Something hard struck her in the chest. It was Joe’s shoulder.

“Hey, watch it!” he said, stumbling forward a step. August grabbed Joe by the back of his brown suede trench coat.

“Oh no . . .” she said. Just over Joe’s shoulder, the stairwell was broken off, the side wall gone, revealing the murky gray downtown skyline beyond.

And the zombie.

* * * *

Body still aching from the helicopter crash, August kept one hand to the stairwell’s interior wall, limbs trembling, dust filling his mouth and nostrils with each breath.

The giant dead man looked at them, its huge white eyes glazed with hate and hunger.

Oh Lord, what has happened? he thought, but no sooner did he want to ask the Big Guy Upstairs for help did Joe turn to him.

“Look out!” Joe screamed, and shoved August back up the stairs just as a giant hand reached into the building to grab them.

The zombie’s huge, gray, chubby fingers missed and the three scrambled up the stairs as fast as they could.

Below, loud crashes of crumbling cement and tile echoed as the zombie no doubt smashed chunks of the stairwell away in search of its prey.

When the three got back onto the roof, the building swayed. It would only be a matter of time before the whole thing came crashing down.

Joe was already heading toward his gun.

“What’re you going to do? Shoot it?” August said.

“You think I’m crazy?” Joe shouted back over his shoulder.

August couldn’t believe Joe had taken him seriously. “Never mind.”

“No kidding.” Joe picked up his gun, ran back toward them a few steps then stopped.

“What?” Billie asked. But Joe didn’t need to answer.

Des’s body was gone.

“Where’d he go?” Billie screamed, suddenly bursting into hysterics.

August grabbed her by the arm and only two words came out: “Not. Now.”

She clamped her mouth shut, lower lip trembling.

The building rocked and a loud rumbling stirred below. The ground vibrated beneath their feet.

Joe glanced toward the helicopter, which was smashed and bent off to the side. “No way out.”

“No way down,” Billie said.

“I know that!”

She shot him a scowl.

August held his breath in an effort to keep himself level. He went over their options: stairs—missing; helicopter—destroyed; there was nothing up here they could use to rappel down the side of the building. No other building was close enough or high enough for them to safely jump to.

They were out of options.

The building shook.

“God, save us,” he said.

2

Birds of Prey

The roof rocked beneath Joe’s feet and he wouldn’t be surprised if at any moment he’d be riding the roof down to street level like some kind of surfboard gone wild.

Another thunderous boom shook the building and all three of them collapsed to the ground as their knees gave out from under them. The building swayed, its momentum making it difficult to effectively stand. August crawled on his hands and knees toward him, one hand helping bring him across the pavement, the other hand dragging Billie behind him, helping her along.

Joe met August, and together they waited out the building’s rocking before gripping each other’s forearms and helping each other to stand. Once on their feet, they brought Billie to hers.

Even just standing there as they were they could feel the instability of the building beneath their feet.

“It’s not going to take another blow,” Joe said.

“So this is it?” Billie asked.

August merely furrowed his brow as if trying to come up with a plan that would save them.

“Seems so,” Joe said.

The crumbling of concrete from somewhere below rolled onto the air. Joe envisioned the side of the building beginning to peel away completely.

“We can’t die,” August said, “not after that. Not after what we saw.”

“Who’s to say we can’t,” Joe said, surprised that he said it.

“God,” the old man said.

“God? I didn’t hear anything. Did you? Okay, I know what I saw. I know where I went. Right now, this seems worse.”

August’s face went stern. “Don’t even kid about that, Joe. I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

“Then you are hopelessly lost.”

“’Kay, enough, guys,” Billie said.

The giant zombie groaned below, its bellow enough to vibrate the core of Joe’s being. If death was to come right now, he most certainly wouldn’t miss those creatures’ howls and moans. So empty. So lifeless.

So hopeless.

“They’re not taking me,” Joe said. “I won’t let them decide when I go.”

“What do you—” Billie said, but cut herself short. “Oh.” She looked into his eyes. “Not like this, Joe.”

What felt like a giant sledgehammer slammed into the side of the building. It violently rocked backward, forcing the three of them to hit the rooftop and roll toward the side of the building.

Here it is, Joe thought. She’s gonna go.

Billie shrieked. August remained strangely calm.

The three of them slammed up against the interior of the building’s edge. Billie’s foot caught Joe in the chin. He didn’t think she noticed and he wasn’t going to say anything. No point right now.

The steel running through the building groaned beneath them; more rumbling shook the concrete.

“Not like this,” Joe said and pressed his heels into the ground and pushed up with all his might. He held his arms out to keep his balance.

“What’re you doing?” Billie asked.

“My life. My call,” Joe said and peered over the edge of the building. “My choice.”

See you in a minute, April, he thought.

“Don’t, Joe,” August said.

Joe ignored him.

Finally free.

He jumped over the edge.

* * * *

“Joe!” Billie screamed and swiftly made her way to the edge. She hesitated before peering over, not wanting to see his body plummet all the way to the street below.

August rushed over beside her, his eyes fixed on hers, and took her in his arms.

“I have to know,” she said.

“Don’t. Not this way.”

She shoved him away, brain numb, confused and completely unsure why Joe decided to take his own life.

Again she was interrupted from looking over the edge by the roar of aircraft overhead.

“Billie,” August said. “Look!”

* * * *

The back of Joe’s head throbbed like the dickens. He had meant to overshoot the protrusion of flooring from the level a couple floors down from the roof, but instead hit it with his feet anyway. His legs had folded under him, his body twisted and the next thing he knew black dotted with green stars burst before his eyes. A sudden rush of dizziness, his body spinning, then dark followed by the echoey sound of a kind of muted thunder.

Gazing up into the gray and brown sky, his heart didn’t ache at the realization he wasn’t dead. It burned with grief over the way his body seemed to take over, manifesting his thoughts of death, and hurled him over the edge. Yet at the same time, a part of him did want to run with it and wake up on the other side next to April, finally reunited after over a year of hell in a world filled with zombies.

The muted thunder returned and a series of fighter jets rushed toward the building. Joe counted three from where he lay.

Two of them sped ahead of the other and zipped passed the teetering building. The third let loose a couple of missiles. Joe rolled over onto his stomach and crawled to the edge of the sheet of flooring he lay upon, taking it in full-view as the twin missiles plowed into the giant zombie that was about to bring another fist into the base of the building. The missiles struck it in the chest and gut, spiking clean through it. Black syrupy blood burst forth from the wounds right after, gushing to the street below in a deluge of dark bodily fluid.

Were these massive zombies like the others? Would these two shots kill it? It was difficult to say. Joe wasn’t sure how much had changed in this world upon their return. He briefly wondered if they could somehow get back to the past, interfere with themselves from entering that bank and then return here, perhaps restoring things to the way they were—an undead world but without the giant zombified killing machines roaming the streets.

The huge zombie below rocked forward then stumbled back a couple steps. It touched its giant middle, coating its hand in blood as if scooping water from a pond. It took the handful of black blood and hurled it at one of the jets as they rounded back. Quickly, the dark gray jet went black as if instantly covered in tar, and sped hard and fast into a neighboring building. A violent explosion lit the area as orange and yellow flame and a large plume of black smoke shot toward the sky. A part of the building blasted out and fell to the street below.

The giant zombie growled and brought up its hands as if about to swat down the remaining planes like flies.

Another jet came for it, launched another pair of missiles, then banked sharp to the left, just missing the zombie. The zombie spun around, following the jet with its gaze. The missiles caught up from behind and took the creature’s head out in a gushy explosion of giant shards of bone, glops of brain and sprays of black blood.

The building groaned.

It’s gonna fall, Joe thought. He quickly got to his feet. “Billie! August!” No one came to the edge above. “Anybody?”

* * * *

“She’s coming in quick,” August said from behind Billie’s shoulder. He pointed to a white bi-plane coming in from the west. The plane was near level with the building. If they thought they could land the thing over such a small area—

Billie jumped over, seemingly too excited to contain herself. She waved her arms back and forth in giant Xs. “Hey! Here!”

The side of the bi-plane opened and the vague visage of what appeared to be a female poked its head out the door. It then retreated back into the plane before reappearing again with something large and dark in its hands.

The plane came toward them. It was a woman, partly sticking out the side of the plane. The large dark cylinder in her hands look familiar but August couldn’t quite place it.

As the plane rushed by, the woman shot out the dark cylinder and a black rope ladder tumbled out of the plane. The rungs struck the rooftop and dragged along it, coming for August and Billie.

“Better act fast,” he told her. “To be safe—” He grabbed her hands, jerked her behind him, and set her arms around his waist. “Okay?”

She didn’t reply but he thought he felt her head nod against him.

The ropes came by.

August grabbed on. Within a second of doing so, both he and Billie’s feet left the ground.

They looked down to the street far below. August saw the small form of a man wearing a trench coat on an outcrop of concrete.

“Joe!” Billie screamed.

But it was too late. The bi-plane moved further and further from the building.

3

Left Behind

Billie pressed up against the tiny window, on some level wishing she could just push past the glass and somehow fly down and get Joe to safety. Instead, Joe slowly grew to a black dot standing on a tiny outcrop at the side of the building before vanishing altogether.

“I can’t believe it, I can’t believe it,” she said.

“Billie,” August said from across from her.

“He’s down there. We left him. First Des and now him. No. Nonono.” She put her face in her hands. “They’ll kill him and eat him and maybe change him into one of those things, and I don’t know. Joe’s gone. Gone. Gone!”

“I know. I’m sorry,” August said.

“I don’t want to hear that.”

“It’s all there is to say.”

She pulled her face from her hands and gave him a cold stare. His gaze in return was gentle and kind, with a slight glaze over his eyes.

August glanced back over his shoulder to a woman sitting in the co-pilot seat.

She didn’t wear a headset, only sat there eyes fixed forward, her long brown hair hiding most of her face. She was a heavier girl, somewhere in the one-sixty-plus column, Billy guessed, not that it mattered, but her size made sense with how easily the woman helped them into the plane.

“Thank you,” August said to the woman.

She turned in her seat; her thickly-lined and dark-makeup eyes glanced at August then to Billie before settling back on August again. The pilot, a male with circle-framed dark sunglasses, a toque and a headset, kept his eyes on the sky. Billy couldn’t help but feel the woman was in charge.

The woman nodded at August.

“Where are we going?” August said.

“A safe distance away.”

Billie cleared her throat loud enough to get August’s attention. He looked at her. Her mouth had trouble forming the words. She wanted to talk about Joe again, but not in front of these people. They didn’t know her. She didn’t know them. Something about their female rescuer didn’t sit right, either.

Billie tried speaking again. “What about—what about the zombies?” She thumbed back over her shoulder. “They were taller than a house back there.”

August’s eyes went wide and his mouth made an O-shape. He shook his head slightly. No, was what he meant.

Billie spoke slowly this time, emphasizing each word. “They were as big as a house.”

“And we’re safe from them,” August said.

The woman in the co-pilot seat rolled her eyes and faced forward again.

Think I’m dumb? Billie thought. She cleared her throat and spoke loud and clear to the front of the cockpit. “So, do you guys have a name?”

Neither responded.

“Hey,” Billie said, “can I have your names, please?” She was purposefully polite. A girl thing. The woman would know Billie’s Ps and Qs were meant as a “screw you for not responding.”

The woman turned in her seat again, curled up her mouth in an obviously-phony smile, and said, “I’m May. This is Del.” Then with an even bigger salon-hostess-smile, “Are you guys okay?”

“Fine, thank you,” August said with a bit of a grin, crossing his arms. He brought one leg over the other, and turned his head to look out the window. He clearly knew what was going on and obviously didn’t want any part of it.

Billie smiled back. “Just fine. Thank you for saving us.”

“You’re welcome,” the woman replied. “Anything I can get for you? In-flight movie, perhaps?”

“Do you have Drop Zone?”

“Not for you, dear. Not yet.”

* * * *

Joe looked off into the distance, hoping to catch a glimpse of the bi-plane that had come and rescued August and Billie. He couldn’t see it. It wasn’t coming back for him.

On the other side of the building another giant zombie appeared who, in one more blow to the structure, would send it tumbling to the ground.

This wasn’t his future.

“Or present,” he said. “Whatever happened in the past . . .” . . . changed everything here. Can’t even think about what happened. Can’t even get down. If it wasn’t for April—He caught himself. Though every life had a watershed and April was his, he couldn’t blame her for what was happening now, especially because she had fallen victim to the same creatures that now ruled the planet.

He still loved her, though, even now in this place beyond death. Even after having been to Hell.

“And if I die now, where will I go?” he said.

He took a step closer to the broken wall and tried to find a place in the disarray where he could perhaps look through clearly to the other side and get an idea of what that giant zombie was doing.

“Too hard to see,” he said. And Des wasn’t dead. Alive—human?—zombie again. And I shot him but somehow missed, or shot him but he wasn’t hurt or—

A metallic clunk came from behind him. He spun around to see a black iron grappling hook latched onto the side of the chunk of cement he stood on.

Carefully, he stepped over to it, brow furrowed. The hook’s claws seemed to grip the cement tight. He peered over the edge as best as he could to a black rope that ran all the way to street level.

No one was at the bottom.

A trap? There was no way to know, but there was a choice: stay here and die and hopefully see April, or take the rope and possibly survive and, if he got lucky, regroup with the others.

His heart ached. He wanted to end it. He was tired of living, tired of the garbage, tired of the dead—and this wasn’t the first time he wanted out from this awful and heartbroken existence. But if what he saw beneath the bank was true, if the vision or insight or whatever you wanted to call it was indeed reality, then maybe there was still a chance of redemption, a way to make up for April dying. She’d still be alive if he had gotten to her place an hour sooner, perhaps even a half-hour.

“I love you, April,” he said and got down on his belly. He reached over the edge, grabbed hold of the rope, and swung over, half-expecting the hook or the cement to give way and for him to swing into a death drop.

The rope held. It was a long way down.

The building shook.

* * * *

If August learned any one thing from spending all that time alone in his cabin with his family members dead beneath the floorboards, it was patience.

Like Billie, he wanted to know what was going on. Wanted to know why the undead stood fifteen stories high, why they had the trip to the past, the encounter with the angel, the flight through the storm of skulls and everything else that happened to them. He also wanted to know where he and Billie were being taken, yet he was also aware that in this new world of the undead, sometimes silence was more valuable than speaking. Information, though critical to survival, was sometimes best kept to oneself or remaining unknown. A common thread running through human nature was the need to know everything. Another common thread was the discovery that needing to know everything wasn’t always a good idea and often led to conflicts, wars, broken relationships, lies and destruction.

He would bite his tongue for now. He hoped Billie would do the same.

Every so often the girl would glance out the plane’s window in an attempt to look back on the city, one last-ditch effort to see Joe.

August was sorry they had to leave him behind.

Take care of him, God. You’re the only One who can, he thought. And watch over us, too. I have a feeling things have only begun for Billie and I, and there’s more You want to show us.

* * * *

Though the rope was set securely above, Joe still had the uneasy feeling it could give way at any moment. He descended the rope a foot or two at a time, trying to get to ground level as quickly as possible. He did his best to work the rope as efficiently as he could without friction-burning his hands.

The building vibrated and the rope unexpectedly dropped a few feet. Joe came to a jolting stop, feet and body swinging side-to-side, the ground still at least a hundred feet below him.

“You drop you’re dead,” he said through gritted teeth as he doubled his efforts to get to the bottom even faster.

He glanced up. Where the rope and grappling hook was affixed above still seemed sturdy, but the slab of cement upon which it gripped rocked up and down like a see-saw jutting out of the side of the building. Joe bobbed with each rise-and-fall of the cement slab above.

Sixty-five feet.

He briefly thought about letting go, falling ten to fifteen feet then grabbing the rope again. He chose not to, knowing what worked in the movies didn’t work in real life, and even if he did manage to pull off such a feat, he’d skin the heck out of his hands so that what was left of them wouldn’t be able to hold onto the rope anymore anyway.

Fifty feet.

The cement slab above see-sawed again. A low drooom shook the building through and through. The loud metallic creaking of steel girders sent a nails-across-the-chalkboard-like chill up his spine.

“Go, go, go,” he whispered quickly to himself. Faster.

Forty feet.

The cement slab bobbed deep, sending Joe down a good dozen or so feet before zipping up again so he was only a few feet less than he was moments ago.

He slid down the rope like a fireman’s pole, using his feet as well to guide him and slow his descent when needed. His hands stung. He didn’t have to look at them to know they were as red as tomatoes.

Twenty-five feet.

The cement dipped again and stayed low.

A violent jerk snapped down the rope as the cement above came loose and slid a couple feet further down before catching on something and coming to an abrupt halt.

Joe yelled and slid down faster.

Twenty feet.

Girders creaked above.

What sounded like thunder inside a dome boomed through the air as the building was hit a final time.

The cement slab holding him gave way.

He dropped.

4

Dirt and Shadows

Where are they taking us? Billie wondered. The bi-plane was well out of the city now, with nothing but empty suburbia and desolate streets below them. A few giant zombies wandered in between the housetops. A few others the size she was used to—human-sized—lingered in the streets and shuffled down sidewalks and across lawns.

“I think we’re going out of town,” she told August.

“Hm?” he said, apparently lost in thought.

“I said I think we’re going out of town.”

“Oh. Yes. Probably. Hopefully to somewhere safe.”

Billie glanced down at the streets again. Memories of her life before the Zombie Apocalypse occupied her thoughts: the simplicity of living with her parents and sister; the homework; getting ready for graduation; fighting with her folks; just school, eating, sleeping and hanging out with friends. Easy. Simple. No running. No killing. Just life.

Her thoughts ended with that mysterious gray rain that washed the old world away. The rain that transformed everyone she knew into the undead. The rain that hadn’t affected her for some reason. Hadn’t affected August, or Joe, or Des.

She didn’t know why, but she wanted to find out.

There had to be a way to know.

* * * *

Joe’s feet hit the ground, the shock of the impact riding all the way up his legs and into his hips. Immediately he fell over and even through his trench coat, his skin burned as it skidded against the ground.

WHAM! Something huge hit the ground, shaking the pavement. The cement slab.

A spray of cement pelted him in the shins and feet, some whipping across his stomach and chest like stones skipping across a lake. He raised his hands and arms to shield his face from the dust and pebbles pummeling into him like hail.

Insides shaky, he coughed through the dust and got to his feet, thankful the cement slab hadn’t landed directly on him.

Girders creaked and groaned; the crunchy crumble of cement told him he had about three seconds to make a break for it or he’d be buried alive.

Joe took off down the street as fast he could, weaved around abandoned vehicles, and hopped over curbs when needed, all the while ignoring the pain in his legs and the tingling stiffness of his ankles and feet.

CRROOWHOOOOOM!

The building came down behind him, sending up a cloud of dust and debris so thick that, even the few hundred feet away that he was, sent Joe into an urban desert storm of brown, gray and black.

The tiny shards flying through the air pelted against the back of his stubble-covered head, the warmth of blood soon running across the back of his scalp and down his neck.

He brought up his hands to shield his head as he ran, only to soon feel them stinging as bits of debris cut into his fingers.

A gust of wind whooshed behind him and sent an even thicker dust cloud against him. Immediately, his sight was blocked. He pulled the collar of his coat up so as to protect the back of his head, squeezed his eyes shut and pressed through the dark, sticking his hands out in front of him in the hopes he’d feel something before he smashed into it. An image of his probing hands finding solace inside an awaiting mouth made him uneasy.

His right foot struck something hard and Joe went flying forward, thick dust and tiny chunks of cement covering him.

* * * *

August peered out the window. Below, dark black and gray trees dotted the landscape. Though he had only been back in the city a short time, seeing those skeletal trees again made it feel like longer. The world had only one season now: fall, all the vegetation and foliage having died soon after the gray rain fell.

Nowadays, it didn’t rain, not with the brown and gray clouds constantly looming overhead. Those clouds didn’t produce clear rain like they used to. They didn’t produce anything. They just hung there in the sky, as if their only mission was to threaten rain but not actually deliver it.

The woods below were sparse; at least, August knew they would be at ground level. Up here, moving over them so quickly, the decaying branches and dark tree trunks blended together into a crazy mosaic of black, brown and gray. Down there, you could still hide from any plane or chopper overhead. It was both good and bad: one, if you were on the run from someone. The other, because that meant the dead could hide in those dead trees, too, and you wouldn’t know they were there until you actually touched down yourself.

Here and there throughout the forest, a few spots were open, some seeming to be the permanent resting place of the giant walking dead.

August wondered how much longer until they reached their destination. He hoped it was under an hour. Being too far from the city was both safe and dangerous. He just wasn’t sure if he wanted to be around less zombies or stuck around people he didn’t know, with who knew how many supplies.

* * * *

Joe coughed into the dirt as the rush of dust began to settle around him. He opened his eyes and immediately dirt pinched and scratched against his eyeballs. He squeezed them shut and let the instant rush of tears begin to clean them out.

He didn’t have to look around to know he was covered with a couple inches of dirt and dust. The sheer thickness of the stuff covering him made him feel its weight through his clothing. He put his hands on either side of his head and pressed against the ground, and slowly got up.

Dirt poured off him and he gave himself a quick shake to get most of it off.

He brushed his hands together then brought them close to his eyes like a pair of opened-bottomed binoculars. Slowly, he opened his eyes and tried to get a look around. Having his hands cupped around his eyes helped and he was able to see . . . nothing, just an endless fog of toffee-and-gray. The dirt caked against the inside of his nostrils; its powdery taste rested upon his tongue even with his mouth closed.

He had to get out of there otherwise there was no way he’d be able to breathe here, at least, not for long.

Joe made his way forward, careful with his steps. He pulled his shirt up and covered his mouth, breathed in a lungful, coughed, breathed in again then held his breath, keeping the collar of his black shirt over his nose like some kind of bandit.

Stepping over and around the debris, climbing some in parts, following the craggily and winding pathways down in others, he made his way through, each step forward taking him one step closer to freedom and cleaner air.

Every minute or so the pressure in his lungs would build up so strong he had to stop and catch another breath. He was thankful that every time he did, the air grew noticeably thinner. He just hoped that that was indeed what was happening and it wasn’t his imagination, some kind of delirium beginning to set in because of his odd breathing.

Joe pressed through the fog. It wasn’t until he saw the shadow of something moving across his path that he stopped dead in his tracks.

Shoot, he thought. With all the excitement he nearly forgot about the zombies milling about, a major slip on his part. He padded his coat. The X-09 was still locked in its holster. Joe pulled it out, made sure it was loaded, then cautiously proceeded forward, his finger on the trigger.

The shadow was gone. Joe climbed over a chunk of cement with a twisted piece of girder jutting out from it. When he was on the other side, the shadow reappeared. It was too small to be a giant zombie, but it still could be a regular-sized one.

Regular-sized.

He never thought he’d see the day—even in this undead world—where there’d be more than “regular-sized” zombies.

He drew the X-09 up, one hand on the gun, the other still helping shield his eyes from the dust.

A low groan in the distance.

The shadow grew as it came toward him.

Joe immediately fired off a shot. The shadow stopped in its tracks then dropped to the ground.

Just hope you were already dead, he thought.

He kept moving, careful when stepping on the dust-and-gravel-ladened ground, his every footfall crunching against the fine debris. He didn’t want to alert any more zombies to his presence than he had to.

His eyes hurt. He used the hand shielding them to give them a quick wipe, but not before shaking off the thick coating of dust that had settled on his hand prior to doing so.

Another shadow formed in the distance, some fifteen or twenty meters away. Another wasn’t far beside it.

They must have heard the building come down and now want to see what it’s all about. Vague, tall shadows stood on either side of him: other buildings. Got to find shelter until this settles.

Joe headed toward the right, all the while keeping his eyes on the zombies as best he could. Their groans were like call-songs from one animal to another, their raspy tones random pitches yet carrying an undertone of some kind as if, yes, they did have a message to convey to one another, or, at least, to just let the other know it was dead like them.

Joe stepped over a curb and hugged the side of a wall, dragging his shoulder against it as a point of bearing.

Shadows appeared up ahead.

Seven of them.

5

Strange New World

A small structure came into view on the ground below, cube in shape. The first thing he wondered was who—if these folks weren’t Government—had the time or resources to build such a thing in the year since the dead invaded the living. But he also realized this world was not the one he left behind and any number of things could be different, not just giant zombies and shape-shifting undead like Des had been.

“I think we’re here, Billie,” he said, solely for her benefit.

She peered out the window. “Looks like a Chinese takeout carton,” she said, “only gray.”

The small bi-plane circled the structure a couple of times, getting itself in the right position to come in for a landing.

August sat up straight in his seat as the plane descended. He advised Billie to do the same. The plane touched down with a bit of a bounce before rolling on a gravel runway headed straight for the building. Soon, the plane was going slow enough it was able to taxi up to the cube-shaped structure like a limo up to a hotel.

When it came to a stop, August again thanked the Lord for the rescue, then said to Billie, “As much as I believe in ladies first, you better let me get out before you. Just in case.”

She crossed her arms. “I can handle myself, you know.”

“I know. If you really want to go ahead, then, please, be my guest.”

She seemed to consider the offer for a moment before simply staying put.

“Okay, then,” August said, unbuckled and opened the side door of the plane. He set his feet down, glanced at the tall cube-shaped structure, then held out his hand to help Billie down.

She didn’t take it but instead jumped to the ground, planting both feet firmly beside one another. She put her hands on her hips, her eyes reading, “I’m fine, thank you.”

May got out of the far side of the plane, stepped down to the ground, then went straight up to August and Billie. The makeup around her eyes seemed darker out here in the gray light as opposed to inside the plane. “We need to go inside,” she said above the plane’s engine. “These woods are not safe. Not like before.”

August nodded. To Billie, he quietly said, “Stay close.”

“I’ll be close enough,” she said.

The plane’s engine cut and began quieting behind them.

The two followed May to what was presumably the front door. Del, the pilot, brought up the rear just as May stopped and rapped on the metal door with the side of her fist. A small slot eye level on the door opened. August couldn’t make out the words that were exchanged. There was a loud ka-chunk of metal, then the door opened.

The four proceeded in. A guard dressed in old army fatigues that August recognized were from Vietnam closed the door behind them. August took note the man didn’t have a gun, at least none that he could see. A pistol might be holstered on his person somewhere, though.

The foyer they stood in was plain and cloaked in mostly shadow. Two large doors stood on the left and right walls, both identical and olive green, the paint well worn. Ahead and up was a metal catwalk that disappeared into shadows on either side with no apparent way to get up there, at least not from this room. Straight ahead was shadow. August assumed that if anything it was a sparsely-furnished room for whoever called this place home.

“Where are we going?” August said.

“Yeah,” Billie added, “where are we going?”

May turned around. Del stepped forward and stood beside her. He removed his glasses and toque. He had brown hair, with eyes so dark the irises were almost black. He seemed to be into the makeup like May and August wasn’t sure which team he batted for.

Del produced a handgun from a holster on his hip. “Simple: wherever we say.”

* * * *

Joe cocked his head to the side and listened carefully just in case the shadows in front of him weren’t zombies but something else. Maybe human. Ever so faintly his ear picked up the sound of feet scraping on cement. Living breathing people usually didn’t drag their feet, not unless they were hurt. He listened some more. Though he doubted he could have heard it anyway, he thought he’d hear some breathing or, at the very least due to all the dust in the air, coughing. Not a sound came from the shadows ahead.

He fired off a shot.

A low groan followed by a garble and the shadow fell to the ground.

Joe brought up the X-09, and readied himself for the shadows ahead that seemed to focus in on his direction and were coming for him.

Slowly the shadows got bigger until one by one the faces and bodies of the dead emerged from the dust. Two male, one female, all fat and bloated with barely a shred of clothing covering their sagging, decaying skin. Joe blasted the heads off all three of them.

Four down.

Three more shadows—which seemed to have stopped just prior when the others had made themselves known—progressed forward, as if a backup line of defense. These zombies were skinny, tall, as if having been famished without hope of a meal prior to being changed into one of the dead. All male.

“Come on, guys, you’re making this too easy,” Joe said and began picking them off one by one. They all fell to the ground in turn, their skulls now nothing more than smashed melons, the gray matter within having burst up in a rain of flesh and blood that now covered the sidewalk at Joe’s feet.

Just then, a strong gray and rotting arm grabbed him from behind, the forearm wrapping good and snug across his neck. The immediate pressure upon his Adam’s Apple caused him to gag, but he was unable to regain his breath.

Gripping the X-09 tight, Joe tried bringing it up and pointing it behind him to blast the head off the thing that held him. Instead, his arm was pushed down. In reflex, Joe snapped his elbow back, slugging the dead man behind him in the gut. The most it did was cause the fella to stumble back a couple of steps.

The pressure on Joe’s neck increased. He pointed the X-09 at the creature’s foot and blew off everything from the ankle down. The creature stumbled then fell back, taking Joe with him. Joe’s knuckles and fingers hit the pavement with a stunning shockwave of pain and the X-09 fell out of his hand. He went to reach for it but stopped and had to wrestle with the creature so he found himself on his stomach, face to face with the pavement. The weight of the creature on top of him was enough to squeeze the final bit of air from his lungs. Any second now he expected the sharp teeth of the dead to bite him good and hard and rob his life.

Any second now . . .

Any . . .

A loud crack of gunfire rattled Joe’s senses and the zombie fell limp on top of him, its weight pinning Joe’s neck permanently against its forearm.

Head dizzy, Joe tried to push himself out from under the creature’s weight. Instead, a pair of hands grabbed him by the arm and slowly tugged him out. When his neck was free enough of the dead man’s arm, he took in a lungful of air and unsteadily got to his feet.

“Easy, guy,” came a female voice.

Joe rubbed his eyes so he could get a better look at the woman standing next to him. She was about his height, brown hair, blue eyes and lips that looked unusually soft against such a toned jaw line. Her black leather suit hugged her body almost like Spandex. Black gloves covered her hands; a black belt containing two pistols, ammo, a couple of grenades, rope and binoculars adorned her waist. She wore thick-soled military boots, no doubt steel-toed, that came up to just under her knee.

“Eyes up here, junior,” she said to him, her voice firm.

“Sorry. Just surprised to see another person here.”

“Really. Who’d you think saved you from that ledge?”

“That was you?”

“No. I watched someone else do it and thought I’d bring it up now so I could take the credit. Not very bright, are you?”

“Hey, watch it.”

“Here, you dropped something.” She handed him the X-09.

“How—”

“Girl’s secret.”

She stepped past him and headed away from the mound of bodies. There was something familiar about the way she walked that made Joe—

She called back over her shoulder, “You coming?” She was already becoming difficult to see because of all the dust.

“Where?”

“Does it matter?”

“Guess not.”

“Then let’s move it.”

Joe holstered the X-09 and trotted up next to her. “Thanks for your help.”

“I’m sure you would have done the same for me.”

“And your name?”

“Tracy.”

“Tracy—?”

“Just Tracy. You?”

“Um, just Joe.”

“Right.”

Joe smirked. “I’m serious, though. Where are we headed? Go that way and we won’t be able to see a thing with the dust.”

“I’m not going that way,” she said and turned left at the corner. “But I’m also not going where a group of zombies just came from either.”

“So where to?”

“Stop asking the same question over and over.”

They walked a few more steps then Tracy stopped abruptly.

“What?” Joe asked.

“Hear that?”

Joe listened. Loud, low footfalls rumbled in the distance.

* * * *

Del and May had taken August and Billie through the door on the right, which led to a corridor that went on for what August estimated to be around fifty paces. Their two “rescuers” —for he really didn’t know what to call them now; rescuers didn’t pull guns on those they saved—seemed to know their way around well enough in the extremely dim lighting because they didn’t once pull out a flashlight while they were in the shadowy corridor. At the end of the corridor was another door, which May promptly pulled open upon reaching it while Del brushed August and Billie in with the wave of his gun.

The four of them emerged into a concrete-bricked room, something that August could tell even in the bad lighting was an addition or renovation to whatever originally was here. In the middle of the room was a plain metal table with a dark green top. One simple metal foldout chair was on one side; two were on the other, furthest from the door.

August noticed Billie’s eyes scan the room.

“All this place needs is a two-way mirror,” she said.

“Or a couple of cameras,” August said and nodded toward the top corners of the wall in front of them. Must run on batteries.

“Oh.”

Del came up behind them. “Sit down.”

August nodded to Billie and the two rounded the table and took a seat. Del sat across from them while May stood by the door and produced a weapon of her own: another pistol; August couldn’t recognize the make from this distance.

Del placed his gun on the table, gave a nod toward it, then cracked his knuckles.

Billie slouched in her seat and cracked her own knuckles, the crrruckle-crunch louder with a bit more pop.

Not funny, kid, August thought, but he had to hand it to the girl for sticking it to the man across from them who was clearly shooting for the upper hand.

Del smirked, then folded his hands and leaned forward. “I don’t like pleasantries, so we’re going to get right to it. The building. What were you guys doing there?”

August crossed his arms. “I could ask you the same thing.”

“We weren’t on the building.”

“No, but you were flying over it. Why that building? Just happenstance? What about the jets? Where are they?”

“We had no idea you were going to be there, if that’s what you’re implying. Don’t worry about the jets.”

Don’t worry about the— “So our paths just crossed. Why all this?”

“Yeah, good point,” Billie said.

“Quiet, kid,” Del firmly told her.

“I’m not a—”

August leaned forward, put one elbow on the table and pointed his finger in Del’s face. “If you talk to her like that again, you will be limping out of this room.” He kept his finger pointed at him, eyes locked onto his.

“I can say what I want.”

“No. I’m telling you that now. You can’t. You and I both know what you’re doing is wrong, sitting us down like this. The world doesn’t work this way anymore.”

“Shows what you know.”

August pulled his finger back and made a fist. He still remained poised leaning against the table, face as hard as stone. “Enlighten me.”

Del looked past him and a moment later August was tugged back by his hair and was once more seated straight in his chair. The cold metal of a gun barrel pressed against the back of his neck.

“We’re in charge, understand?” May said from behind him.

Oh Lord, what would You have me do? August waited for a reply. There was none, but there was one thing he did know and that was the wise kept their tongue in check, something which he just slipped on. He simply nodded; a moment later the pressure of the gun barrel against his neck released.

Billie eyed him worriedly.

“Feel better?” Del asked him.

“I’m fine,” he replied.

“Good. Now back to the real world. What were you doing on that rooftop? We saw the helicopter. Smashed. You crash?”

“What do you think?” Billie asked. “Of course we—”

“I said—” Del started.

“We crashed,” August said quickly before things got any worse.

Del’s gaze coolly lingered on Billie for a moment before he got back to the topic at hand. “Where did you get the chopper?”

“It was already there.”

“I don’t think so. Unless it somehow just got there in the past day or so. We flew by that building a couple days back and its roof was empty.”

The Timeline, August thought. It’s distorted. That rooftop could very well have been empty in this world, but in ours I discovered the chopper when I was locked down in Winnipeg Square and surveyed the Richardson Building for any threats. “I’m telling you the truth, mate. That’s where I found it. I’m not sure what you’re wanting to hear.”

Del didn’t look impressed nor that he believed him. “Whatever you say, Mister—”

“Smith.”

“Right. Mr. Smith.”

Nodding toward Billie, Del said, “I guess that makes her, what, Ms. Jane Doe?”

“Mrs. Tarzan, actually,” Billie said.

“Of course it does.” To August, “Your name isn’t important right now, Mr. ‘Smith.’ But I do want to know this: there were three of you on the roof. This person obviously didn’t make it—I’m so sorry, by the way—who was he? This girl’s boyfriend?”

“Just a friend.”

“I see.”

“Look, um, Del, I’m not really sure what the point of any of this is. You haven’t really asked me anything. What is it that you want?”

Del grinned. May rounded to his side of the table, keeping the gun on them.

“What else, Mr. Norton? We want the truth.”

* * * *

Joe and Tracy both stood poised, ready for action. Joe already had the X-09 in his hand; Tracy firmly held both her pistols shoulder height, blue eyes searching the dust for shadows.

The ground shook again.

Something either just collapsed at the building wreckage site, or a giant undead creature was marching toward them.

“Come on,” Tracy said quietly and proceeded forward.

“Let me lead,” Joe said.

“I can take care of myself, thank you.”

“I’m sure you can, but I’d feel better if—”

Tracy spun around and pointed a finger at him. “Look, we do this my way or you can leave right now. I don’t have time to dispute every little point with you.”

“Fine. After you, your majesty,” Joe said. She kept moving. He followed. He didn’t know why he was being mouthy, but pushing Tracy’s buttons felt good for some reason. There was something about her that bothered him on a deep level, something about her that—

“Shh,” she said and stopped again.

From somewhere high above low and raspy groans wafted on the air.

“Can they be killed?” Joe asked.

“You should know that, unless you’re not the cowboy you’re dressed up as,” she said quietly.

Joe thought back to the rooftop, Des’s bizarre return from the dead, his first glimpse at fifteen-story-tall zombies. “It’s . . . complicated.”

“Complicated or not, you should know it takes some serious firepower to take those suckers down. Our guns here’ll buy us some time and protect our skins on anything we might encounter that’s—how shall I say?—human-sized?”

“Fine.”

Tracy lingered a moment longer before edging alongside the building again. A minute later and they were already on the next block, keeping as close to the buildings’ walls as possible, moving carefully and silently in the hopes of not tipping anything off they were around.

It’d be a miracle if we could get to wherever we’re going without firing a single shot, Joe thought. You hear that, God? Think we could manage that? You and I are going to have to have a little talk later. His thoughts switched to what Tracy said. Cowboy, huh? Well, you look like something out of a bank heist movie. Should start calling you Black Widow or something. Well, not quite. The outfit was similar but the hair was definitely not. Can’t believe I’m even entertaining this.

Joe wanted to go back to the way things were: him the hero, saving people from the undead in a world he understood. Here, in whatever this place was—a new dimension?—he was lost. The sense of control he once had was nothing but a memory.

Memory, he thought. April. Could she be alive here? He stopped walking. “How much has changed?”

Tracy stopped ahead of him and turned around. “What?”

Joe shook his head. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Then don’t say it out loud.”

Face stern, he added, “I don’t like you.”

“Good. I don’t like you either, but you were out here on your own. You needed help.” She turned and started walking again. “This is what I do.”

Joe’s mouth fell open. He guessed they had some common ground after all. He caught up to her and kept close, this time more refocused on the task at hand. At some point he’d have to figure out how to track down August and Billie and let them know he was alive.

Poor Billie, he thought. Even August. First Des and now . . . me. That’s two down out of four. I hope they’re okay.

Tracy rounded the next corner she came across.

Quickly, shadows materialized against the dust and just as quickly gave birth to two undead men, both looking to have been transformed in their mid-forties. Black hair topped the head of one; dirty blond hair the head of the other. Pale, gray skin wrapped their emaciated bodies; both had white eyes and red lips caked in dried blood. Their mouths were nothing but empty black holes with yellow, crooked teeth lining them.

Joe fired the first shot, clipping the ear off the fella with the black hair. A spurt of black blood shot out from the side of the creature’s head; the man kept walking toward them with arms outstretched.

“Useless,” Tracy said and raised both her guns. Two successive bangs rang out and both zombies’ skulls burst open in a spray of bone, flesh and blood. The creatures dropped to the ground in a heap, their skulls facing each other, the black blood oozing from them gelling together and pooling around their gray faces.

Joe looked at the bodies. “Nice shot.”

“Shots.” She emphasized the S at the end. “There were two of them.”

“Don’t start, Tray.”

“Don’t call me that,” she snapped.

“Then stop acting like a jackass.” Joe walked past her. “Come on, let’s go.”

“I’d kill you if I got the chance,” Tracy said from behind him.

His ears tuned into her footfalls to make sure she was following him. “We fight, we die.”

“We fight, we live.”

“You know what I mean.”

She didn’t reply.

This is crazy. And I really don’t like her.

“Know where we’re going?” she asked.

“You tell me.”

There was a pause before she answered. “Some place safe.”

“Is it far?”

“Depends on how much of a detour we’ll have to take.”

“Just answer the question.”

“Far enough.”

“How’s the suburbs here?” Joe asked, keeping his eyes peeled for any sign of movement. He also kept a keen ear out for the low thudding of giant zombie footsteps.

“Same as always.”

“You’re going to need to clarify.”

“Where are you from?”

Good question. “From far away. Kind of. Depends how you look at it.”

“Whatever.” She cleared her throat. “The large undead seem to pretty much keep to downtown. I don’t think they know how to leave. I’ve been watching them for some time. I think they’re afraid to leave because they don’t know if there’s any food beyond the city.”

“Really?”

“But the small ones—um, our-sized ones—venture everywhere so nowhere is really safe. No real area, anyway.”

“And your base, or, wherever we’re going? Still downtown or out in the burbs?”

“Both, actually.” She ran up beside him and lowered her voice. “You know the Disraeli Overpass?”

How could he not. “Yeah.”

“The part of it that doesn’t go over the river, the one with all the rubble built up under it.”

He didn’t follow. The Disraeli Overpass he knew was just a bridge with two humps, one going over a street, the other over the Red River. He decided to just roll with it for now. “Okay.”

“It’s hollow. Thanks to the buildings around being smashed down by the giant undead, they indirectly helped us create a giant gazebo made out of brick and concrete. Took some time, but we managed to hollow it out and transform the interior into a safe house. They seem to be none the wiser and, I suppose, since they think it’s smashed they just leave it well enough alone.”

“That’s a pretty good idea, actually,” he said. He almost wished he thought of that back home in his universe or realm or wherever it was he was from. “Okay, I know where that is.”

“Lead the way,” she said and fell in behind him.

“Keep your eyes open. There’s always something out there.”

“Always do.”

6

Submission

The shock of hearing his own name sent August’s stomach into a whirl and his heart into a panic. Billie’s breathing went from calm to short and choppy in under three seconds. He heard her voice squeak and he knew she was about to say something—like, “Um, they know who you are, August”—but had the smarts enough to hold her tongue.

Del and May eyed them intently, waiting on a reaction. August wouldn’t give it to them. To do so would be the first step in surrendering them control, something he wasn’t prepared to do.

The room was quiet for a solid minute or so before Del broke the silence. “Yes, Mr. Norton—August—we know who you are. We know the little lady sitting beside you is named Billie.”

August made a conscious effort not to flinch in their presence. It didn’t add up. How could these folks know who they were? For starters, this was a place—even dimension—that was not where he and Billie and Joe had come from. Further, these guys showed up out of nowhere in a bi-plane—obviously from a good distance away—and rescued them.

Perhaps they were some kind of super-spy-like survivors making their way through the world of the undead?

“Who are you?” August asked as firmly as he could. He gave Billie a quick glance. Sheer apprehension was etched on her face.

May kept the gun trained on them. “Never mind that. Why didn’t you tell us the truth when we asked?”

“Would—” August cleared his throat. “Would you have spoken the truth to people you’ve never met before—who hold a gun on you—and share anything they asked?”

“As if you haven’t done that before,” she said.

“The last time I did it was a while go,” he said, referring to when he first met Joe, Billie and Des, though she wouldn’t know that. At least, he hoped she didn’t. Besides, when he did first meet his young friends, he still withheld certain information from them. “People change. Things change. Regardless, you didn’t answer my question.”

“So, you won’t share information with us yet you want us to share information with you?” Del said. He shook his head. “You’re bringing us to a standstill here, August.”

“Look,” Billie said, “obviously you want something. You want us to say something, maybe even something specific.” August could tell by the way she annunciated that last word that she was referring to the Time-shift. “Instead of being . . . being vague, why not just get right to the point and ask us specifically what it is you want?”

Inside, August was rooting her on, yet he also didn’t want these guys to get to the point for fear of the possibility they indeed knew about the Time-shift or, at the very least, had even seen them emerge through whatever portal as they returned to the world of the undead.

“We’d much rather you tell us what you know,” Del said.

August knew what that meant. It meant these guys didn’t know as much as they were feigning. They were clearly hoping that, if either him or Billie told their story, they’d say something that would help them fill in the gaps of whatever they knew already.

“Not going to happen,” August said. “Look, you can’t bring us here, sit us down in some kind of interrogation room, point a gun at us, then expect us to cooperate. Surely you remember that nowadays a gun doesn’t hold the same sway as before.”

Del seemed to weigh his words. “You know something, Mr. Norton? You’re right.” He nodded toward May.

She pulled the trigger.

Billie screamed as August went flying back in his chair.

* * * *

It had gotten easier to avoid the undead the further Joe and Tracy moved away from where the Richardson Building had collapsed. The less dust meant it was much easier to see far distances and catch a glimpse of the undead before it was too late and they had been spotted.

For a time, as they ducked behind garbage bins, hid around corners, rolled under abandoned vehicles and went inside rickety old sheds, Joe enjoyed the hiding more than the seeking he was used to. Yet at the same time a part of him needed to pick off a zombie here and there—which he more than willingly did—in an effort to satisfy his hatred of them and help him give vengeance against all they had taken from him in a life that seemed so far away yet also very near.

Memory was a strange beast that way. Time didn’t have meaning to the thoughts and feelings associated with them. The passage of days and hours was acknowledged, yet the emotions the memories evoked were immediate despite how long ago those events occurred. Joe liked memory, liked the security he could recall from a time in his life when things were better and when he was happy.

He liked that he could recall his weekend with April and the good times shared.

His heart ached when the revelation, that always seemed new despite how many times he experienced it, that April was indeed trapped in his memories and the girl he knew long ago had been transformed into a monster when the world went to hell. His heart broke afresh when he remembered what it was like coming to her apartment just after the rain that turned everybody into zombies and finding her transformed into one of the undead like the rest. His heart shattered when he broke her head open with a rolling pin and sent her undead form into the nether world, to hopefully a better place.

Better place, he thought. He had seen the other side. He had been there during his venture to the past before the Rain came down, had descended through the earth and into the bowels of Hell to witness the Lake of Fire firsthand. The creatures there, the torment they inflicted on others, the screams—the man glowing with light, the one who rescued him.

The angel.

If that man had indeed been an angel, then surely that meant there was a Heaven, and if there was a Heaven, then perhaps that’s where April was now, waiting for him.

He hoped he would see her one day.

Tracy putting a sudden hand to his arm jolted him out of his head and back onto the street. They were coming up to the Disraeli Overpass, but instead of walking over it, Tracy made her away around it, sticking to street level.

They went a little further and from what Joe could tell, there didn’t seem to be a way through the large chunks of concrete and debris, trash and massive old piping that sat in a giant pile beneath the bridge.

“Let me guess,” he said, “secret entrance?”

“Yeah, I got a special remote with me. Press a button and the thing opens up like a giant garage door.”

“Very funny.”

“Ask a stupid question—”

“—get a stupid answer. Yeah, I know.”

“This way,” she said and moved to the north side of the debris pile.

This side didn’t appear different than the rest of it. There was nothing here door-like.

Tracy went over to a slab of concrete lying on the ground, one that was around three feet long, two feet wide and about six inches thick. A piece of rebar stuck out from it in a U-shape. It was big enough for her to curl her fingers around. She pulled, bringing the slab up on an angle, then scooped one hand under the slab, keeping the other on the U-shaped piece of rebar. With a heave, she jerked it up and got her other hand underneath it as well.

“Want some help?” Joe asked.

“No . . . I got it,” she said. Tracy lifted the slab until Joe heard a metallic clunk. Tracy let go of the slab and instead of it falling back down like expected, it remained there on an angle.

She produced a key from a pouch on her belt, crouched down, and shoved the key into a lock in the center of what was clearly a trap door. Once the key was turned, she pulled it out, and opened the trap door with its handle.

“It is a secret entrance,” Joe said.

“I never said there wasn’t one.” She gave him a wink. “You go first.”

Joe went up to the door, looked down, and in the shadows saw a ladder bolted to one side. It was a tight fit, but he went onto it and descended down.

Tracy went next, and while Joe stood at the bottom of the ladder, she remained near the top. She took out a flashlight, turned it on and held it between her teeth. She pulled the trap door closed, stuck her key into a lock, turned it, then spun around on the ladder so she faced outward, and with both hands pressed against a protruding rock around the size of a shoebox across from her. The rock moved into the wall and a second later a loud ka-thoom echoed around them.

“Secure,” she said.

“The thing above—”

“—is back in place.”

Cool, Joe thought, the fanboy part of him getting a small thrill.

Tracy joined him at the bottom, and shone the flashlight to her left. “This way,” she said, moving ahead of him to what appeared to be a dead end. She crouched down, removed a metal grate resting against chunks of concrete, and crawled into a tunnel beyond.

Joe followed, going on hands and knees through a cramped tunnel that he could barely see in. Soon, Tracy moved from in front of him and dim blue light filled the portion of the tunnel he had yet to go through. When he reached the end, he came out and stood.

I wasn’t expecting this, he thought.

* * * *

The aftershock of the gunshot’s thunder still shook Billie’s innards. She was off her chair immediately only to try and stand on rubbery legs. She collapsed beside August, who lie on the floor, cradling his left shoulder.

He cursed, something she wasn’t prepared for nor something she ever thought she’d hear uttered from his lips.

She had no trouble letting Del know what she thought of him, however, and let loose a few choice words.

Del didn’t reply. Neither did May. The two looked on as Billie tried to help her friend.

“Is it . . . is it . . .” she started, not really sure what she was trying to say.

“I don’t know,” August said, wincing.

“Let go so I can see,” Billie said, though wasn’t sure what she was supposed to be looking for in a bullet wound.

August tried pulling his hand away from his shoulder but immediately clamped his palm back against his flesh the moment blood began to flow. “It’s bad,” he said.

“I don’t—”

“It’s not bad,” Del cut her off. “It’s superficial. He’s fine. May clipped his shoulder. Stop overreacting.”

Billie spun on him, got to her feet, and used the desk to steady herself; her legs were still weak. “Overreacting? Overreacting! You just shot him! I’m not over—”

May cocked the pistol.

Billie clamped her mouth shut.

“Billie . . .” August said.

“I don’t know what to do,” she told him.

“Help . . . help me up.”

She looked at Del; it was too late to realize what she was doing until after she did it, but she was seeking permission to help the old man.

Del nodded. May’s manicured face remained cold.

Billie got down beside August and gently placed one hand under him, the other pressing slightly against his chest. “Hang on,” she said. “You’ll be okay.”

Sweat beaded his brow. His lower lip trembled. She could only imagine how he felt right now: humiliated, in pain, and maybe even embarrassed that despite how strong he had demonstrated himself to be, he had been brought down by a simple flesh wound.

“On three: one, two, three,” she said, and helped him sit up. She readjusted her grip on him and helped him back into his chair, all the while August still pressing his hand against his shoulder. Blood covered his fingers, ran down his sleeve, pooled on the floor. The color was quickly leaving his face.

“Finished?” Del asked.

“What?” Billie said. “Wh—no. Of course not. He’s bleeding pretty bad. He needs help. Help him.”

“No.”

“Please—I’m sorry, I can’t remember your . . . your name—please, I beg you, please help him.”

“No.”

“I’ll do anything. Just say it. Just help him. Please. Please. Pl—”

“You won’t do anything,” May said.

“Yes, I will. I promise. Anything.”

“Billie, don’t,” August said.

She almost got mad at him for using her name but then remembered these people already seemed to know who they were anyway. “You need to get better.”

“It’s okay,” he said. “I’ll be fine.”

“Here’s how it will be,” Del said. Billie snapped her attention back to him. “You will be honest with us from now on. I will ask you a question in a moment, and if you don’t answer truthfully, May here will pull the trigger again and Mr. Norton will not suffer from a mere flesh wound, but will sit there beside you bleeding out from something far more serious.” His eyes bore into hers. “Do you understand me, Billie?”

Her heart raced. Her throat was dry. August bled beside her. When she spoke, it was barely a whisper. “Yes.”

“Louder.”

She cleared her throat. “Yes.”

“Louder!”

“YES!”

7

Hidden Rooms

Joe rarely showed outward reaction anymore. Too many long nights on the streets shooting the undead had robbed him of the normal human ability to see something and show awe with sound and expression. The dismembered heads, bleeding bodies, torso’s with their guts hanging out of them like limp spider legs—those images were burned in his mind now, at one time the triggers of breakdowns, now each the acceptances of fact and the solemn knowledge that the life he once hoped for would never occur.

Numb.

Even dead.

“Most folks at least say something, Joe,” Tracy said.

He didn’t respond, but instead took in his surroundings. It appeared the inside of the heap of debris was hollow, the underside of the bridge the roof, just like Tracy said. Though they were a little difficult to see thanks to the dim lighting from Coleman lamps hanging here and there on the walls, suspended just beneath the roof were two cages, each big enough to contain a chair and the men who sat on them. Their faces were locked against makeshift periscopes.

Immediately in front and to either side of Joe ran an oblong catwalk that bordered the interior. He stepped up to the edge of it. Just beyond, there was no ground and it clicked that the majority of the debris and rubble and rebar that surrounded this place outside had been taken from a hole dug deep in the ground beneath the bridge. It was fantastic. A straight, build-on-site-with-what-you-had job.

The hole ran at least three stories below, each level lit with the same gas-powered Coleman lamps as above.

“We call this place the ‘Hub,’” Tracy said.

“It’s brilliant,” Joe replied. “How many people live here?”

“A couple hundred at any one time. Those levels below” —she pointed over the railing to the lower catwalks beyond— “branch out, making way for hallways and rooms carved out of the earth then covered with cement. We know it won’t last forever, but it works for right now. The undead haven’t found us here yet and, due to the lower levels, should they get in, it gives an advantage and we can shoot from beneath them rather than on level ground.”

“Is there a . . . system, or—”

“Enough of one to keep everyone safe. We tried running it tight like the army. Failed pretty quick though. Between you and me, I personally think it was that rigidness that caused the authorities to fall to the undead to begin with. Remember, when we first started fighting them, politics and egos and all that sort of stuff were still major players in the world.”

At least our worlds have that in common, Joe thought. “So where to?”

“Down.”

Tracy led him to a ladder on the left. They climbed down to the bottom and were greeted by new faces. Joe expected them to comment about him being the new guy, but no one said anything. Instead, they just walked past him and kept up their conversations. He suspected this place was rather transient in nature and newcomers were a regular sight. Only a couple looked his way, but that was just normal human eye contact and nothing more.

Tracy moved rather quickly and Joe had to pick up his pace to keep up. When he did, he grabbed her by the arm, causing her to stop.

“What?” she said.

“There’s one thing you haven’t explained to me yet.”

She dipped her chin and looked up at him, blue eyes wide and questioning.

“Why were you out there alone?” he said.

“Is there something wrong with that?”

“I’d say so, yeah. A young woman, a ton of the undead. Doesn’t make sense.”

“You were alone.”

“I was with friends. We got separated.”

“I wasn’t alone either.”

“Then who were you with?”

She sighed then pressed her lips together as if she’d said too much. She shook her head slightly then walked away. When Joe went to go after her, she looked back and raised her hand, signaling not to follow.

“Great,” he said. “Now what?”

* * * *

August was barely lucid. All he knew was Del and Billie had been exchanging words for the past while. Right now, he found it difficult to open his eyes. No, scratch that. His eyes were open, but the black clouds rimming his vision made him instinctively keep trying to flex his eye muscles and open them even more in an effort to fight the clouds of unconsciousness.

His head pounded. An ever-present cool seemed to hover just above his skin though he knew better and was aware the chill emanated from within instead. He thought of his wife, Eleanor, kids and grandkids. Thought of his time at the family cabin with them. The night his son went missing. The night the dead came. His life without them, their bodies kept beneath the cabin’s floorboards. He thought of the night he left and destroyed the cabin by blowing it up with a propane tank and a bullet.

August hadn’t expected any of this to have happened when he came to the city. Didn’t expect to meet up with anybody never mind three young people who most certainly didn’t mesh and instead were more rag-tag than anything else.

He hadn’t expected the storm, the trip to the past, the angel—with all that was happening, he nearly forgot about him. Not that the angel had been completely erased from his mind, but rather more of an afterthought than something more prominent. Nathaniel, for that had been the angel’s name, rescued them when a host of dem—

“And the man you left behind,” Del said, “what was his name?”

Billie cleared her throat. Tears thickened her voice. “Joe.”

“Joe.”

“You should . . .” August started, “. . . you should . . . already . . . know that.”

“Quiet, Mr. Norton, Miss Friday is talking,” Del said. “Joe who, Billie? Joe who?”

A chill went through August’s body, this time pushing him over the edge. He now trembled, and he couldn’t stop.

Billie spoke very softly. “B-Bailey. Joe . . . Bailey.”

“Joe Bailey,” Del said. “Thank you. And do you know where he would go if he somehow survived?”

Billie started to cry.

“He’s . . . he’s dead,” August said. “Leave” —he shook— “leave her alone.”

“We can try and find him, Billie,” Del said, ignoring him. “Just tell us where he might be headed.”

August forced himself to glance her way. The poor girl’s eyes were bloodshot, tears streaking clean lines down her face. This wasn’t the same plucky girl he had walked and talked with not too long before. She was beaten, and it was his fault for being weak despite having been shot. “Don’t . . .” He suspected the trauma he underwent from the helicopter crash was far worse than he thought.

She peered his way, hurt and pain in her gaze and nothing more. She faced Del again. “I don’t . . . I don’t know. Maybe—” She seemed to have stopped herself.

“Yes?” Del said.

Please God, seal her lips, August thought.

“Winnipeg Square, I don’t know,” she said. “Probably the safest place right now.” She covered her face with her hands.

August looked Del square in the eye. Happy? You won. You used me and you won.

Del returned his gaze, pursed his lips in consideration, then spoke to May. “Take August here and fix him up.”

May was at August’s side rather quickly, gun pressed against the side of his neck. “Let’s go.”

August sat there. He didn’t want to leave until he knew what they were going to do with Billie.

Del added, “And when you’re done, meet me in U-3. Miss Friday and I have much to discuss.”

“I will,” May said and grabbed August hard underneath the arms. “Up.”

August pushed his feet into the ground, stood, then nearly fell over, but May caught him.

“Put some effort into it,” she said, “or I’ll just shoot you and drag you to where I need you to go.”

“It’ll be okay . . . Billie,” August said. “It’ll be . . . okay.”

Billie looked at him as May helped him out. The old man’s heart broke at the thought of what Del would do to her while he was away.

* * * *

Joe had hung around where he and Tracy parted company for a good half hour, thinking she’d wisen up and come on back. But she didn’t.

Figuring he might as well take this opportunity to explore, Joe proceeded down the same corridor Tracy had gone—partly in an effort to catch up to her, especially if she was the type of girl who wanted you to go after her when she got all aloof and off-kilter—just to see what he’d see.

People milled about, many folks in jeans, worn sweatshirts and hoodies, all with weapons strapped to their waists. A few guys had rifles strapped to their backs like Robin Hood would his bow. Joe wondered if all of those weapons worked or if some of them were for show. In his world, when not just the army but people in general tried to fight off the undead, they were overcome. Many of the weapons left out on the streets, in forests and elsewhere had been damaged thanks to the cold. The more delicate ones, anyway. Others had merely ran out of ammo and specific bullets for a specific gun were usually not easy to find.

Many of the women who walked about looked more like the men they hung out with, their hair cropped short, faces dirty, clothes big and bulky. There was a hardness to them that Joe hadn’t seen too often. Very few of the women were as beautiful as Tracy or as outfitted in something so complimenting. It made him wonder if Tracy and the few women he saw dressed like her were part of some special unit, despite her saying there were no hard and fast rules.

Joe checked the faces around him hoping to see Tracy’s. Only one girl looked similar to her, but this girl was too short and a little on the heavy side comparatively.

So, what, am I just supposed to try and blend in? Though he was thankful for the safety of this place, he was also a little bored. Being alone, sure, he could handle that, but now with all that happened recently and spending time around people again, he was getting antsy to find out what his next move might be.

A girl walked past him and Joe only noticed her because she accidentally brushed against his arm as she squeezed past him and someone else who stood next to him a little too closely. She had black hair, wore a baggy and dirty gray sweat suit, and had a very familiar posture.

The realization struck Joe like a fist to the chest.

April.

“No way,” he said. The guy standing next to him gave him a weird look as if he thought Joe was talking to him. Joe didn’t reply, but instead followed the girl with the black hair along a catwalk, weaving his way past people, trying his best to keep up yet at the same time keep enough distance so whoever she was didn’t know she was being followed.

If it’s her . . . He didn’t know what he’d say or what he’d do. She meant so much to him, so much so that even after the Zombie Rain hit in his world, she was the first person he went to see to make sure she was okay. Not his parents, siblings or friends. Just her. No one else in the world mattered. And when he found her, she had already been changed and sat in her apartment eating human flesh. He’d never forget the vacancy in her eyes and the blood smeared around her mouth when she looked up at him.

But in this world . . . in this world April might still be alive. Another thought hit him: if indeed she was alive, was it possible there was also another him somewhere, even here in this secret place? Would he recognize himself? Probably, and would the other him recognize him as well? He shook the thought away. He’d look into that later if he had to.

The girl wasn’t too far ahead and had turned right down a hallway. The people traffic here was thinner. Joe kept his footfalls intentionally quieter as his heavy boots seemed to enjoy making a loud thwuck against the stone flooring.

The girl stopped at a door running off the hallway. She produced a key from her sweatpants’ pocket and stuck it into the door’s handle.

Joe got closer. The girl’s hair hid most of her face but the jaw line looked a lot like April’s, at least the way he remembered it.

The girl turned the key. The door unlocked.

Joe neared her until he was a couple feet away.

She turned toward him, her brown eyes conveying nothing but sheer confusion.

Heart aching, Joe said softly, “Sorry. I thought you were someone else.”

She stood there, glanced down at her hand holding the key, then back up at Joe. His mouthed moved as if about to say more, but there was nothing to say. He turned around and headed back the way he came. Behind, he heard the girl open her door then close it and the sound of the lock being reapplied.

A second later, he was shoved against the wall, the side of his head bouncing off it with a sharp smack.

“What do you think you were doing?” Tracy asked, gripping him by the shoulder of his coat, pushing him harder against the wall.

Joe shoved her away and rubbed his head. “Easy. I thought I saw someone.”

“Right. Everybody thinks they see someone here. Look, there is no one here that you know. Who’s here represents people from all over the country, even the continent, not just Winnipeg.”

“How do you know?”

“I know.”

It hit him. “I get it. You thought you saw someone once and it turned out it wasn’t them so now anyone who thinks they see someone they know is suddenly mistaken. Am I close?”

She walked past him, and said, “Shouldn’t have gone looking for you. You would have been better off embarrassing yourself on your own.”

Joe went after her. “Wouldn’t have mattered. Like you said, I don’t know anyone here.”

* * * *

It had to be late evening by now, maybe even late into the night. Billie didn’t know. She was tired, had a headache pressing behind her eyes, and she was so thirsty she couldn’t even produce enough spit to temporarily stave off the feeling.

Del hadn’t hurt her. He only threatened to. Instead, like before, he used August as leverage and told her the old man’s recovery would meet an abrupt end if she didn’t answer a few more questions.

It wasn’t until he asked his final question did she finally realize what all this was about.

He had asked about the man in the white coat.

He had asked about the angel.

8

Good Night

“You’ll be sleeping here,” Tracy told Joe as she stood in the doorway to a closet-sized room about four feet by ten. The walls were concrete, cracked, seeming to have been a rush-job than a proper application.

Even prison cells weren’t this small, Joe figured. “All right, I guess.”

“It’ll do,” she said.

“And you?”

“I have my own place.”

“Yeah, but where?”

“You need a night light? Afraid of the dark?”

“Okay, enough. Seriously. You brought me here. The least you can do is tell me where I can find you if something comes up.”

“Like?”

“So what is this? You pick guys off the street, take them here and dump them off?”

She pointed a finger in his face. “Watch it.”

“Fine. Whatever.” He turned away and went into the room. A small cot lay along the left side. A lone wooden chair sat in the far corner. The wall opposite the cot had a calendar and a couple of coat hooks with a dark green metal garbage can below. “Cozy.” He glanced up at Tracy. “Night.”

He went in, sat on the cot, then flopped onto his back and put a forearm over his eyes.

A few moments went by, then Tracy said, “Look, I’m heading out in the morning. Food run. If you want to come—”

Joe made like he didn’t hear her and instead just kept his eyes shut and tried to relax.

“Yeah, well, oh-eight-hundred I’ll be passing by your door. If you want to come . . .” The door squeaked on its hinges then sealed with a loud ka-thoom.

Joe took his forearm off his eyes and squinted against the rich yellow glow coming off a small light covered in a cage just beside the door. He couldn’t see a light switch. He got off the bed and searched the room high and low for one. Even went so far as opening the door and checking the walls beside it in the hallway, half-expecting Tracy to be out there, arms crossed, watching him be the brunt of the joke of “trying to find the light switch.” But she wasn’t out there.

A guy, who looked around fifteen, walked past.

“Hey, kid,” Joe said.

The guy stopped, cheeks dirty, and furrowed his brow. “What?”

“Where’s the light switch in here?” Joe thumbed over his shoulder to the room behind him.

“You’re kiddin’, right?”

Joe eyed him squarely.

“You must be new,” the young guy said. “No light switches. There’s a master switch around here and a couple backups. Lights stay on. The dead somehow get down here, the last thing we want is to be caught with them in the dark.” The teen walked on.

Joe stood in the hallway, staring at his feet. He’d have to make do.

* * * *

August lay on an old mattress, upper body bandaged up. Opening his eyes all the way was difficult. He didn’t like the dark. Not here. Even all those nights alone up at the cabin were almost comfortable compared to this. Even that night when he first came to the city and spent it in a bank vault. Here . . . here there was an uncomfortable openness, that hospital feeling where you sensed that’s where you were even with your eyes closed or just coming out of sleep. A certain sterility. Yet, he knew, this place was not sterile. No place was anymore. There was a coldness and distance Del and May exuded that August hadn’t encountered in anyone in a long time. They seemed detached from things. It was certainly possible their detachment came from being holed up here in this place, or having only spent the past year or so with very little company.

Even after having been away from the city for a year, August remembered how hard it was to adjust to having people around him again.

His shoulder throbbed, but it felt more intact now than it did before. Though he couldn’t see it, he felt the wound bound up good and tight. He hadn’t been conscious when May did whatever she did to fix him up, but whatever she’d done, it seemed to have worked. He just hoped recovery time wouldn’t be for months on end. In a world like this, you needed all the strength you could muster. Besides, he didn’t know what kind of strength he’d need right now nor how long they would be here for.

“Hope you’re okay, Billie,” he said softly. God, watch over her. “These people.” They rescue us, mistreat us, shoot me, then fix me. Billie’s . . . “I don’t know.” Hurt? He hoped nothing worse than a few shouts were directed her way. Was she beaten? Raped? His heart ached at the thought. She was just a young girl. She hadn’t done anything wrong.

Joe. Del had asked about Joe. What did they want with him? Why did they care if he survived or not? August prayed he had, but if that meant Joe would now have to be on the run from these guys, he wasn’t so sure death would have been a bad option after all.

Drowsiness soon took over and August caught his thoughts drifting and mixing in with scattered dreams. Some of Joe and Billie. Others of Des. Most of his wife and the family he had been forced to kill after they’d been turned into zombies.

At one point between all the drifting in and out of consciousness, August thought he heard Billie scream from somewhere beyond his door.

9

Morning

Sleeping with that blasted light was more difficult than Joe anticipated. Falling asleep with an arm over his eyes was the easy part. Waking up throughout the night having moved the arm, meant being caught in that place between being awake and asleep, knowing something was wrong but not knowing how to fix it. A few times simply rolling over and burying his face in the worn-out pillow worked. Other times, when he yearned to be on his back but got pins and needles every time he put an arm over his eyes, well, he just had to tough it out laying face-first into the pillow, taking shallow breaths, and trying not to think of anything so he’d quickly fall asleep.

Joe woke up with a headache, not sure what time it was.

Something about Tracy nagged at the back of his mind.

Right. Oh-eight-hundred. Eight o’clock. Eight o’clock. Right. He sat at the edge of the cot, face in his hands, and rubbed his eyes. “Wants me to meet her, but I don’t have a clock.” He lifted his head, blinked several times against the light, and surveyed the room. “And neither does this room.”

Yawning, he stood, stretched, checked his holster making sure the X-09 was where it should be, poked through the sheets on the cot to make sure nothing had fallen out of his pockets while he slept, then headed for the door. He tugged at his coat and realized then how tired he must have been last night for not even having bothered to take it off.

Another yawn, then he opened the door and stepped into the hallway.

* * * *

Billie barely slept. Each dip into unconsciousness was filled with images of August, his blood, the man in the white coat, marked by a headache each time she opened her eyes.

She was in a room with dirty white-tiled walls, and a cement floor, with a drain in the middle of it. The smell of foul meat hung on the air. There was no light, only that which came from the hallway outside her door and faintly shone through the small rectangular window in the middle of it.

This place might have been a hospital at one point, probably a military one given its location. It might have even once been used as an outpost during the battle with the undead until humanity lost. Perhaps there was equipment here she could use to radio for help.

“I need to get out of here.” She had said it out loud intentionally, the speaking of it giving it more purpose than just a mere thought. “I need to save August, too.” Except, she didn’t know where he was.

It was hard to say what the hour was, but she was usually pretty good at sensing the passage of time, and it must have been at least six or seven hours since she put her head down to sleep, despite her waking on and off throughout the night. A safe estimate would be around seven or eight in the morning, if indeed it had been past midnight when she fell asleep.

Mental note: get a watch when one can be found, she told herself. It was one supply she was surprised she didn’t have. The last watch she had was broken in a zombie scuffle just outside the Haven a couple of months ago. She never got around to fixing it, but instead relied on the clock on her computer.

Even now in this room she smiled to herself, thankful for her old system. She was even more thankful that the power was still on in parts of the city. That meant that despite the zombie uprising, a survivor or two were still minding the hydro plant and doing with it the best they could. It was probably a safe place to be, as well. Perhaps that was where she and August should go if they survived this.

Billie sat on the edge of her bed, trying to will her legs to get moving and take a peek out the door’s window.

A moment later, a jolt shot through her appendages when the door squeaked as someone turned the handle.

* * * *

Joe stood out in the hallway. It was empty, though he was able to hear a few voices coming from a corridor up on his right.

A buzzer sounded and a cool, automated voice filled the air. “It is now six o’clock.” The buzzer sounded again. “It is now six o’clock.”

Joe licked his lips and leaned up against the wall beside his door. No wonder I’m so tired. He went back in his room, closed the door and sat on the cot. Hopefully that thing sounds every hour. But he didn’t remember hearing the buzzer the night before. Maybe it was a morning-only thing and six o’clock was wake-up time.

Not sure what to do, he decided to lay back on the cot and listen for footsteps outside his door to see if anyone else was awake.

Instead, he fell asleep.

When he awoke, he shot to his feet and bolted out the door, nearly running over a middle-aged woman with blonde hair as she passed by.

“Sorry,” Joe said and scanned up and down the hallway looking for Tracy. Another man walked past. “Excuse me,” he said to him.

“Yeah?”

“Know what time it is?”

“’Bout twenty after eight.”

Crap. “Thanks.”

The man nodded and went on his way.

I can only assume Tracy would have gone out the way we came in. “Which is where?”

He took off down the hallway, seeking direction from a teen girl with short jet-black hair and heavy eye shadow. Once done, he thanked her and tried his best to follow what she said, all the lefts and rights she gave him becoming something of a jumble. Joe was relieved when he emerged from a hallway and saw the tunnel that would lead to the ladder that would take him to the surface. He debated whether to hang around a few minutes in case Tracy was running late, or just head outside and maybe run into her there.

No. She’d be uniform about things. She’d be on time. He would have been the same if he had a way to tell time. He decided to pursue her to the surface, but not before once more checking over the X-09, making sure it was ready.

He didn’t know what he might encounter out there.

10

Outside

The familiar sense of stepping out into the unknown welcomed Joe like an old friend. The air was thick with the stench of the dead, just like always, the sky above like coffee with a hint of gray paint. Any trees that once lined the city streets were mere skeletons, each having died long ago thanks to the absence of rain.

Joe got the X-09 ready and kissed its barrel. He had to remind himself this was a different model than the one he invented and, unlike the other one, did not need constant cocking. The bullets were now in a reloadable clip that plugged into the handle. The bullets were the same as before, and of those he had plenty. He checked the clip currently in place. He had six shots. Gun at the ready, he made his way from the Hub and kept close to building walls, ears ever alert for the groans of the dead. The low and crushing booms of giant dead feet rocked the pavement every now and then. Other times they were only heard. Joe wondered where the giants got their food from. If they ate people on top of terrorizing them, he could only imagine how many folks it would take to make their bellies full. Like sharks trying to make a meal out of minnows.

The building upon which Joe leaned was old, the stone muddy and gray, mould from many years prior growing in between the bricks. He was careful not to breathe it in. What does it matter? he thought. The disease in the air . . . it’s especially thick in this world. The air, I mean. Seems far more dense than what I’m used to. One could only wonder how many lungfuls of this stuff will do a person in. He stopped walking. Guess it’ll only be a matter of time regardless of how you want to look at it. The dead will win. If they don’t eat you, their very presence will be enough to kill you. Back in his world, the bulk of the undead remained within the city limits. The Haven, though infested, had a sparse undead population compared to other areas, especially downtown. Though disease carried on the air, comparatively speaking, the air in the Haven was much lighter than that of downtown. Even when the dead began moving out from the city and spreading into the burbs, they hadn’t been present long enough for the atmosphere to have changed.

Joe coughed, figuring, like Tracy, he’d get used to the smell and thick air with time. Depending, the people who survived in this universe might be inherently immune to even the disease floating on the air. And, even, maybe he was immune, too, whatever spared him in his world having fought off the disease as well. There really was no way to know. At least, not yet. Not until people started to die from infection without being bit, or, worse, started to transform without having been bitten.

Joe’s insides went hollow. A low groan came from around the corner. Then another. He took a few steps back, X-09 trained on the building’s edge, ready for anything that might come around. He was about to open fire when he thought he saw a decayed hand emerge from the building’s corner the same time moans rose up behind him as well.

* * * *

Billie coughed, startled, when the door squeaked open and May entered, appearing oddly too beautiful for morning. It seemed the woman had been up for at least an hour prior, took a shower and carefully applied the right makeup to mask her true morning appearance. Had this been the old world, Billie would have asked for her secret.

“What do you want?” Billie asked.

May moved closer, her black pants looking a little too comfortable and a little too fancy to wear in this bunker. Same with her black blouse with three-quarter sleeves.

“Del suggested just us girls get together before the day starts and talk things over.”

As if, Billie thought, though it was a good move on Del’s part. Women related to women better than men, usually. “Just some girl talk, huh?”

“Yes. Just some girl talk.”

Billie didn’t like the way May slinkily made her way over and sat down on the bed beside her. Billie slid over a bit to give herself more room, not caring if she offended.

“It’s okay, don’t be shy,” May said, her eyes wide, lips pouty.

Oh please, Billie thought. “Look, whatever you have to say to me, get it done now. I’m not playing anymore.”

May’s expression changed, that cold, hard edge returning. “You will. Remember that old man down the hall?”

Down the hall, huh? Nice. You let that one slip pretty good. Maybe May wasn’t as bright as she pretended to be. Perhaps without Del nearby making sure each word she said was what he wanted, Billie could use that to her advantage and pry loose a few answers.

She slowly slid closer to May, hoping to change the atmosphere and lower the woman’s guard. “Though I know you and Del are concerned for your safety along with whoever else is part of your group—believe me, I get that—why are you pressing us so hard?”

“Oh, I think you know,” May said, not seeming to play along with her.

Billie scootched a little closer. “Not really. I mean, Del has said some things, sure, so he’s obviously a smart guy and has insight into stuff I probably don’t. I just see what I see, you know?”

“He knows more than you realize,” she said.

Her words sent a jolt through Billie’s core. “Are you his friend, or just a, um, co-worker?”

“We don’t have friends. You should know that. There’s no time for friends in a world like this.”

“There’s always room for friends, especially in a world like this.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Billie’s heart rate picked up as she went to move in the final couple inches closer to May. She didn’t know one hundred percent where she was going with her actions, but if somehow acting this way would grant her and August some leeway or even a way out, she would do whatever it took.

May put a hand on hers and looked her over with tender eyes, obviously taking note of Billie’s advance. “What do you want, Billie?”

“I just don’t think you’re as bad as you let on.”

May smiled. “Thank you, but I don’t think you realize just how bad I truly am.”

“I think you just listen to Del because you feel that you have to.”

“Believe me, I have to.”

“Why?”

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me.”

“Your level of comprehension” —Billie raised an eyebrow— “What I mean is, you’re too young to understand.”

“I’ve seen a lot.”

“So have I.”

May drew in closer.

Billie’s heart was in her throat. She didn’t know what would happen next, if she should close her eyes and brace for a kiss, or wait and see what May would do.

May’s face grew tender, almost childlike as if apologizing. “You’re right, Billie. You have seen a lot. More than most girls your age have. Actually, I know you’ve seen more. It’s written all over you.” Her words were soft, gentle. Her face was less than an inch from Billie’s.

Billie closed her eyes. “Tell me.” She moved in closer, so much so their lips were almost touching.

“After,” May said.

Billie’s eyes shot open. No breath had escaped from May’s lips when she spoke.

It was too late. May had changed and her undead face moved in for the kill, mouth wide, yellow teeth sharp.

* * * *

Joe immediately got low to avoid grabbing arms and clawing fingers. He aimed up and to the right, fired, and punched a hole through the skull of an undead cheerleader with a white sweater and the number 41 displayed big and proud in red letters across her chest and stomach. The cheerleader’s body dropped to the ground.

Behind her stood a tall white guy in a red basketball uniform, the number 30 in white letters across his front. His short brown hair looked torn out in places, a portion of the side of his skull missing revealing the shriveled gray of rotted brain. Joe checked to the left. The other undead were getting close. There was no room to stand and run so he did two somersaults forward, stood, shook off the dizziness and took out the basketball player with a shot to the guy’s nose. Blood sprayed out on the wall behind him when the bullet blasted through.

A stream of undead kept coming from around the building, at first two then four then a jump to seven.

Joe made quick business of the first four, ran across the street, and faced them with his back against the old building across the way. He popped out the clip, loaded it with fresh bullets from a pouch on his belt, then snapped the clip back into the X-09.

It was like he never left home. The giants, Tracy, Billie’s and August’s absence—all that faded. It was just him and the undead and the memory of April just like always.

Two of the undead making their way across the street wore black bandanas dotted with a handful of dirty white stars. They didn’t seem they were all that old when they died, maybe around sixteen or seventeen. Joe pegged them both off; one got a bullet through its head just above its eye; the other got one in the middle of its head, the bullet having ripped off the top of its skull. Brain and blood oozed out of the skull, dripping over the zombie’s face. The two undead fell.

More came, hands outstretched, clawing at the air before them, sometimes their fingers clawing at the others’.

A group of four zombies came forward: two elderly ladies, one young man and one child, a boy. It was the children that got to Joe the worst. Barely begun in life and here they were already walking corpses about to die a grisly death.

Make quick work of it, he told himself and sent a bullet into the kid. The boy fell, his face gone, black blood seeping out onto the pavement from the hole in his head.

The remaining three zombies were nearly across the street.

The two elderly women’s shriveled hands pawed at the air. Joe ran at them then quickly veered to the side to make his attack. He fired the X-09. A bullet pierced through both undead grannies and they collapsed on each other when they hit the pavement.

The young man was last.

Joe stood and waited for him to come closer. The young man stumbled nearer, one of his ankles bent inward at an odd angle, either rotted near through or broken. It was hard to tell because of the fella’s pant leg. The young man’s white eyes locked onto Joe as he wobbled forward. He brought his hands up and close together, as if his goal was to strangle Joe.

Joe raised his gun, aimed the barrel between the young man’s eyes, and fired. The creature dropped from Joe’s line of sight. Joe took a step away and surveyed his handiwork. The young man lay face up on the ground, a bullet below one of his eyes, blood bubbling out of him like oil from a well.

The air was still. Giant zombies thudded in the distance behind him. He wanted to find Tracy.

“She could be anywhere,” he said.

He got back on a sidewalk and continued down the street, cautious when crossing from one building to the next, eyes and X-09 ever-ready for anything that might stumble out from behind a dark corner.

His heart skipped a beat when he heard gunshots from somewhere up and to the right.

* * * *

In the instant of May’s movement, Billie’s mind took a snapshot of her. The woman’s eyes were wide, white and creamy, like undercooked egg. Dark patches of black and red decayed skin blotched her face and neck. She smelled of dust and garbage left out in the sun.

Billie fell back on the bed, giving herself a few extra inches from May’s mouth as the undead woman fell on top of her. Billie socked her in the side of the head then yanked her fingers back as snapping jaws tried to bite them off.

A low growl came from May as Billie rolled away from her and got to her feet. May stood, her clothes no longer fashionable and pristine, but torn, dirty and caked with blood.

Dead hands with mottled skin clawed at the air as they tried to grab Billie despite her being out of reach.

Heart pounding, Billie scanned the room for something she could use as a weapon. May came for her, grabbed hold of her forearm. Billie shot out a fist into May’s neck, snapping the woman’s head back. A soft crack followed the blow and it was enough to allow Billie to push May to the floor.

Quickly, Billie searched the room again. There was nothing obvious lying around, nothing except—She ran for the wood-and-glass medicine cabinet on the same wall as the door. A part of her debated if she should run, but knew that if she did, May would chase her and, eventually, so would Del not to mention whatever they would end up doing to August.

Billie brought her fist tight against her shoulder and swung her elbow as hard as she could against the dirty white cabinet door. The glass shattered and the thin wooden frame splintered. She went for it again, breaking the wood clean this time. She grabbed a pointed shard of wood in one hand and a large piece of glass in the other.

May was already on her feet and coming toward her. Billie hoped that wherever Del was, he couldn’t hear the scuffle.

Gripping the wooden shard tight, Billie waited for May to get closer. May stumbled forward, mouth agape, tongue wriggling inside her mouth as if she was already tasting Billie’s flesh. The moment May was close enough, Billie swiped at her with the glass, bringing the shard across May’s neck, producing a steady flow of black blood. May didn’t react, but instead came forward, grabbed Billie by the shoulders and brought her head in, trying to bite Billie in the chest. Still holding the glass and wood, Billie pressed both palms against the top of May’s head, her fingers unintentionally intertwining with the undead woman’s dry and filthy hair. May’s forehead kept butting into Billie’s collarbone.

Swiftly, Billie kicked out, nailing May in the gut. It was enough to get some distance. May straightened and came at her again.

“Now!” Billie shouted and swung the spiky wooden shard low to high, bringing it in a kind of uppercut straight into May’s open mouth. The tip of the shard tore through the roof of May’s mouth and went in part way. As fast as she could, Billie delivered a follow-up blow with the heel of her hand and drove the wooden piece up into May’s skull even further.

May took another step forward, stopped, then dropped to the ground.

Billie rubbed her hand from where it struck the wood. “That one was for you, August.”

She listened carefully for any indication Del knew what just happened and that he was on his way. Confident all was quiet, Billie went to the doorway and peered out. According to May, August was down the hallway.

But which way?

11

Surrounded

Joe ran past the large debris littering the street; huge chunks of crumbled walls, curbs and shattered glass forming an obstacle as he sprinted toward the sound. It had to be Tracy. Had to be. He hoped she wasn’t in anything over her head.

He ran past a flattened white Oldsmobile, no doubt the work of a giant zombie foot. What surprised him about the giants, though, was they didn’t spend all their time ripping up the city. Instead, they seemed to amble in between the buildings as if searching for something—probably food—and only acted out when frustrated or trying to get at their prey.

Gunshots cracked through the air, this time much louder. He was getting closer. Joe held the X-09 at the ready and fired off a few shots into the heads of a couple zombies that saw him running and began moving toward him. They fell to the ground, the tops of their heads falling to the ground as well, not far beside them.

Another shout and a feminine yelp. If that was Tracy, then she must be in some serious trouble because she didn’t seem as the type to scream when confronting the undead. The girl was tough as nails, the battle with the undead paramount.

His kind of girl.

He shook the thought from his head, taken aback by how easily his reflection on Tracy came and, worse, his approval of who she was.

Swiftly, he hugged the front wall of a tanned-bricked antique shop, gun ready. The thunder crack of another gun going off sent a jolt through him. He peeked around the corner. Just up the block from the antique shop, Tracy was surrounded, at least a dozen zombies circling her. Some took a step closer before she jerked her body and they took a step back. The ones that didn’t react to her movement were quickly met with a bullet. From either side of the street outside the circle more undead surfaced, some from behind rusting cars, others from behind dumpsters and a couple from an alley. Some simply came in from further up the street.

Joe did another count. There were now at least twenty zombies from what he could see. There were probably more hiding in behind a few others that he hadn’t caught sight of.

Way to go, girl, he thought. He kissed the tip of the barrel of the X-09. He stepped out from behind the corner, gun aimed.

He fired twice. Two undead dropped. Another couple shots. Two more fell.

A few of the zombies turned around, looking at him with bewilderment.

“Yeah, you guys know what this is,” he said, glancing toward the X-09. “Come on.”

Joe boldly walked toward them, doing his best to keep the undead’s attention on him while hopefully Tracy took the opportunity to escape. Instead, she stood in the midst of them, gun raised. She fired off a few shots; three zombies dropped to the ground. A couple of the zombies who had their eyes on Joe turned toward the source of the sound. Joe took the opportunity and removed their heads from their bodies with four consecutive shots from the X-09. The headless corpses were knocked over by their kin before they could even hit the ground.

The undead horde moved toward him.

“What’re you doing!” Tracy called from amidst the dead. She swiftly punched one and sent a bullet into the neck of another.

“Saving you. What do you think?”

“I’m fine!”

“What’s your problem?” Joe blasted off a couple more shots.

Tracy finally got moving and used her forearms to shove her way between a couple of zombies and got past them. She ran toward Joe, but had to veer to the left when other zombies blocked her path.

Joe blasted another one away.

“Don’t!” she said. “Only fire if you have to.”

Joe took out another. “Why?”

“You’re making a scene!”

“Hey, you started this.”

“I don’t want more to come!”

He dropped to his knees as a zombie came in from the side and tried to grab him around the chest. He avoided its arms, placed the X-09 between its legs, aiming the barrel straight upward. He pulled the trigger and the bullet shot through the creature’s body and exited out of the top of its head. Blood, brain, and bone shot out like a geyser.

Joe rolled off to the side and kicked the zombie’s legs out from under it. The body dropped.

Tracy got beside him, squatting down, gun poised. She fired off a shot; a groaning blonde with a long, stringy ponytail caught the bullet in her eye and went down.

“Look around!” she shouted.

“I am looking around,” he said and blasted the kneecaps off another zombie before getting to his own feet. The creature stumbled, hit the cement, then started crawling toward him, not giving up. Joe put a bullet into its brain and ended it.

“Behind you, you idiot,” she said.

Joe fired off another shot, taking down an elderly woman with half a face and one arm missing. He turned around. “Oh.”

* * * *

He could be anywhere, Billie thought as she snuck down the hallway. She had gone left when exiting the room thinking that Del and May probably put August somewhere deeper into the building, furthest from the main door in case he tried to escape. Most of the rooms she passed were dark. She peeked through the windows of the few rooms that had them. This definitely had been a military compound once upon a time. Some of the rooms contained desks; others a few computers; some with maps on the wall and the Canadian flag; one had a double door and upon entering it found it to be a kitchen. There was a mess hall just beyond.

She hoped that whatever room August was in had some sort of light. After all, May and Del needed to see just like anyone else.

Except they weren’t anyone else. They were zombies. It was still unknown whether or not zombies had night vision as they seemed to be more adept at finding their way around in the dark than regular humans.

She was tired, but the adrenaline pumping through her system seemed to keep her awake and alert enough to have her ears acting like a couple of radar dishes, searching the air for any sound that wasn’t her own. Surely Del must have found May by now and was on the hunt for her.

She had to find August. There was no way she could leave him here.

“God,” she whispered, “if You can hear me, I need You to get us out of here. Can You, I don’t know, fix August or something?” He’d probably know if You can or not. I don’t. “But I need You to. We’ll die, otherwise.”

A sharp squeak sent a chill up her spine and caused the muscles in her neck and shoulder blades to lock. To glance over her shoulder, she had to turn her whole upper body. Only a dark hallway stared back, with even darker patches from the rooms that ran off of it on either side.

Billie needed a weapon. There’s nothing here, though, that I can use to shoot them. She smirked. Where’s a nail gun when you need it? She cautiously went up to the next room on her left. This one didn’t have a set of windows. She put her hand on the doorknob and turned it as gently as she could so as not to make a sound. Slowly, she opened the door. The room was dark and only a little bit of dim light from the hallway seemed to penetrate it. The last thing she wanted was to go inside the room and look around only to get herself cornered in case Del caught her here.

Don’t have a choice. Let’s go, she thought and went in.

The room had a shelf bordering it about six feet off the ground. Below that was a table that did the same. Evenly spaced around the table were a handful of computers. Some still stood upright; others were knocked over on their side. Billie wondered if the Net was working here and if she’d be able to get a hold of somebody on the outside and get some help.

“No time right now,” she said.

She felt along the top of the shelf all the way around the room for anything that could be used to defend herself with. The only things up there were papers, binders and a couple framed photos with a group of soldiers in each.

She scanned the computer tables. Nothing. Just the systems.

She grunted, frustrated. “Can’t exactly throw a keyboard at him.” She thought for a moment. “Wait a second.”

* * * *

Row upon row of the undead stood before Joe, their approach having been silent. They stood there about twenty abreast, going some seven or eight rows deep. Even if he was lightning fast on the trigger, there would be no way he could blast all of them away from where he stood.

“Ideas?” Tracy said.

“Had to attract them, didn’t you?”

“Me?”

Why was he playing around with her? He hated this side of him. It had been long and buried until now, having been lost to the depths along with April over a year ago. Joe didn’t like the way his old friendly side now popped up just to say hello before retreating back into the darkness again.

Get serious, he thought. “They’re just standing there. Same with the ones behind us.”

“Some of them like to size up people before a kill.”

This is not what I’m used to. Where I come from . . . “. . . they just come for you.”

“What?”

“Nothing.” The X-09 went from one decaying head to another, but Joe didn’t fire off a shot. Not yet. “There are not as many behind us. We head that way.”

“Done.” Tracy aimed at the undead behind them. “Now?”

“Now.” The two fired, Joe taking out a couple in front of him before turning tail and heading down the same path where Tracy sent another two to their doom. Joe hopped over their bodies as they fell to the ground, whipped the X-09 into the face of another, and kicked another one in the throat, breaking its neck, before shoving through another one, aiming behind himself and firing off another bullet.

Tracy ran toward him, arms held out, guns blazing, taking out zombies front and back. The giant horde that had just stood before them now scrambled after them, arms and hands out, eager to grab onto them and chow down.

A dead hand grabbed Joe’s coat and yanked him toward a Chinese fellow with bloody lips and eyes gauged out. Joe assumed the creature “saw” by smell. The Chinese man jerked him closer and opened his mouth. Quickly, Joe put a palm to the man’s face, pushing him back, and shoved the barrel of the X-09 into the man’s mouth. He pulled the trigger and the back of the man’s head exploded.

Tracy backed into him; out of instinct Joe shoved her back.

“It’s me!” she said.

“Sorry.”

The dead encircled them.

“Keep shooting!” he told her.

“Always do!”

The two of them fired shot after shot. Joe reloaded and went back to work carving out a path through the wall of bodies that crowded into them.

“Keep wiggling,” he told her. “Don’t give them anything solid to grab.”

He was turned around so couldn’t see her and instead only heard her grunting as she presumably pressed and wriggled her way through the crowd.

Joe blasted the face off one undead, stomped on the foot of another, mashing his heel into its toes, and pushed the zombie over. Putting his arms together like a battering ram, he charged at the dead, shoving through them like a river carving a path through a forest, getting some distance. He stopped, kicked one of the undead, spun around and fired three quick successive shots into the back of a trio of zombies.

Tracy shrieked. The next time he saw her she was covered in sticky blood and stringy flesh.

At least she was alive.

Tracy kept shooting as she made her way toward him slowly but steadily.

They needed some real distance, but zombies had a way of letting you gain a bit of ground then coming in at you so that when you did worm past them, it was more like swimming through molasses than anything else.

“We need to get higher,” Joe called out over the moans of the dead.

“Whatever you say,” she replied.

Joe reached in between the bodies of a few zombies, grabbed Tracy by the arm and yanked her through. One of the zombies grabbed her other arm and was about to bite down on her biceps, but Joe shot it down before it could. Tracy jerked her arm away and dropped her gun hand on his shoulder, sending off a bullet into a zombie that was closing in behind.

“Run and shoot,” Joe said, reloading.

Immediately, the two set their guns forward and fired shot after shot as they ran away from the dead, trampling over the bodies of those they disposed of, dodging and weaving between others.

They managed to break free of the zombie horde. The mouth of an alley was about ten paces away.

“Down here,” Tracy said.

The two ran into the alley.

“There.” Joe pointed up toward a fire escape.

They gathered underneath it. The bottom of the ladder was too high for either of them to reach.

The undead rounded the corner and poured into the alley.

* * * *

It took three keyboards to get it right, but Billie was able to hold the keyboard lengthwise and bring it down along the edge of the table hard enough to snap the bottom of the board. Flipping it over, she did the same to the other side. Upon inspection, both sides of the keyboard were now cracked down the middle. Gripping it lengthwise, she placed it on the edge of the table, and pushed down. The side with the keys snapped; the circuit board within bent. She turned it over. Keys fell to the floor. She pressed again, snapping the back of it, the board inside bending once more. With a hard pull, she yanked the top and bottom halves apart, then jerked out the circuit board. The remaining keys clacked against the floor like marbles.

Billie crouched and hid under the desk, hoping Del hadn’t heard the racket. Satisfied he hadn’t, she came out from under the desk, put both keyboard halves by her heels, and drove her foot down on the edge of each of them. Their ends cracked, splintered, creating jagged points on each.

She picked up the keyboard halves and had herself a couple of sturdy stakes.

“You can do this,” she said and headed back toward the door. She peeked out. The hallway was clear and she didn’t see any movement near the patches of shadows.

Stakes ready, she proceeded down the hallway, ready to drive them into anything that moved.

Every room was empty. There was one more door up on the right. The sign in the middle of it read stairs. Billy cautiously opened the door, cringing when it squeaked on its hinges. Cement steps went upward against the right wall, a small platform at the top, leading to a set of stairs to what was presumably the next level.

I hope you’re up there, August, she thought. She held her makeshift plastic stakes ready and with the other hand gently closed the stairwell door behind her.

She went up the steps, listening intently for movement. Del definitely had to be onto her by now. It was difficult to tell precisely how big this place was. He could be on her in a matter of seconds; but it could also be a while yet.

She made it to the second level. Another set of stairs went up to a third and a part of her was tempted to try them. No, one thing at a time. She opened the second floor door and checked both ways around the doorframe before stepping out. Up here were tiled walls, once white but now stained with dirt. In the dim lighting, she made out streaks of blood running up and down some of the walls.

How many people had been brought here only to be served up as meals? Was that what happened to August? Was he already dead? Or had he just been bit and would soon reveal himself as a zombie and come after her?

“They’d keep him alive,” she whispered. “He saw the angel, too. He knows about Joe. He has information.”

She went down the hallway. Once about halfway down, she stopped short when a low groan came from around the corner up ahead.

12

Stuck

Joe glanced up at the catwalk again. Tracy fired off a few rounds as the undead got closer.

“I got an idea,” Joe said and holstered his gun.

“What are you doing?”

“Here.” He bent forward and folded his fingers together, making a sling with his hands.

“Right,” she said, holstering her weapon and placing both hands on his shoulders for balance as she put her foot on his palms.

“On three.”

“’Kay.”

He counted it off swiftly. Joe simultaneously straightened and hoisted her up with his hands. Tracy reached high above and grabbed the bottom of the escape ladder.

“Hurry!” he shouted as a zombie wrapped its arms around his waist.

“Got it!”

Joe let go and pulled the dead man’s hands off of him. He yanked the X-09 from its holster and fired off a couple shots into the heads of the nearest zombies. Joe made a dash for the far end of the alley, the idea to thin out the zombies a bit before making his way back to Tracy. Plus, it’d give her more time and get their attention off her and onto him.

Man, gonna have to be fast, he thought.

The undead shambled toward him. Joe blasted the legs out from under one and blew away the arm of another. Blood sprayed. The zombies growled. A few just blankly stared at him, their vacant gaze still giving him a chill even after all this time.

Joe ran to the far wall, shooting any zombie that got near him, punching others, anything to get a foot or more distance between him and them as he doubled back toward the ladder, the concentration of zombies gathered at its bottom less than it was before. He’d still have to plow through, though.

“Just move, move, move,” he told himself. He quickly pulled out of his trench coat. Tracy was above, fiddling with the metal latch on the side of the ladder, probably in an effort to let it drop to the alley.

“No, don’t!” he shouted and began heading toward her. “They’ll climb up.”

“Then how will you—”

“Get on the catwalk. Go!”

Tracy moved to the catwalk’s ledge on her right.

Joe shot the face of a zombie child, a little boy probably around five years old. A dead lady grabbed him, her long fingernails broken and cracked, creating jagged shards that dug into his skin. He hoped she wasn’t carrying the infection beneath her nails otherwise he’d no doubt be one of them before the day was through.

“Catch!” he shouted and threw up his coat as hard as he could. She caught one of the sleeves. Joe held onto the base of the coat. “Pull!”

“I can’t!”

“Do it!”

He kicked another zombie and shot another. “Hurry!”

Tracy yanked on her end of the coat. A zombie shoved Joe at the same time and the end of the coat was jerked clear from his hands. It hung dangling over the ledge of the catwalk.

Joe punched an undead old man in the mouth. His dentures ripped through his decaying cheek and clacked onto the ground. With a quick shot, Joe punched the X-09’s barrel into the old man’s eyes, puncturing the creature’s eyeballs, temporarily blinding it. Another shove and the zombie backed away. Joe ducked low and shot upward, nailing an undead Filipino teen between the eyes. The Filipino dropped, causing a couple of advancing zombies behind to trip and fall over it.

“Try again,” Tracy called from above. She tossed the coat back down to him. Joe grabbed the end.

“Yank hard. Just need enough to grab the ladder.”

“One, two, three!” she yelled, and pulled on the coat.

Joe jumped at the same time and it was enough to get him that extra few inches needed to grab hold of the bottom of the ladder. But he still had the gun in his hand and it made it difficult to keep a strong hold on it.

“Catch,” he said and tossed her the X-09. He rearranged his fingers and held fast to the bottom rung, lifting his legs when a few zombies tried to grab his ankles and pull him down. Keeping his knees high, Joe pulled and made his way off the ladder far enough until his feet were more or less level with the catwalk ledge where Tracy was. He planted his feet down; his coat went slack.

Gunfire echoed throughout the alley and Joe smiled when he saw she had both guns going: hers and his, the dead below getting their skulls blown open, sending blood and brain onto their brethren.

Joe got beside her, threw his trench coat back on and took the X-09 from her hands. He squeezed a few shots before saying, “You realize, of course, we’ll eventually need to get down.”

Tracy stopped shooting, looked at him, smiled, pulled out her other weapon, then resumed her focus back down the barrels of her guns and began firing again.

* * * *

Billie held her breath in an effort to slow her fast-beating heart. She put her back to the hallway wall good and tight, extra careful that her feet didn’t make a lot of noise when walking. She held a keyboard stake at the ready.

Another groan, soft, wheezy.

How do you breathe when you’re dead? she wondered. If anything, the undead’s ability to groan, growl and wheeze proved their otherworldly origin—assuming that’s what they were: otherworldly. And after the encounter with Nathaniel, what else could she expect them to be? Where was the angel, anyway? Was his job just to show up, introduce himself then take off and leave them to fend for themselves? Surely wandering around an abandoned military hospital, hunted by the undead, and looking for a hurt friend demanded some sort of supernatural intervention.

August’s words from that night in Winnipeg Square came back to her, ones assuring her that, yes, bad things happen to good people—but not because God made it happen to them. The difference was He let it happen so that later, if you sought Him, He could reveal Himself to you.

Okay, she thought. I’m seeking You now. In a jam here. Got a zombie about to come up on me and—

The zombie rounded the corner, arms out. It wasn’t Del, but a female, a new face. A dead one full of holes as if a hundred crows first had their way with it before the zombie came to this place. Her clothes hung in hole-filled tatters on her body, each hole rimmed with dried blood.

Billie backed up a few steps as the creature came toward her. She steadied her footing, then like a sprinter dashing off the starting line, she bolted toward it, clutching the keyboard stakes. She delivered the first one into the zombie’s gut, stabbing it deep and hard, the force enough to cause the zombie to stumble back a step. The next she brought and plowed it into the zombie’s face. The zombie fell over and remained on the ground a moment before slowly getting to its feet.

“Crap,” she said, noticing the second stake had lodged itself in the soft spot under the cheekbone but hadn’t made its way in far enough to hit the brain.

The first stake protruded out of the zombie’s gut like a skewer, dry intestines slipping out around it, falling to the floor like a string of shriveled sausages.

The dead girl came toward her, arms raised again.

Billie wound up and socked the zombie across the face, her knuckles accidentally scraping against the jagged edge of the keyboard stake sticking out from under the cheekbone. Hand bleeding, she pulled her fist back and struck again, this time dead on. The zombie fell backward.

Billie jumped on top of it, yanked out the stake from the thing’s face. The zombie beneath her howled, but not from pain. From need. The dead woman grabbed Billie by the shoulders and pulled her in, the woman’s mouth open. Billie brought the stake up and used it as a spacer between her and the woman. Quickly, she got the pointed end into the woman’s mouth and with a quick push shoved it up through the roof of the zombie’s mouth and into the brain.

The woman stopped moving.

Billie rolled off her, lay on the floor a moment to catch her breath, then got to her knees and tried pulling the stake out from the woman’s mouth.

“Come on,” she said when it wouldn’t budge. It was too lodged in the brain and between bone. She stood, yanked the other stake out from the woman’s gut, then hugged up against the corner where the hallway turned to the right. She glanced back at the zombie, and made sure it remained down.

Billie turned the corner. “He’s got to be here somewhere,” she said.

She kept her eyes peeled for any sign of light beneath each closed door.

Be ready. If there was one zombie lurking around, there’s bound to be more. Never mind Del, either. She grimaced. He’s just playing with me. He has to be. Sick, dead— “I’m going to kill him when I find him.”

Each door she passed was dark underneath. Those with windows showing the room within were dark as well, bearing no sign of activity in a long time. To make things easier on herself, she noticed that several of the doorknobs had a thin layer of dust on them, suggesting non-usage for at least a month or more. The knobs she did find that seemed clean from use, those she slowly turned, only to find herself staring into a dark room that was either empty, or filled with stacked desks, chairs, a few filing cabinets—nothing with a hurt old man inside of them.

“Come on, August,” she said. “Still be alive.”

* * * *

The undead below went off like bottle rockets each time Joe or Tracy popped a bullet into one of their heads. Most of them, anyway. Those with heads so rotted through merely blew open like soggy cardboard, whatever was left of the brain inside slopping out onto the pavement before the zombie’s body landed on top of it.

“I think that’s enough,” Joe said, putting his gun away.

Tracy fired off another shot, one that landed square between a teen brunette with a black dress. “Can’t help but wonder if we’re attracting everything in the city. Think of it: bring them all here and blow them away.”

“We don’t have enough bullets. I say we save them.”

The crowd of the dead moaned below.

“You’re right,” she said. “Got carried away.”

“Me, too.”

Joe put his hands against the railing of the catwalk they stood upon. Below, the alley was packed with zombies. The ones that fell before were quickly trampled as the undead tried reaching toward them, their fingertips falling well shy of where they needed to be to grab them. There was no way out, though. Not down the ladder. The most they could do was stand there and wait and see if the zombies would clear out. But that was the problem. They’d have to stand there and with them in sight, the undead wouldn’t leave. Not with the chance of food around.

“Holster your weapons,” Joe said. “We can’t stay here.”

“We’re not going down,” Tracy said.

“No” —Joe swung out onto the escape ladder— “we’re going up.”

She nodded.

Joe headed up the ladder, ensuring each time his fingers wrapped around the round iron rungs that he got a good grip. To slip and fall on top of Tracy and plummet to the sea of dead faces below was not the way he wanted to die. They’d rip them to pieces. He could only imagine the pain.

The dead moaned. Some growled. A few below slapped the brick wall beneath the ladder with their palms as they tried to get up.

Joe kept climbing, hoping that when these old ladders were bolted in decades back that the folks who did it did a good job and the thing would hold.

“You all right?” he said, nearing the top.

“Yeah. A couple rungs behind you. You nearly stepped on my fingers a second ago.”

“Sorry.”

“Not the time. Shouldn’t have brought it up.”

Joe made it to the top. He pulled himself over the ledge, took a quick look around, didn’t see anything, and helped Tracy up the rest of the way. The two stood there peering over the ledge.

“Wish we had something to make this ladder go away,” he said.

“Then we’d be stuck up here.”

“I just meant it’d be nice to know that we’re completely safe here and they won’t somehow figure out how to climb it.” He thought back to how the two of them got hold of the ladder. “They saw me boost you.”

“Aren’t those ones dead?”

“I don’t know. I’ve been fighting them so long they pretty much all look the same to me now. Besides, who keeps track of which kill looked like what?”

“Uh . . . yeah.” Tracy’s eyes darted to the side. “I know what you mean.”

Joe pulled out the X-09 and stepped away from the ledge. Tracy did the same.

“Let’s do a quick scan and regroup,” he said.

“Got it.”

They parted ways, Joe heading off to his left, she to her right. They’d meet back up near the middle of the ledge on the other side.

The rooftop was fairly spacious, the only clutter being a few heating ducts that were added in recent years, some kind of generator and a few loose wires. Joe crouched and inspected under, over and around the ducts and vents, ensuring nothing was up here hiding, not even an infected animal or rodent. He remembered back when he first met Des and Billie and they talked about encountering an undead rat. It was the first he heard of the animal population having been transformed besides humans.

He glanced up at Tracy. She scanned the rooftop as well, but also seemed to be keeping an eye on the street below.

The two finished their rounds and met up.

“How bad is it?” Joe asked, taking a peek of his own over the ledge.

“Main concentration seems to be in the alley where we came up. Overall, they’re everywhere, but more scattered.”

“I can see that.”

“They should thin out eventually when they realize we’re not coming down. Main thing now is to stay out of view.”

The two made their way toward the middle of the roof. Joe took in the city. Winnipeg was never known for its tall buildings or postcard skylines. There were a handful of buildings pushing thirty-plus floors. The rest were somewhere in the ten- to fifteen-floor mark. If anything, Winnipeg’s lack of being a giant metropolis was to their benefit these days. Fewer tall buildings meant it made it so much easier to see the giant zombies stomping about.

There were four, from what he could see, the nearest one being some ten blocks away. The other three were beyond that, yet even up here at this distance the low booming of their footfalls thundered on the air like tom-toms.

“You’ve been around those big guys more than I,” Joe said. “Have you ever seen them turn on their own kind if food couldn’t be found? Whether big zombie or small, doesn’t matter.”

“No. The most I’ve ever seen was a couple of them fight, but that seemed to be over food, not using each other as food.”

Joe watched them. “It bothers me that they kind of lurk like that. They skulk around the buildings, constantly searching. Really makes me uncomfortable.”

“Why?”

“Well, we’re on a rooftop for one thing. If we end up crashing up here, we’re going to have to wiggle our way beneath those ducts and get out of eyeshot. But besides that . . . I think it’s the fact they’re not doing anything. I keep getting pictures of Godzilla in my head, destroying stuff. They’ve more or less kept things intact, from what I’ve seen.”

“When they first came on the day the world changed” —Joe’s ears picked up; these large zombies have always been here since her world died, it seemed— “we sent jets after them. There used to be a lot more. Many fell, most outside the city; a lot of them fought back, hitting some planes out of the sky, into buildings.” She pointed across the way where the tail of a fighter jet stuck out on an angle from an older building. “Eventually we ran out of planes.”

“Amazing,” Joe said. The word just trailed off his lips. He hadn’t really meant to say it.

“I don’t get you,” she said, turning toward him. “These things were everywhere. Every major city. Even small towns—many were squashed when the dead first attacked.”

“Attacked?”

“Rose from the dead. Returned. Came back. Whatever. Did you hit your head or something? Somebody shoot you? Shoot yourself? Memory issues?”

“Take it easy,” he said, raising his hands.

“I just don’t know what this is.”

“What, me asking you questions?”

“Asking me questions about stuff you should know about. You’re good with your gun. You know how to fight. We’re alike that way, fine. But I make it one of my jobs to know what’s going on, to learn, to try and find new ways to beat them. You don’t seem to do that.”

“Why does that bother you? Oh, and you’re wrong, by the way. I’ve spent many nights lurking in the shadows, studying them before killing them.”

“Yet you act like you haven’t seen a giant zombie before.”

“I’ve seen them before,” he said, “just not until . . . recently.”

“You just come out of hiding?”

“Kind of.”

“What does that mean, ‘kind of’?”

I don’t think she’s ready for it, he thought.

She stood across from him, one hand on her hip, the other clutching her weapon. Her face read that he’d better start talking or it was going to be a very long day.

He eyed her carefully. He’d only say what she needed to know.

“Well?” she asked.

He sighed. “I’m not from around here, Tracy.”

“Then where are you from?”

“A different world.”

13

Search Party

“You guys are a bunch of idiots, you know that?” Mark shouted as he chased after the rest of the group. He hopped over a slab of fallen concrete from one of the surrounding buildings, climbed up another, then slid down its opposite side.

“Can you be any louder?” Michelle said. “Why not just put up a giant sign and let the dead know we’re here?”

“Sorry,” he said, “but you guys always get ahead of me. My legs aren’t as long.” Mark stood a good foot shorter than Michelle. At eight years old, he might be considered taller than most kids his age at four and a half feet—those that were left—but compared to the others, he still had to keep up.

“I know you’re concerned about Dillon,” she said. “We all are, but the only way we’re going to find him, and live to tell about it, is to keep quiet and stick together.”

“Michelle’s right,” Rhonda, his mother, said. “Sorry, Michelle.”

Though it was an unspoken matter, Michelle was the leader of their little band. She was considered a Black Lady, one of a handful of special agents from the Hub. The Black Ladies weren’t a specially-appointed group, but had emerged out of happenstance and need, their identities marked by their skin-tight black leather outfits, and extraordinary skills in weaponry and combat.

Michelle kept her black hair back in a ponytail, though Mark thought she looked prettier with it down. He’d never tell his mother, though. It was only recently he had taken interest in girls and females his age were few and far between. He had no choice but to appreciate the beauty of the older crowd. When beautiful girls around Michelle’s age showed up at the Hub now and then, that was. Most of them appeared otherwise disheveled, worn out and just plain boy-ish.

Rhonda put a hand on his shoulder. “Find anything?”

“Naw,” Mark said. “I checked up and down that line of cars off Donald. Looked in every window. Couldn’t see him.”

Michelle pulled out the walkie-talkie from a pouch on her belt. “Dillon, you there? Come in.” She put the talkie to her ear. No reply.

“Maybe we’re out of range?” Andrew said, a stroke to his dirty blond beard. At six-foot-four, he was the tallest of them, and the skinniest. He didn’t talk much. He once said he was more of an observer than a contributor, though Mark thought he looked like he could be a jabber box if he let himself. Andrew didn’t live at the Hub like the rest of them. They only met him last week and, depending, not everyone was invited back to the Hub for a rest and a meal. All to do with who found him; it wasn’t Michelle, Mark or Rhonda. A guy named Ron had ran into Andrew while on a supply run. Ron said he found Andrew escaping from a horde of the undead. Many at the Hub had been discovered that way, but Andrew was found walking instead of running, as if he wanted to be surrounded by zombies, and it hadn’t sat well with Ron. The man seemed detached. Mark thought perhaps living in this world was finally getting to the tall man with the dirty blond hair, and Ron thought Andrew was a closet lunatic and didn’t want to risk the lives of those at the Hub with another crazy. He’d personally fallen into that pit before and once brought back a guy who turned out to be a serial killer from times past. Old habits die hard. Things got messy and four people died before a Black Lady named Tracy took him down. Permanently.

Today, Andrew had come across them while they were making their way up Smith Street. They hadn’t really wanted him to tag along, but the guy kept trailing them so what else could they do? At first, Rhonda had whispered to Michelle to “just end him,” but Mark had known Michelle long enough to know she wouldn’t cap just anybody. So far as he knew, she hadn’t killed anything that wasn’t undead before. She merely replied: “Following us isn’t a reason to do him in. If he’s dangerous, fine. So long as he plays nice, we’re okay.”

“What do you think?” Andrew said. It appeared he wasn’t sure Michelle had heard him.

Michelle shook her head. “Don’t think so. We had contact with him not thirty feet from here. He said it’s dark, and he has metal pressed up against him. Said he saw a pine tree air freshener on the floor. Sounded like he could be squished in one of the cars lying around.”

“Know how many there are?” Mark said. “Thousands.”

“I know,” she said, “but since we had him on the talkie, that limits our range to within a radius of five hundred meters or so. Wish these things were more high tech, but these are the el cheapo ones from Wal-Mart, so the story behind those who brought them in goes. I think you were part of that group, weren’t you?”

He nodded. Michelle had a way with bouncing the blame back on him when she wanted to. He didn’t know why. Maybe it was because—so he’d heard—her own kid had been killed by a zombie four months back and every kid she saw somehow reminded her of him. But Mark especially, it seemed.

“Five hundred meters is still a decent amount of space,” Rhonda said.

“Split up?” Andrew said.

“No!” Michelle said. “Like before, we stick together.” She gave Andrew a cold look. He hadn’t been invited to this party.

“Try him again,” Mark said.

Michelle brought the walkie talkie up to her mouth. “Dillon, you hear me? We had you a few minutes ago. We’re going to need more information. Come back.”

She waited.

Dillon’s voice broke through the silent talkie. “Hard to speak. Space so small. Really stinks in here.”

“Dillon, where are you?”

“Like I said, I don’t know. Small space. Squished. Metal. Air freshener on the floor. Too dark to see anything. Just know that pine smell.”

“Pine smell, great.” Michelle pressed the button on the talkie so she could talk to him again. “Can you hear anything besides me?”

She waited.

Dillon came back on. “Just every so often one of those big buggers shakes the ground. When they do . . . I hear . . . falling. No, wait. I mean, I hear—debris?—sounds like pebbles rolling down concrete.”

Mark tugged on Michelle’s arm. “Ask him how much metal is around him.”

“Dillon, how much metal is actually around you? We thought you might be in a compressed car, you know, trapped.”

“No. I was in a car when things came down. I told you that.”

“Things came down?”

“I went through one car’s door to go through the other side. Was the only way to get into—” The line went staticy.

“Dillon!”

The talkie fell quiet in her hands.

“He’s out there,” Andrew said, hands on hips.

“Let’s hope so,” Rhonda said.

Michelle pressed her lips together, and then said, “We go further.”

“But the range?” Mark said.

“Relax, kid,” Andrew said. “I’m sure he’ll turn up.”

* * * *

This was dangerous, Michelle knew. Standing out here in the open with the others was not a good idea. It was only the possibility of the walkie-talkie’s range being interfered with by the surrounding buildings that they tried to stay out in the open. And there seemed to be a lot more “open” since the Richardson Building collapsed. She figured it must have been recently, though, within the last day, maybe a few hours more. Thick dust still hung on the air. She could only guess a giant undead had taken it down. What triggered the creature to do it was another story, one she didn’t care to find out.

Dillon was a friend of hers and she was thankful he had his own walkie-talkie when he left the Hub yesterday. What he was thinking going out alone, she didn’t know, but Dillon liked to drink and the Hub had a stash of booze meant for special occasions. Whoever deemed Dillon worthy of being in charge of it, she could shoot right now.

It was Mark who had noticed his older friend was missing, and it was Mark that told her he thought his friend might be in trouble. At his insistence, Michelle went out with him, but not without his mother tagging along. That was fine, and she understood that. If she had been with her own son when he had gone out with a team for weapons, her boy might be alive today.

The group decided to go one street over and check the cars there. Once they arrived at the street, she tried Dillon on the talkie again.

“I’m buried here,” he said.

“We can’t spend the day looking for you—”

He cut her off. “No wait!”

“Calm down, Dillon. What I was going to say was we can’t spend the day looking based on a hunch or a vague description. You have to be more specific.”

“I can’t be more specific. I can’t see anything!”

“How about, um, smell? What do you smell?”

“Smell? Fine.” A pause. “I told you, it stinks. Really good. We’re talking like puke and horse crap mixed together.”

Michelle wrinkled her nose. “What were you doing before you got trapped?”

“Like I said, I was trying to cross through a car to get to this hole.”

“What? What street were you on?”

“I don’t know. I’m not from here, remember?”

“You could have at least taken note of the street.”

“Okay . . . it was an underground parkade.”

“There’s a couple around here. What was by it, or what building was it by?”

“A gray one. Part of it was missing.” He took a deep breath. “My head hurts. Real sharp pain at the top of it. I’m sweating and it burns.”

“You cut?”

“Maybe. I’m dizzy.”

Mark pulled down Michelle’s arm and spoke into the walkie-talkie. “Dillon, why did you go into that car?”

“Big zombie. Part of its head was missing. It saw me. Stomped over. I ran, but there was no place to hide. At least, nowhere it wouldn’t see me try and hide. Noticed this car up against a parkade entrance. Went in one side, and as I was coming out the other door—I think the zombie grabbed the car! But right after it went dark and all this stuff went against me. Another car. I’m stuck! Help me, I’m stuck!”

“Calm down, Dillon,” Michelle said.

Rhonda looked at her with worried eyes. Andrew looked elsewhere, presumably watching for any oncoming zombies, big or small.

Dillon’s breathing came through the talkie hard and fast. He was hyperventilating.

“Dillon, listen to me,” Michelle said. “Calm down. Take a deep breath. Nice and slow. We’re coming. We’ll find you.”

“I—I can’t . . . the air—” The talkie cut out again.

Michelle glanced around. The information he gave her was scattered, but it was enough to at least give them an idea of what they were looking for. “Okay, think.” To Rhonda, “There’s that parkade on Smith.”

Rhonda nodded.

Mark said, “But we were just there.”

“Let me think,” Michelle snapped.

Rhonda gave her a sharp look.

“Sorry,” she said, realizing the pressure was getting to her.

“The only other one that I know of in range,” Andrew said, “is the one by the Convention Centre.”

“That’s right,” Michelle said. She ran the surrounding streets through her mind’s eye, the way they used to be. “Any others?”

“I think there’s this other one, but I can’t be sure,” Rhonda said.

“And a gray building,” Michelle said.

“They’re all gray,” Mark said. “The Rain dyed everything.”

“But not completely. You can still see their original color in between the streaks.” She pressed the walkie-talkie’s button again. “Dillon? Dillon, you there?”

Static.

“Dillon?” She waited again but there was no reply. “Let’s go to the Convention Centre,” she said. “First choice. It falls within range of the walkie-talkie, too.” A low rumble shook the ground. She scanned the skyline, but didn’t see any giant zombies in the immediate area. But they weren’t far off either. “Keep your eyes peeled,” she said. “We stay close to the buildings for now. Hope we don’t miss Dillon if he tries to reach us. Something tells me we won’t be alone for much longer.”

14

Big, Big Trouble

August lay in the dark on an old cot. He thought he saw a shadow pass by the window to his room earlier, but might have been mistaken.

His shoulder had been tended to, and of that he was grateful, however the bandaging job hadn’t been all that great, and he had been left to deal with the pain on his own. He knew medicine was hard to come by, but they should have kept that in mind before shooting him. In between winces and waves of flame-laced agony in his shoulder, he had to keep adjusting the bandages, and lean on his shoulder to put pressure on the wound. At one point he had to strip the thin mattress cover from the cot and use it as a makeshift compress just so he could rest without constantly having to supply pressure to his shoulder.

Fatigue pressed against his eyes and as much as he wanted to sleep and heal, he couldn’t. Adrenaline kept him awake most of the time. The only bits of rest he got were due to sheer exhaustion. No dreams, just a black sleep, minutes passing swiftly. Every time he opened his eyes he felt like he just closed them but he sensed otherwise.

“Just wish I knew what they wanted with us,” he said. He glanced toward the ceiling. “Any ideas?” The dark ceiling stared back, cold and silent. “You know, it would be a great help if You opened Your mouth, especially at a time like this. Look at what’s happened. Why don’t You at least say something or signal something or whatever? We’re talking significant supernatural circumstances here and You’re leaving us to fend for ourselves? How does that make sense? You showed John the Apocalypse and had an angel guide him through it. You had Daniel by the river and showed him some stuff then had an angel say this meant that, and all the rest. You have us here fighting zombies, losing families, bleeding our guts out—and no angel.” His heart ached. “Okay, so one angel who was good at showing up and saying hi then disappearing.” His breath caught when he realized something. “You might not exist here. We’re not at home where we saw these things. There’s zombies here, but what if they originated in a different place in a different way? The big ones. Des . . . the boy changed from living to dead on his own.” He swallowed the dry lump in his throat. “Are You real here?” Can the earth exist without You? The Book says otherwise. But that Book was from the other dimension. Oh no. What if—

His thoughts were cut short when he heard footsteps coming from down the hallway. They were close, nearly just outside the door.

* * * *

“Bored yet?” Tracy asked Joe.

He sat on his haunches, leaning against a heating duct long gone cold in the middle of the roof. “No. If I’ve learned anything over the years, it’s patience.”

“I’m still waiting, you know.”

“I know.”

“I know what you said.”

“I know.”

“You can’t just cut yourself off and sit there, pretending like it never happened. If anything, I think you’re crazy and have encountered too many zombies.”

He nodded. “Yeah, well, sometimes I think I’ve gone crazy, too. Somewhere along the way. Even now.” Some days I feel like another piece of me has slipped off and disappeared into the dark.

She came over and stood beside him, leaning against a venting system and resting her palms on the handles of the guns sticking out of their holsters. He didn’t look up at her. “I don’t want to be up here with a loony. If things go south—”

He nodded. She would kill him. Of that he had no doubt. Tracy seemed personable, but also seemed the type that you didn’t want to get on her bad side.

Joe glanced up and down the length of the roof. Groans wafted up from below. The heavy footfalls of giant zombies boomed somewhere in the distance. It was because of them he was here. Because of them the world was the way it was. Because of them August had to kill Des, someone who was becoming his friend. Because of them he was cut off from August and Billie.

Hope Billie’s managing, he thought, then added softly, “Hope she’s okay.”

“What?”

“Nothing.” Then, “My friends. The ones that got away in that bi-plane. Just hope they’re all right.”

She didn’t reply.

Silence remained for a while, then Joe said, “They came here with me. There was a storm. A couple, actually, but the last one . . . we thought it would take us home. Instead, it brought us here.”

“To Winnipeg.”

“No. Not the one we knew, anyway.”

“Start making sense, Joe, or so help me I’ll shoot you. I’m not wandering around with someone who’s crazy.”

“Give me a break from all this, that’s for sure.” He rubbed his hands together, wiping the dry skin off his palms. “I’m from another world, Tracy.” He stood and faced her. “Seriously.”

She eyed him coolly. He could tell she thought he was crazy, yet there was a hint of something in her eyes that suggested she was considering he was being honest.

“Man, I’m not even going to play the ‘I’ll humor you’ game,” she said.

“You don’t have to, but I swear I’m telling you the truth, and I’m telling you because I think there’s more going on here than just the dead rising.”

“Just the dead rising? Just? You really are nuts. In case you haven’t noticed, the world is in Hell right now.”

He huffed through his nose. “I know about Hell. I’ve been there.”

“We’ve all had trauma.”

“Yeah, but I’ve been there,” he shouted. “I’ve seen it, Tracy, I swear. I swear to you that I know what lurks beneath this earth and so help me these zombies pale in comparison. You think things are hard now, there’s something far worse beneath this planet. I saw . . . I saw people, real people thrown into a lake of fire. I saw things—creatures—ugly and hideous and scarier than any rotting corpse down there. I heard screams, Tracy. Screams, the kind laced with hopelessness and despair, hoarse and feral. Humanity broken beyond repair and transformed into something else. Something” —he looked off to the side— “something no longer human, not like those creatures down there.”

Her face was like stone, her expression dead. “Those things down there are not human, Joe.”

“But they were us once. They are a glimpse of what we all become when we die. What I saw was . . . was what we are after we die. Our true selves ripped from our flesh, the part that carries on after death that’s still us and not some shell. I saw our spirits, Tracy. I saw them suffer. I saw the fire, smelled the stench, heard the cries for help. The creatures down there—the wings, the eyes, the faces.” He closed his eyes and the image flashed before him, those beings with the spider-like bodies, the scales. The heat. The screams, like a million voices shrieking as they were slaughtered alive over and over. He shook himself out of it, the memory gripping him, making him cringe. Heat flushed through his body and sweat coated his skin. Heart pounding, the world went dizzy. What he saw . . .

“That sounds—”

“Crazy, I know, but I swear it’s true.”

“So is that the ‘world’ that you’re from? Hell?”

He shook his head. “No. Obviously not. That’s not . . . . It’s not the way I meant it. My . . . my world is . . . is like yours. I’m from Winnipeg, too. But another one, some other dimension.”

She turned around and began walking away. “Give me a break, Joe. You’ve lost it and I won’t entertain a madman.”

He stomped over to her, took her by the arm and spun her around. “I’m not crazy and I’m not lying. You wanted the truth, here you go. Don’t you dare turn this around on me. Yeah, I sound nuts. Fine. I get that. But I got here through some crazy supernatural storm in a helicopter and here I am in a world where zombies are fifteen stories high and people can change into zombies if they want to. I’m not used to that. In my world, the undead were there, but that’s all they were: rotting corpses that walked around and tried to eat people. What you got going here is—”

“Wait. Zombies that change shape?”

He nodded. “I’ve seen them. Our friend, Des, was one. He died in my world before we escaped from the roof of the Richardson Building and flew into the storm the first time. We . . . we wound up in the past. I went to Hell and saw how this whole thing started.” It all made sense now. “Those aren’t mere zombies down there. They’re demons possessing corpses, spreading themselves through bites and infections.”

“And we’re not, um, possessed because—?”

“I’m not sure, and we’ll find out, but listen, we came back and crashed on the Richardson Building’s roof. Des greeted us when we got back and this was after the dead took him. They wouldn’t have just left him alone. I’ve seen too many of these creatures to know that. They would have eaten him, guaranteed. But he greeted us upon our return, looking fine. But I noticed he was different; he didn’t act the same. Then he changed and went from live to undead inside a second. Tell me you’ve seen that here before.”

She slowly shook her head.

“Then anyone you know could be one.” He looked down. “Even me.” He braced himself to be shot, but instead Tracy just stood there, taking him in.

A few moments later she glanced away and pulled out her gun.

* * * *

A door screeched open in the distance. Billie moved in the direction of the sound. She rounded a corner and emerged in another hallway. At the end of it, a door was open.

“A trap,” she said quietly. “Del.” Or August. She shuddered at the idea that Del crossed her mind first and not her friend.

With the one keyboard stake she had left, she made her way toward the open door.

A shadowy figure stepped out of the doorway and Billie immediately hid behind the nearest doorframe. The figure looked both ways up and down the hallway, then disappeared back into the room.

“Here we go,” she whispered and came out of hiding and moved toward the room.

At the doorway, she went to its edge, back against the wall. She listened for any sound within. There was none. She silently counted to three then poked her head around the corner. The room was dark, a bed in the middle, a figure under the blankets. The wheezing coming from the figure was old and raspy. Barely able to see in the dim lighting, she noticed the figure had bandages wrapped around its arm and shoulder.

Has to be him. Resting. Looked out into the hallway for trouble then lay back down.

“Psst, August,” she whispered. “You awake?”

No reply, just the steady wheezing.

“Come on, we got to go. Get up.”

She thought she heard a noise from somewhere down the hallway but could have been mistaken.

“August? Hey? Wake up. Let’s go. I just saw you.”

The figure didn’t stir.

One last try, she thought. Not hanging around here any longer than I have to.

Billie went into the room and tip-toed up to the bed. “August, wake up. It’s me, Billie. I know you’re hurt, but we got to leave now.”

She shook his shoulder.

The figure’s face lolled into the available light.

It was Del.

Billie screamed.

Del’s eyes went white and his mouth opened wide, jagged teeth clean and a dry tongue wiggling inside. He was on his feet in an instant, his strong undead hands reaching for her.

* * * *

Joe stood there, his fingers aching to grab the X-09 and point it at Tracy, but he held back, knowing his next move would determine her trust in him for as long as he was in this world.

Tracy stared down the barrel. Joe stared back. Both were silent.

The heavy footfalls of giant zombies boomed; the building shook with their vibration. Undead moans rose from the streets below. The gray and brown sky loomed over them like a veil one wears at a funeral, bringing a shadow onto everything.

Tracy didn’t move, her stance perfect, braced for the kick of the gun once it went off. Joe again ignored the weight of the X-09 in its holster and put aside the need in his fingers to wrap themselves around its grip.

“Not today,” Tracy said, and lowered her weapon. “Not tomorrow nor ever. Unless you become one.”

Joe nodded.

“But you’re a coward,” she said.

He furrowed his brow. “Why?”

She took a step closer. Joe didn’t flinch. “Because I could be one of them. Even now I could turn on you and you’d be dead.”

“True. I would be dead.”

“Why didn’t you pull your gun and shoot?”

“I’m not in the business of killing folks who are still alive.” What he meant was killing folks who still lived by the rules of the living and hadn’t degenerated into psychos who played with people and zombies for fun, like the goons who tried to get a zombie to rape Betty in the other world.

“You don’t know that about me.”

“I do. I don’t just spend time with anyone, Tracy. I don’t do that anymore. Your humanity revealed itself the day you rescued me, but more in the way you treated me.” Des lost his concern for others. That’s how I knew he was different even before I learned what really happened to him.

“I treat you terrible.”

“Not really. Just seems to me you have some things you need to work out.”

“Don’t we all.”

“Real things, not just undead stuff. I think somewhere under your armor you and I are more alike than neither one of us care to admit.”

He walked past her to the roof’s ledge and looked over. The dead still roamed the streets, some moving slow but with purpose; others bumping into each other; others still seeming completely unaware of their surroundings or what they should be doing.

A giant zombie was several blocks away, glancing in between buildings. It looked over at Joe and started coming toward them. Joe backed away from the ledge.

“One’s coming,” he said.

“Climbing?”

“No, walking.”

The low, booming footfalls grew closer. The building shook and he and Tracy nearly lost their footing.

The creature bellowed in the distance.

It would be here soon.

15

No Way Out?

Billie screeched, the shock of seeing Del bound to his feet sending her tripping back over her own. She fell against the wall. Del grabbed her, hoisted her up, and brought his ugly dead mouth toward her face. Quickly, she used the keyboard stake and managed to slam it into his solar plexus, burying it deep. The impact was enough to send Del off balance and stumbling back against the bed. When his knees hit it, they folded and he fell over it, Billy landing on top.

Del’s hands still held her shoulders. She snapped her body side-to-side, jerking herself free. With a fast wiggle, she got herself off him and ran toward the door.

Weaponless, she headed down the hallway, hoping that at the end of it she’d find a stairwell to the main floor.

More undead groans filled the air.

I didn’t get him. I didn’t save him. August, I’m sorry. I have to go. It’s . . . “. . . not just Del, anymore. Lots of them. Has to be. I hear them,” she said.

She ran as fast as she could. Footsteps filled the hallway behind her, at first just one set, but quickly joined by an undeterminable amount. As much as she didn’t want to, she glanced over her shoulder. A swarm of zombies shambled down the hallway behind her, as if the dark rooms had all been opened at once and the dead poured out. Del led the charge, his stride seeming more in control than the others’. The keyboard stake still protruded from his middle, black blood leaking out around it.

Billie snapped her head forward and her palms instinctively shot out in front of her, stopping her from smacking into the wall at the end of the hallway. A door. There had to be a door. She looked to her right. Yes! She pushed into it. It didn’t budge.

Pull! she thought and pressed the thumb-latch and yanked the door open. How fast the undead would be on the stairs, she only had a guess. Didn’t matter. She had to move fast. Billie took the steps two at a time, first one flight then the next. At the bottom, she grabbed the door bar and pushed.

“Oh no . . .” she said, her feet skidding to a halt when a row of zombies greeted her, each of them young, no more than thirteen or so when they died and came back.

The hallway they were in was narrow. Behind the door she’d just emerged from, the echoes of dead feet coming down the stairs from above reminded her she had a scant few seconds to make a choice of action otherwise she was as good as dead.

There was a wall on her right with a single window about two-feet-square some fifteen feet up. There was no way she could reach it, and even if she could, it was made of dense glass and busting through would be impossible.

There was only one choice.

Billie ran toward the zombies.

The moment she came upon an undead teenage boy with brown hair, bleeding eyes and purple lips, she shot her elbow into his face, forcing his head to jerk to the side and look away from her. With a shove, she pushed him into the zombie beside him.

Another came up on her left, this one female. She had white hair with pink streaks running through it. Her nose had been ripped out and the lower half of her jaw was missing. The black H-shaped jumpsuit loosely fitting her frame was dirty and streaked in some kind of oily substance.

Billie jumped into the air and kicked her foot out. It caught the white-haired teen in the throat. Billie landed on one foot; it slipped out from under her, her bottom hitting the floor. With a quick press of her palms against the ground, she pushed herself to her feet and continued running.

Footsteps filled the hallway behind her. The undead from upstairs had arrived.

“You’re dead!” Del shouted after her, his words accented with a growl.

The jolt from his voice sent Billie’s legs into overdrive and she ran as fast as she could.

She spotted something dark on the cement floor in her lower peripheral, but before she could slow down, her foot found it and was swept out from under her again. She landed on her back, the impact sending a spike of pain into her shoulder blades. A splash of blood from the pile of guts she accidentally kicked up hit her in the face. She clamped her mouth shut, careful to not ingest it in case it was contaminated. The back of her head, thankfully, didn’t hit the ground. Sore, her upper torso tense despite her efforts to move fluidly, she put her arms beside her and sat up. Dizziness swooshed through her head.

“Move,” she told herself and got to her feet. Her shoe slipped beneath her and she landed on her knees.

Footsteps, loud and clear, were right behind her.

“Get up!” she shouted and scrambled to her feet.

Something caught her shirt from behind and yanked her to the side as an old, wrinkly hand clamped over her mouth.

* * * *

Joe and Tracy hid beneath a long heating duct. The duct was narrow so they had to lay head-to-foot; Tracy closest to where the duct fed into the building, Joe behind her.

The rooftop rumbled beneath them, the vibrations growing more intense the closer the giant neared.

Though the X-09 packed a wallop when fired, it would be useless against a creature so big. At most it’d be like a mosquito bite and nothing more.

He heard Tracy wriggling behind him. “What’re you doing?”

“Getting ready.”

“Any ideas on how to take it down?”

“Got a bazooka?”

“Seriously.”

“Yeah, seriously. Right now our best bet is to stay put. It might pass if it doesn’t see us.”

“I thought their sight wasn’t based on movement.”

“It’s not. We’re food, remember? We hide. It doesn’t see us. We might live. Unless . . .”

“Unless what?”

“Unless it throws a tantrum and levels the building anyway.” She cleared her throat. “You sure you never seen one of these things in your world?”

“I’m sure. I guess we got off light.”

“Think your world still exists?”

She made a good point, though Joe thought this was hardly the time for quantum theory.

“Don’t know,” he said. Was this indeed a separate world or dimension? Or was it an altered future? He shook his head.

“What?” She seemed to have forgotten she asked a question.

“Nothing.” He’d think about it later.

The building shook and a crack burst at the building’s ledge and snaked a jagged path across the roof just shy of the heating duct.

Hope the beams under here hold even if the roof itself cracks, Joe thought.

A boom rocked the building. The crack deepened and gave birth to a spider web of others. The rooftop suddenly looked like cracked mud.

An enormous undead head peered over the top of the building, its hair in patches, the gray skin peppered with pus-oozing sores. Milky white eyes scanned the roof’s surface while giant hands with bruised and cracked fingernails clamped onto the roofline like a kid poking his head over a fence. The roof’s ledge crumbled beneath its fingers and when the creature pulled its hand away, it took the edge of the roof with it.

Joe gripped the cement beneath him as best he could, bracing himself to go for a ride.

The zombie didn’t breathe, nor did it moan or growl. Instead it searched quizzically, it’s eyes conveying the sense that it knew it saw something up here but couldn’t find it.

Just move on, Joe caught himself thinking. He used to pride himself on his strength against the undead. Not today. His legs were weak and he wasn’t sure he’d have the strength to get onto them should he and Tracy decide to run and take their chances with the ladder on the other side of the building and the undead waiting at the bottom.

The giant zombie slammed a palm down on the rooftop. The roof broke away; a huge crack slashed through the concrete and ran between Tracy and Joe, sending their bodies up and slamming into the metal duct above them with a loud thrum!

The zombie looked in their direction and narrowed its eyes.

“It’s seen us,” Tracy said.

* * * *

“Billie, it’s me,” August said, his voice low and raspy. He closed the door to the room behind him.

“August, thank God,” she said and wrapped her arms around him.

“I’m okay,” he said.

“I thought they killed you.”

“They’ll be here any second,” he said and shoved her further into the room.

“What are we going to do?”

His eyes emptied.

“You don’t know.”

“No, I know, I . . .” He winced and closed his eyes and swooned to the side. Billie put a hand against his good shoulder to brace him. Opening his eyes, he said, “Here, go over here,” and shoved her in the direction of the far corner.

It was hard to see, but the deeper they went into the room, the more Billie was able to make out. In the corner was an old white-board, leaning up against the wall.

“Get behind it,” August said.

“What about you?”

“I can talk my way out of them finding you. That’s the important part. I’m old, Billie. I’m hurt. I’d much rather you go on than I.”

She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Once more he was going to save her. The guilt forced her to slouch and the words to catch in her throat.

Footsteps in the hallway outside, close, nearly upon them.

“Hide, Billie,” August said.

She couldn’t move. To do so would be to sign off on his death, to officially stamp his file “case closed.”

“If you’re going to die,” she said, “then so will I.”

“And we’ll accomplish nothing!” he snapped back.

Billie went ridged from the ice in his voice.

“Don’t.”

Reluctantly, she backed away from him and went over to the white-board. After another glance his way, she crouched down and crawled in behind it. She’d probably never see him again after tonight. Alive, anyway.

The footsteps outside drew nearer. Behind the white-board, Billie buried her face in her hands in an effort to quiet her breathing.

The door creaked open. The stench of the dead filled the room; Billie could smell it even with her mouth and nose covered.

Dragging footsteps slid along the floor. A moment later, a zombie grunted. A few more seconds passed and the sliding footsteps resumed.

The door creaked closed.

Silence hung on the air.

Billie didn’t dare to come out.

* * * *

“Get up. Now!” Tracy said and she and Joe scrambled out from under the heating duct.

The two bolted for the far side of the roof.

The giant zombie growled and brought both its hands onto the roof and pressed against it, using the rooftop for leverage as it tried to pull itself up. Its sheer weight caused the roof to collapse toward it. Joe and Tracy immediately took a nosedive forward. They stopped their faces from planting into the cement with their hands.

“Agh!” Tracy said.

Joe grunted as he felt the skin of his palms sting from the friction.

They were on an angle, gravity pulling them toward the giant undead man on the other side of the roof. Joe peered past his feet.

If we’re lucky, we’ll slip and crash into the heating ducts first, he thought. “But what then?” They’d might be able to hang on for a few moments before the whole heating unit broke free and tumbled toward the zombie. Either the creature would stop it, or the heating unit, along with them, would fly off the roof and plummet to the street below, killing them.

Joe brought one hand in close, reached inside his coat and pulled the X-09 free. He took aim underneath the heating duct and fired shot after shot into the giant zombie’s face.

“What’re you doing?” Tracy screamed.

“I’m not going down like this.”

The rooftop shook and gave way beneath him, forcing him to rock to the side and grab hold of a more stable piece. Tracy was further from him now, to his right.

She had something in her hand. She looked at it then back at him. “Get it to look at you.”

He could barely hear her above the rumbling of the collapsing rooftop. “What?”

“Get it to look at you! Make it mad.”

To himself, “Make it mad. Right.”

He clenched the X-09 hard between his fingers and fired at the creature. One bullet hit it in the eye, bursting a blood vessel as big as a branch, sending a gush of black blood over part of the eyeball. He fired again. A tiny black dot materialized in the middle of the creature’s forehead. Another shot, this one right in the tear duct.

The creature growled and raised its fists then brought them back down on the building. The chunk of concrete Joe clung to gave way and he skidded with it down the roof like a sled out of control. He hit something hard and the slab launched; his body separated from it and he flew against the heating duct.

“Joe!” Tracy yelled from somewhere behind him.

Laying with his back against the duct, he couldn’t see where he was headed.

The zombie growled.

Tracy threw something from her hand.

A moment later a loud boom went off behind him and a shower of blood and goopy meat rained upon him. Joe squeezed his mouth and eyes shut as he was coated in slimy flesh. The sharp sting of bone fragments struck his skin; he put his arms over his face to shield it from the onslaught.

The metal of the heating duct creaked all around him as it gave way, the clamps and metal ties holding it to the roof broken.

Gravity took over.

16

Out

Billie shook the instant a hand touched the back of her head. She peered up to see August looking down on her.

“They’re gone,” he said.

She got to her feet. “They didn’t see you?”

“I hid before they got in. They didn’t see me.”

“Where?”

“Like they say, the best hiding spot is in plain sight,” he said, nodding to somewhere closer to the door. He had probably hid behind it.

He took her by the hand and the two snuggled up tight in behind the door.

“I’m assuming they’ve gone that way,” she said, thumbing to the left.

August nodded. “We go right. Find the exit and get out of here.”

“Sounds good to me.”

Slowly, August opened the door and slightly poked his head into the hallway. He pulled back into the room. “They’re turning a corner,” he whispered. “They look like a bunch of dead Nazis, the way Del’s got them all walking together.”

“You know about him? About his, um, zombiness?”

He nodded. “Showed it to me pretty much right after they bandaged me up. Didn’t eat me. Wanted me as leverage against you. Didn’t know there’d be so many others in this place, though.”

“Let’s just hope we’re the only humans here, too.”

He eyed her and she saw the wheels turning behind his gaze. “With all that’s happened, that didn’t cross my mind.”

“Mine neither ’til now.”

“Let’s pray to God we’re the only ones, for their sakes.”

She nodded.

“Okay, they’re gone,” he said and pulled her out into the hallway with him. They went right and kept close to the wall. Billie didn’t have to be a mind reader to know his ears were listening for the undead as well.

“If we see one?” she whispered.

“We hope it didn’t see us.”

“If it did?”

“We kill it.”

“With what?”

“Our bare hands, if we have to. We can’t stay here any longer. Enough’s happened.”

“I can’t wait to get out.”

“Me, too. Enough talking.”

They made it to the end of the hallway. They turned right; Billie hoped Del and the other zombies weren’t already nearing their location coming up the other side. Around ten feet ahead were a pair of rusted-red metal doors, each with a push-bar handle.

“That way,” she said.

August pulled her toward the doors.

From far down the other hallway, she picked up on the dead’s sliding feet, a few growls and a couple moans. They sounded maybe a hundred feet off, give or take.

They approached the doors and August pressed against the push-bar. They went through, Billie taking the weight of the door off August as he went into the next hallway. She slowed the door’s closing, but just at the end of its swing its weight seemed to double and the door slipped from her fingers. It closed with a loud cluumm.

August shot her a nasty look.

“Sorry,” she said.

“They heard us.”

* * * *

Joe, along with the heating duct, slid off the roof. Aside from where the duct pressed against his shoulder blades, there was nothing but air beneath him. Screaming on instinct, he braced himself to smack right into the ground and for every bone in his body to shatter—right before his body exploded in a brilliant display of torn skin and hamburger meat.

Instead, the metal of the duct folded a bit around him, the suddenly-created jagged edges of its metal poking into his arms, elbows and thighs, partly wrapping itself around him like a cocoon. He drew his knees into his chest, encasing himself further. All was steady for a moment, before a sudden rock sent the metal cocoon in motion, first a swing forward, then a swing back. The partly-demolished rooftop he was just on came into view, then quickly disappeared as he was rocked backward like on some out-of-control Ferris wheel.

Something big and gray came into view on his left.

It was the tip of a thumb.

He glanced to the right. Another fleshy, gray mass held the other side of the metal cocoon.

“You got to be kidding me,” he said. The cocoon swung forward again, then back. He thought he heard Tracy scream his name from somewhere on the roof. The cocoon suddenly lurched to the side, down and low. Far above, the zombie’s face was partly blown away, the side of its cheek completely gone along with a piece of its tongue.

He knew what Tracy had thrown at the creature: a grenade.

Hopefully she waits until it puts me down before she throws another one, he thought. To the zombie, “Hey! Put me down.” He wiggled in the metal cocoon, testing to see how much movement he really had. There was enough for him to squeeze the top half of his body through if he had to. He just had to wait until he was close enough to the ground to do it.

The zombie didn’t appear to have heard him. Just as well. If the creature knew that the heating duct it held in its hand like a baby rattle had him in it, he’d become food right away.

The zombie held him low now, and from where he was, Joe couldn’t even see the roofline anymore never mind Tracy. The most he could see of the top of the building were the ragged edges where the zombie had earlier pressed its weight.

She’s smart. She’ll get down, he thought.

The zombie brought its hand—along with Joe—to its side. Joe looked to the ground. It was a good fifty feet below. There was no way he’d make the jump. He glanced around and briefly wondered if it’d be possible to loosen himself from the heating duct, somehow jump over to the zombie’s pants, then slide down the fabric like a giant curtain. No. If he did jump, he probably wouldn’t be able to get purchase on the fabric and would instead just ride it down like a waterslide to the ground, the sheer speed of doing so sending him into the pavement like a bullet.

A brilliant yellow light lit up above. Joe looked up. The zombie’s face was on fire.

“Tracy,” he said.

The zombie growled and reached up to cradle its face with its other hand. A moment after doing so, a tidal wave of black blood gushed out over its fingers and came down on Joe like an avalanche.

He squeezed his eyes and mouth shut and waited for the creature to drop him. Suddenly, he did drop, a good twenty feet. He shook the blood off his face then carefully opened his eyes. The ground was much closer. In his peripheral he noticed the zombie was now on one knee.

Not waiting any longer, he thought and squirmed against the heating duct. Whatever give was around his body before was now gone, and he could only assume the zombie squeezed the duct when that latest grenade hit him. Tracy!

Another flash of yellow and what was left of the zombie’s hair went up in flames at the same time a huge chunk of its skull was blasted away, bone, blood and flesh bursting out like a meat-laced firework.

Gravity stepped in and Joe’s stomach clung to his spine as the ground suddenly came forward.

A loud crash followed by brick and concrete crumbling resounded overhead. Dust and debris came down in a violent cloud.

The zombie let go of the heating duct, Joe along with it.

* * * *

August hoped he could lead Billie to safety. His shoulder still pulsed with pain from the bullet wound. His insides hurt from the excitement. Never having been prone to anxiety, the arresting feeling of tightness in his chest accompanied by a sharp pain to his heart caused him great concern. His left arm was okay: no numbness, and there was no pressure on his chest, as if someone was sitting on it, the sign of a heart attack. This was pure adrenaline-charged anxiety, one fueled by fear, fatigue and utter terror for losing one’s life. And if he failed now, if the undead took him down—beneath the discomfort running throughout his body, there was the sense of oncoming guilt of letting his family down, of not properly bringing them justice. Worse, this was no longer merely about surviving the undead. This was about something having gone wrong in the heavenly realms, the earth having been caught in the crossfire.

August wondered about the angel and if the man in the white coat—Nathaniel—would surface once again. The angel’s visit surely couldn’t have just been a one-off thing. August had seen demons. Had seen them rise from the earth and storm into the sky with unholy vigor and rage. To just see such a thing for no reason other than to just see it—it didn’t make sense.

Together, August and Billie rounded a corner at the end of another hallway, the footfalls of the dead growing louder behind them.

“Come on, you got to run,” Billie said to him, pulling on his arm.

August was suddenly aware of the sweat on his brow and the thin layer of heat that seemed to hover just above his skin. “I am running.” When he spoke, the words were labored and the breaths in between thick and heavy.

“You’re dragging your feet. I know you’re in pain. You need to fight through it.”

“I am . . . I am fighting through it,” he said, now aware she had her arm around him and was pulling him along, helping take some of the weight off his feet. Confused, he asked, “What’s happening, Billie?”

“I don’t know, but you suddenly slowed down. You can do this, August. We’ve been in worse. We just need to run.”

“Okay,” he said, nearly gasping. “Okay.” He focused all his energy into his legs and imagined them as a couple of pistons pumping rapidly in a motor. Push. Push. Push. Dig. Dig. Dig. The mantra intensified his resolve even more and seemed to get his legs moving at a better pace.

A door lay just ahead. Large. Was this the same one they had entered when they first got here? Not the outside one, but the one that ran off that great big room? He hoped so. This place was a maze in the dark.

“I think this is it,” Billie said, pointing ahead.

Growls echoed off the hallway walls.

“Stop!” Del shouted from behind them, rage coating his voice.

“Don’t listen to him,” August told her. “No fear. Keep us going. Keep me going.” There was a hard tug against his shoulders as she pulled on him more, urging him to pick up his step.

Raspy moans floated on the air. August didn’t want to look back to see how close the dead were upon them.

The two made it to the door. Billie withdrew her hands from him then felt around the door with her palms, searching for a handle.

“Here,” August said, putting his fingers on a flat handle that nearly blended in with the door. He pulled on it. The handle moved slowly, as if the hinge was coated in half-dried glue.

Billie put her hand over his and pulled with him. Slowly, the handle moved all the way and the door opened.

They went through the door and before it closed completely, undead hands reached around it and pushed it all the way open.

* * * *

Joe braced for impact as he sped through the cloud of dust. He smashed face first into chalky fabric and mushy flesh underneath, before bouncing off it and falling backward to the ground. Another spin in the air and he bounced off the zombie’s calf; with a slam he landed on his side with the duct, on the pavement.

The metal squished beneath him, one of the sharp edges plowing into his left arm. Screaming, he toppled out of the metal cocoon and lay face first on the ground.

Dust obscured most of what was around. Heart racing, he didn’t want to stay down any longer than he had to, so he slowly got to his feet, his left arm numb with pain. He touched it with his right hand. The moment he made contact to the side of his arm, a spike of pain drove him to his knees with a violent cry.

It can’t be broken, he thought. You just fell off a building. No, you didn’t. You fell out of a zombie’s . . . hand. “Uh . . . yeah.”

Shaking, he got to his feet and stumbled away from where the giant zombie was now slumped on its knees, forehead crashing into the building, the back of its head missing.

Joe knew he needed to hide. He just didn’t know where. There was too much dust.

A low moan came up from up ahead. He reached inside his jacket and pulled out the X-09.

The moment the first zombie showed its decaying face, Joe pulled the trigger and removed its ugly mug from its body. Another zombie appeared, the young dead girl a mere toddler. He wasn’t in the mood for sympathy. He cracked that head like a melon.

There had to be something around here he could use for a hiding spot. Right now, with the dead on the streets, alleyways, behind corners, even dumpsters wouldn’t do the trick. He needed something enclosed, an environment he had control over. But where . . .

Joe had an idea.

His left arm pounded deep pulses of pain right from his shoulder down to his fingertips. It hung limp at his side, but from what he could tell, it seemed intact. Could be a fracture as opposed to a clean break.

Growling, he spun around when he heard footsteps approaching from behind. An old man, undead, stared at him with wide white eyes. The dude had an Adam’s apple sticking out so profusely from beneath decaying prickly skin that it was a wonder the old man had ever managed to swallow anything back when he was alive. Joe shot that Adam’s apple clean off, making a nice big hole in the old fella’s neck. Another blast and the remainder of the neck was severed and the old timer’s decayed head fell to the pavement, cracking open when it did.

Pissed from the pain in his shoulder, Joe ran up to it and booted it like a soccer ball, not caring what he hit.

It felt good. Real good.

“I hate you all,” he said, then turned around and got away from the dust settling around the building with the giant zombie leaning up against it.

Tracy, he thought. Then he shook his head. No, she’s a big girl. She can handle herself.

Joe marched on; the sounds of the dead got louder on the air.

17

The Rubble Heap

The Winnipeg Convention Centre used to be a place of business, social gatherings, proms, comic book conventions, and pretty much anything else provided you had the money for it. Now, the place was a wreck. Half the building was gone thanks to an undead giant’s tantrum a few months back. What was left of the structure—a single escalator, a few levels you could see from the street, a handful of intact rooms—was home to any regular-sized zombie to rummage through for the leftovers of any human that had been caught in the building’s upheaval.

The parkade that was part of the building that ran alongside it was intact. Earlier venturers from the Hub made their way through the sea of cars within, the roads going in and out of the place packed with vehicles that had been on the escape the day the Rain hit. Body parts littered the floor, the walls coated in dry blood. A few cars, once gone up in flames, sat there, their melted and warped carcasses black and covered in soot.

Zombies roamed the place; some seeming to be stumbling in there for the first time; others seeming to be lost in the maze of cars and unable to find their way out.

It was a dead zone, and none from the Hub had gone in there since first stripping the abandoned vehicles of any valuable supplies. Michelle had been part of that original party and even now remembered narrowly surviving an attack of eight undead that had surrounded her in an effort to satisfy their hunger for human flesh.

It was that demonstration of survival skill that helped her cement her place as a Black Lady worth her salt.

Michelle and the others approached the Convention Centre with caution.

“Seems quiet,” Rhonda said.

“Too quiet,” Andrew added with a grin.

Michelle just rolled her eyes. She shouldn’t have let the guy tag along. It was one thing to do your job and get something done; another to do it in front of a total stranger.

The ground rumbled.

“Feel that?” Mark asked.

“Yeah,” Michelle said.

“Getting closer?”

“Hard to tell. Hope not. They sometimes just stand there and shift side-to-side, not going anywhere.”

“Sheesh, what a mess,” Mark said, pointing out the mass of upturned concrete, underground piping, gravel and clay.

“Must’ve brought it down hard,” Andrew said. “Look at this.”

Michelle followed him up a slanted chunk of cement, across a steel girder and to the top of a Toyota’s roof.

The ground was decimated, the breaks in the concrete not perfect footprints by any means, but the general shape of it running narrow to wide suggested that’s what they were.

“It’s all around here,” she said. “Look.” She pointed to St. Mary’s Cathedral. The old church was nothing more than a pile of brick and cement, the only thing remaining of its once-prominent stature was the giant steeple sticking up from the wreckage.

“Maybe the thing threw a fit when Dillon got away?” Andrew said.

Michelle squinted her eyes. “Not cool.”

She dropped down to the hood of the car then to the ground. She pressed the button on the walkie-talkie. “Dillon, you read me?” A voice cut in, then was quickly replaced by static. “Dillon, it’s Michelle. You copy?”

Static, then, “Copy.”

“Does the Convention Centre ring any bells?”

“No. No sign that I saw, anyway.”

Michelle quickly surveyed the building. The giant black letters that used to be on the Convention Centre’s side were gone, just their faded outlines remaining. “The parkade was beside a building, yeah?”

“Yeah. Oh no.” He shrieked and was cut off.

“Dillon!”

Michelle ran as close to the wreckage as she could, hopping over broken slabs of concrete when needed. She was near the parkade entrance. Its mouth was almost choked closed; chunks of cement, rebar, gravel and dust lined the place. Twisted sheets of metal intertwined with the cement. Upon further inspection, Michelle realized they were car doors, hoods, roofs.

“How—?” she started, when Mark and the others came up beside her.

“This is crazy,” Mark said, then shouted, “Dillon!”

“Quiet,” Rhonda said. “So far there hasn’t been any trouble. Don’t bring it upon us.”

“Dillon, come in,” Michelle said into the walkie-talkie. No reply. “Dillon, please, get back to me. We were cut off. Dillon!”

“What happened?” Rhonda asked.

Michelle turned to her. “We were talking, then he said ‘Oh no,’ and screamed. There was nothing after that.”

Mark started to sniffle. Rhonda put her arm around him. Andrew was near the pile of rubble leading into one of the few small openings at the mouth of the parkade. He was on his tiptoes, as if looking for something.

Michelle could tell by the way Rhonda looked at her that she was questioning if their search was over and they should presume the worst had happened. Seeing Mark, his eyes wet with tears, made Michelle’s heart ache despite how hard a time she had being around the kid and how much it ignited her own pain.

“He’s not dead, is he, Michelle?” Mark asked, eyes pleading for her to tell him it was all right.

Rhonda’s eyes pleaded with her to be gentle. “Honestly, I don’t know, Mark. Let’s hope not.”

Mark pointed to the parkade. “Is he in there? Looks like a dark place to me. I see metal. Cars have pine fresheners. Yeah, see? I figured it out. I figured it out!”

“Mark, honey,” Rhonda said.

“Yeah, Mom, I did!” The boy’s solemn faced suddenly went bright. He ran toward the rubble heap leading into the parkade.

“Hey, kid,” Andrew called after him as the boy ran past and began ascending the heap.

“Mark, get back here!” Rhonda shouted.

“Yeah. He’s in here. He has to be!” Mark said.

Rhonda ran after him. Michelle turned around and scanned the area, checking to see if anything out there heard them. The coast was clear, so far as she could tell, and she had a pretty good sense about when the undead were about to descend.

She turned around again, this time to see Rhonda trying to climb the rubble heap.

“Mark, down here,” Rhonda said.

“Dillon’s probably in there, Mom. Probably.”

Michelle marched closer to the pile and stood at the bottom where Rhonda was halfway up to her son. “Mark, listen to your mom and get down.”

“Let’s go, guys!” Mark said with a wave of his hand and got down on his belly in front of the nearest hole.

“Mark, don’t!” Rhonda said. She shot out an arm; it was enough for her to lose her balance and she slid down the rubble. When she came to a stop at the bottom, she rolled over and cradled her stomach.

“Are you okay?” Michelle asked her.

Rhonda winced. “Stings like the dickens.”

“Let me see.” Michelle went to help Rhonda pull up her shirt to expose her stomach, when Mark said from the top of the hill, “There’s room in here. Just got to get past—” His legs squirmed side-to-side, then he yelled as he disappeared into the hole.

“Mark!” Andrew called after him.

The heavy footfalls of a giant undead lit up the air and grew louder and louder.

Michelle glanced past Rhonda.

Lying several meters away from the mouth of the parkade was a car. One that appeared crumpled up.

“My son . . .” Rhonda said, still wincing from the pain. A faint bit of red began to soak through her shirt. Michelle quickly checked. Rhonda’s belly was torn along the left side, presumably from a sharp rock. The wound didn’t look too bad, though, but if she stayed out in this fetid air, the wound would surely become infected. Medical supplies were hard to come by; it would be the death of her.

“Put pressure here,” Michelle said, covering Rhonda’s stomach again with her shirt. She guided the woman’s hands over the wound. “You’ll be fine. Not too deep. Just relax.”

“O-okay.” She looked into Michelle’s eyes. “Get Mark. I don’t think he’ll be able to get out of there on his own.”

Michelle nodded. “Rest here.” She stood and went over to Andrew. She didn’t want to have to leave Rhonda alone with a stranger, but she didn’t have a choice. “Think you can watch her ’til I get back?”

Andrew looked at Rhonda. “Yeah, sure. Don’t mind helpin’. Think you could help me after? Really need something to eat.”

Michelle looked from him to Rhonda then back again. “I hope so.”

“Thanks,” he said and headed over to her. “Just holler if you need anything, ’kay?”

“Will do,” Michelle said and climbed the rubble heap to the hole where Mark had fallen in. She grabbed a flashlight from her belt and shone it into the hole. Seemed pretty deep as the light couldn’t penetrate it to the bottom. Small chunks of cement, shards of metal that appeared manicured from a car were all she could make out.

She crawled on her stomach as close to the hole as she could and shone the flashlight further in. “Mark, you hear me?” No answer. “Hello?”

“Michelle?”

18

Josh

Tracy was on the rooftop when the giant zombie fell forward against it, rocking the entire structure. She had slid across the roof down to the opposite side of the creature and had to use her feet against the inside of the building’s ledge to stop herself from going over. Now she was right up against it, leaning into it with her side. For the past while, hordes of the undead roamed the city block at the bottom of the building. At first, it didn’t look like their presence would thin, but as of a few moments ago they slowly began to get more distance between themselves as some began moving away from the pack.

This particular side of the building had a gas line running from almost ground level to up and over onto the roof. It was severed now; the heating duct connected to it snapped when Joe and the duct had gone over the edge.

Tracy was worried for him, though she knew better than to sit up here and dwell on it. If Joe had proved anything since she first saw him it was resourcefulness and downright luck. It wouldn’t surprise her if he had somehow gotten out of this alive.

And if he hadn’t . . . then he hadn’t. Her only hope for him was he had been eaten by the undead instead of transformed into one. Death was relief from living in this world. Undeath was a sentence to a living hell, one worse than being alive on a zombie-infested planet.

She knew the pain the dead felt even though they couldn’t show it. She’d seen it firsthand.

Saw it in Josh.

Up until the undead rose from their graves and this world was transformed from life to death during the worst rainstorm she’d ever seen—rain laced with ash—Josh had been her whole world. And she knew she had been his, too.

He was a couple years older, which she didn’t mind. They had been three and a half months into their relationship when it happened, when the Rain came down without warning.

She had been taking an animation course at a local vocational school, the hope being to one day get a job with Disney. She always imagined that at some point her and Josh would get married and, if they could get the paperwork all lined up, move down to Florida and, eventually, she could land a career at the greatest animation studio in the world.

Josh was behind her completely and was big into the art field himself, comic books being more his thing. He wasn’t quite sure where to begin in terms of getting his stories out there, and he didn’t want to go through years of sending samples out to DC and Marvel and face the possibility of rejection. If anything, he was a more do-it-yourselfer and spent a lot of time developing his own comics while he still lived with his parents. They’d go to work; he’d stay behind to draw. For a while, he was allowed to do that—just draw—but soon friction grew at his place and his folks wanted him to get a real job. It didn’t take long, it seemed, because he had just started pursuing his comic book goals when they first started dating and already within a couple of months there were problems on the home front.

At one point, the gauntlet came down and he was forced to put comics on the backburner or get out of the house.

She never forgot the look on his face when that day came.

“I always thought they’d get behind me,” he told her.

“Your parents just don’t understand,” Tracy said.

“Just wish . . .”

“Just wish?”

“Just wish I had yours. They believe in me.”

She smiled. “They’re business owners. They get it. They know these things take time and results don’t just magically appear.”

“I got nothing, though, Tracy. Don’t get me wrong. I don’t mind working. That’s not it. The problem is I always thought home would be the place you could really be you, you know? Just be yourself. No expectations, no preconditions. Just yourself.”

“It is. Your house is.”

“You don’t understand. No one does.”

“Maybe I don’t,” she said. She took his hand in hers. “But I can try. Besides, you got me. You got my support. I believe you can do this.”

“But I can’t do this by myself. Not the drawing. Just need a place to get things done. Art’s slow. Getting comics out is slower.”

She gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Can I live with you?”

She knew he was joking, but the look in his eyes—there was a hint of desperation there. It was only a couple of months into their relationship and things were already moving so fast. Falling in love had been easy, so simple, that within a week of dating, “I love yous” were already exchanged. And real “I love yous,” as well. Heartfelt. Sincere. Truthful. She was his first love, she knew, and though she had cared for a couple other guys in the past, this one was different and it scared her. She was crazy about him. “This has really rocked my world,” she told him on the day she poured out her heart to him and told him all she felt. But to move in together? That was something too much too soon, and not because she didn’t want to, but because the idea of it was so immersive that she was afraid she’d be so lost in him she might never find a way out if she got hurt.

Even now, on that rooftop, Tracy’s heart still ached for Josh, and thinking about him made it easy for tears to prick at the corners of her eyes. How her heart could be so cold in one area and so gentle and soft in another, she didn’t know.

On the day the Rain came, she had been alone in her apartment, sitting at her drawing board, which was by the window. At first she thought nothing of the rain, even when it really started to come down thick. Big raindrops were nothing new, but when she noticed the drops weren’t clear or slightly fuzzy, but instead thick, gray droplets, she knew something was wrong. She got up from her table and went up to the glass, staring outside. She couldn’t see a thing; not the street below or the neighbor’s trees across the way; not the sign with her street name or the bench on the opposite apartment’s balcony. Just gray rain. The way it ran down the window, so slow like syrup, yet still thin-looking enough to seem light in appearance—what was it?

She ran to the television and flicked on the news. The story ran on every station that had a news team.

Josh. Her first and immediate thought. Tracy bolted for the phone and dialed his number.

It rang over and over.

“Come on, pick up,” she said, the super long phone cord intertwined between her fingers as she paced back and forth across her front room. “There’s three of them there. Someone’s got to pick up.” Another four rings. “Come on, Josh. You got to be there.”

Screams rose from the streets outside her window. She returned to the glass and jumped back when she heard the sound of a couple of cars slamming into one another. Horns honked. People cursed. Others shrieked.

Tears immediately filled her eyes, her heart tripling its beat.

She hung up and dialed his number again. The monotonous ring came down the line over and over, at least a dozen times before she waited it out a few more seconds then put the phone back in its cradle. She sat down on the giant blue beanbag in front of her TV and stared at the news. As much as Chuck Olsen, the city’s salt-and-pepper-haired “always on top of it” reporter, tried to maintain a neutral expression, it was easy to see the subtle way he dealt with his fear in front of an audience: frequent blinks, a pair of lips that would quiver for a couple seconds before going still for a few minutes, then quiver again. He was making up the newscast on the fly, responding to information as it came in.

“Not only has Winnipeg been covered in this soupy gray mix, but we’ve heard from our sister station in Toronto that they’re undergoing the same thing. Same with Ottawa. We’re also seeing—wait” —he glanced at a report handed to him— “Vancouver’s been hit as well. One meteorologist just” —he touched his earpiece and said quietly— “I was getting to that.” Louder, to the audience: “One meteorologist has informed us that the Northwest Territories, the Yukon and other northern regions are experiencing the rain as well. As you all know, rain up north—rain like this—will only cause damage if its incessant.”

Tracy sat there staring at the screen, mouth hanging open. She got up and tried Josh’s number again. No answer.

Chuck said, “The States are covered. Europe. Australia. Land masses all around the globe—it’s raining everywhere.” He paused and took another report from a female hand that passed it to him off-camera. Chuck stared at the paper. “Recent satellite photos show—this can’t be right—that only land masses are being targeted. This includes off-shore places, even islands dotting the Pacific and Atlantic. Recap: only land masses seem to be under rainfall. Downright bizarre, but true. It might be wise to get on a boat and get on the water. Get away from the land.”

Tracy still let the phone ring. More screams rose from the streets on the other side of her window. “Oh man, Josh, are you okay?” Should call my folks. Should see if they’re all right. She didn’t have call waiting and every moment spent trying to get a hold of Josh meant another moment clogging up her line. She set the phone down, stared at it a moment, then sat back down on the beanbag.

Chuck went on. “It is advised to stay indoors. If your house has leaks, don’t touch the water coming through.” He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “By now you must be seeing what we’ve been hearing here at the station. The rain is transforming nearly everybody it touches. Why some seem to be okay after getting wet, we don’t know the answer yet. The advice is to stay indoors. If you’re viewing this newscast from outside and are not affected by the rain, get inside, just in case, or find a body of water and either take a boat or swim out into it. This is life or death, folks. Life or death. You need to save your lives!”

Unable to sit still, Tracy got up and went to the window and looked out. There was so much gray rain on the glass she couldn’t see anything.

“Stay inside, stay inside,” she said to herself, echoing Chuck’s words. “Josh. Josh, don’t be outside in this.” She looked at the phone. It sat silent. She tapped her fingertips together as she paced. “Can’t stay, can’t stay, can’t stay, can’t stay.”

She ran to the hallway closet, slipped on her shoes and blue raincoat, pulled the hood over her head and grabbed the umbrella. Taking a deep breath, she grabbed the door handle. I should stay. Her legs were antsy. She tapped against the side of the knob with her thumb. Heart racing, she opened the door and went into the hallway and locked the door behind her. She took the elevator to the main level then headed to the building’s front doors. They were glass and metal-framed, the glass mostly covered in the goopy gray rain and any streaks smeared across the panes didn’t reveal all that much: just more gray rain falling on the other side.

Tracy went to the door, hesitated a moment before touching it, then pushed the handle and threw up her umbrella. Outside, the rain beat down on the umbrella with force, each droplet pelting it with a solid whap. Over and over, fast, fast, fast. She could barely see in front of her, the rain was so thick. She’d be fortunate if she could walk five or six feet without bumping into something.

Hope the shoes hold, she thought, wondering—if indeed what Chuck said was true—if the rain soaked through her shoes if it would affect her.

She was careful when she stepped and did her best not to heavily splash the puddles of gray on the sidewalk.

Screams. So many screams. Shadows moved behind curtains of rain, some sprinting, as if running for their lives, others slow, stumbling, as if certain people didn’t know where they were going. Tracy thought about seeing if they needed help, but instead kept her focus and made her way toward Josh’s house.

The journey was long and more than once someone ran past her, clipping her in the shoulder. Normally it was about a twenty-minute walk, but with the rain so thick and visibility so poor, she had to rely heavily on street signs and careful footing to ensure she got there without getting wet.

One guy she walked past just stood there in the rain, covered in gray, seeming lost. As she went past him, he raised his hand in the air as if trying to get her attention. There was something in his eyes that didn’t look right so she briskly walked past. She knew that taking a chance to talk to him could lead to trouble, especially in this city.

When she finally arrived at Josh’s place, she stood on the driveway. The house was covered in gray, the once-beige brick now filthy with the rain. The eaves overflowed with gray water as the downspouts gushed out what they could. The main door was on the left, the garage door on the right. A chain-link gate on the right of that led to the backyard.

“Front door,” she said and headed toward it. She stopped short when out of the corner of her eye she caught somebody move near the garage. “Hello?” She couldn’t hear anything but the rain coming down. “Hello? Is somebody there?” She rounded the front past the garage, expecting to see somebody. Instead, she was met with only the rain.

The chain-link gate was open. She peered into the backyard. There was a side door with a bell so she figured she’d just ring them that way.

“Hello?” she said. “Anybody back here?” As if they would be. The rain was dangerous, Chuck Olsen said. No one would be back here.

A shadow moved not too far from her. It was hard to see who it was, the rain was so thick.

“Hello?” she said.

No answer, but the shadow stopped. Behind the fog of the rain, the shadow appeared male, tall.

“Josh?”

The shadow stood there.

Tracy took a step closer. The shadow only grew slightly bigger in her frame of vision, but didn’t become clearer. “Josh, is that you?”

The shadow raised its arms, palms out, fingers curling and uncurling against the rain. Slowly, they emerged from between the thick gray droplets. The fingers were coated in paint; some of the nails that were visible were black and others bruised.

The fingers soon gave way to hands, hands to bare, pale forearms covered in gray, then a soaked-through, red Iron Man T-shirt and . . . a face.

It was Josh, his black hair soaked, covered in gray rain, pressed flat against his skull. Dark rings covered his eyes like a mask, his irises and pupils gone, only milky white remaining. His mouth hung slack and the reason she recognized him even though he was covered in gray was because of his mouth, that jaw line only she knew, and lips as soft as velvet, but smooth like cotton.

“Josh?” she said from underneath her umbrella.

He shambled slowly toward her, arms outstretched.

“Are you okay?”

He was less than a foot away. His hands and arms passed beneath the underside of the umbrella and took hold of her shoulders. Something was wrong. He seemed hurt. Not himself. Did he need someone to hold him, is that why he tugged on her and drew her near? His mouth drew in toward hers. A kiss. Maybe he was just thankful she was all right and needed to express it. But she couldn’t kiss him. He looked sick. His face . . . his hands.

His eyes.

Something was happening or already happened.

“Josh . . .” she said and touched the side of his face as his lips brushed against hers.

Then his mouth opened. She jerked her head back just as his mouth snapped shut, barely missing her lips.

“Josh!” She dropped the umbrella and he stumbled toward her, still trying to grab her. At first she let him, on reflex, she having never before turned him down for an embrace.

Something’s not right, she thought. He can’t touch me. Later, but not now. She moved to pull away from him but his fingers gripped the side of her arms, dragging her close. With a few twists, she wrestled her body free and ran several steps back. Josh was part shadow again.

“Where is it?” she said, searching the ground for the umbrella. She thought she saw the side of the canopy. A step toward it and it lay upside down on the sopping gray grass. She pulled it toward herself by the sides then righted and emptied it of the rain before holding it normally.

The rain. She was fine. She got a little bit on her tongue. It tasted like chalk, but stunk of garbage and old fish. She spat it out just as Josh emerged from the rain again, this time a grimace upon his face. He came toward her with purpose, those fingers of his still opening and closing against the drops.

“Please don’t,” she said. She wanted to run, but felt compelled to stay. Despite the way he looked, she still loved him. He just needed to speak and they could work this out. But Josh didn’t speak. He only groaned and shambled toward her.

She stepped back, one foot at a time.

Josh picked up his pace.

Shaking her head, she said, “No,” then turned to run.

He grabbed her from behind, yanked her in close. She dropped the umbrella again. Quickly, his mouth was on her neck and she felt his lips peel back against her skin.

“Josh!” She elbowed him in the ribs, the force enough to get his head away from her neck. He yanked her close again, this time tightening his grip. “Josh, no!” she said and thrashed about, shooting her arms out to the sides, twisting her hips and moving her head—anything to get away from him.

He let go and she fell forward on top of the umbrella. The metal pins sticking out of the canopy dug into her. One might have punctured her flesh. She rolled off the now-bent umbrella, picked it up and swung it at him. The end of the umbrella socked him in the side of the head. Josh’s head moved with the blow. He seemed dazed, but his focus refreshed anew and he moved toward her again.

“ARRGGHHH!” With everything she had, she let him have it, bringing the umbrella across his head like a baseball bat.

He twisted in his place and stumbled to the side. She hadn’t meant to hit him so hard, but instinct had taken over.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

Josh didn’t seem to care and instead stomped toward her, his expression blank, his gaze empty. Screaming, Tracy clawed at his face, her nails bringing four black slashes across his skin. She looked at her fingertips. Black blood ran off them.

“What’s—” Anxiety kicked in and her breaths grew short and less filling. “No. What are you? Josh? Answer me. No!”

He opened his mouth and moved to grab her.

“No!” she screamed and brought the umbrella to the side of his head again. The force was enough to bend its shaft and collapse some of the thin metal arms holding out the canopy. She didn’t care. She brought the umbrella back along its path and hit him again. Josh stumbled to the side, looked at her, opened his mouth and growled. She came back, swinging with everything she had. The umbrella connected with the side of his head. The shaft bent some more, requiring her to step closer. She did, and hit him again. Then again, and again. She beat him to the ground. Soon, the umbrella broke through his skull. She watched her hands swinging the umbrella over and over as if watching a first-person movie.

Stop, she cried inside. Stop. Stopstopstopstopstop. Stop! But she didn’t stop. Couldn’t. Her muscles wouldn’t respond. Not until Josh’s brain began flying out of his skull like saucy ravioli. Even then, she wanted to continue beating him.

She suddenly stopped mid swing. Her knees buckled beneath her and they bent on their own, giving way. Something else gave way, too. Something inside. She felt her heart break, but not in the way from a relationship gone wrong. It was something deeper. It was like the muscle had been torn in two, ripped right down the middle.

Something boiling with hate burned within, a fire made of rage and desire. One that took over her brain and muscles and made her draw the umbrella back and bring it down into Josh’s head until there was nothing left of it, just strands of flesh and mashed bone.

Josh didn’t move.

He was dead.

Just like her.

19

The Car-Truck

If this was home, Joe wouldn’t have felt as exposed as he did right now. Out here, amidst the clouds of dust from the crumbling building, the drones of the dead on the air, being in a world that was not his own—a chill swept through him and he wondered if he was doomed to spending the rest of his life blowing the heads off zombies, or if there was hope that someday the fight with the undead would be over and he just couldn’t see it yet.

As before, he knew he had to get himself into a place where he called the shots, and staying out here on the street wasn’t the environment for that. X-09 drawn and ready, Joe shielded his eyes from the dust on the air and made his way toward the shadow of another building. A few moments more and his feet were on the sidewalk by it.

Up ahead, a shadow shambled his way. He fired. The shadow dropped. To his left was another; he put an end to that one, too. He checked the X-09’s clip to see how much ammo he had left.

Not much, he thought. Going to have to reload soon.

He kept his eyes peeled for more movement.

Groans and growls rose on the air.

“Here we go,” he said, and got ready.

The dust began to clear the further down the sidewalk he went. He crossed the street and went over to the next block. Stepping out from under an awning, a chubby undead kid around eight or nine years old with a neon-green-spotted black T-shirt began his slow march toward him.

The kid’s eyes bulged on either side of his nose; a snarl framed gray teeth caked in flesh. White eyes, good and empty, fixated on Joe’s.

“Sorry, kid,” Joe said. He pulled the trigger. The top of the kid’s head blew off and sent a spray of bone and brain into the air. The kid’s body toppled over onto the sidewalk at Joe’s feet. He stepped around the corpse and moved on.

Feet scraped along the ground. At first, one set then two. Then three. Then four. Then many more. Joe looked over to the left. A row of zombies crossed the street from the foot of the building across the way.

Joe grabbed an extra clip of ammo off his belt and fired off the remainder of what was left in the X-09, taking down a few zombies, before reloading.

Even when the zombies in the first row fell, the others walked over them, a few with their arms held out, eyes ever-fixated on their prey.

Joe took down a couple more. Boom. And another.

More zombies emerged from the side streets. Others moved in from down the road. In a few moments, he’d be surrounded, and barring a miracle or the sudden ability to fly, he’d be dead. He glanced up. The building beside him had shallow window frames, nothing wide enough to climb and stand on. He could shimmy up the lamppost, but the zombies would no doubt grab hold of it, shake it, push it, even try climbing it themselves. There’d be no way he could keep his balance near its top.

“Don’t have much of an option here, do I?” he said, scanning the area past the dead for a safe haven or someplace where he’d be more in command of his environment. No go. Too many zombies.

He took aim with the X-09 at the undead in front of him. Quickly, he pulled the trigger as fast as his finger could manage. Bullet holes appeared in the middle of zombies’ foreheads. Dead bodies went from slowly stepping forward to collapsing face first to the pavement. Joe ran, gun firing, clearing a path through the undead surrounding him. One zombie grabbed hold of his arm. Joe swung toward it, punched it in the head, and yanked his arm free. Another stepped toward him from the side. The creature’s foot came down on Joe’s own and it was enough to make him lose his balance and fall down. As he was getting to his feet, a zombie grabbed him by the calf and started pulling him toward it. Joe fired a bullet into the zombie’s face. It blew off the instant the sound of the gun cracked on the air. He pulled his leg free and got to his feet and ran with all he had, every so often tossing his arm back and firing off a few shots, killing what he could.

A brown car—no, a truck—no both—sat at an angle against the curb up ahead. A couple other cars surrounded it. All of them bore dents and were awash with dry gray from the Rain. Joe ran around the El Camino’s hood, using it as a vantage point while the dead shambled down the street toward him. More and more zombies joined the undead’s ranks and soon an entire parade of them was headed his way. He glanced to the right. More were down the street and would be here in a couple of minutes. Same with on his left. A building was behind him.

He couldn’t stay out here. Not with so many of them.

He tried opening the El Camino’s passenger door. It was locked. He put the barrel of the X-09 up against the keyhole and was about to pull the trigger. Wait. Won’t help. He shot the window instead, reached in and pulled up on the lock pin, then opened the door. He stayed low in the seats, X-09 ready to blast the head off anything that stuck its face near the vehicle.

Through the open window, the sound of undead footsteps floated into the truck. Hundreds of them.

“This was a bad idea,” Joe said.

* * * *

“I’m going to kill him,” Tracy said. “Just flat out shoot him.” Idiot.

She climbed down the gas line then jumped the rest of the way to street level. A couple zombies lingered by the building’s corner; nothing she couldn’t take care of. The undead by the corner caught sight of her and started to head her way. One was male, the other female, both with one arm missing. The guy’s was cut off at the elbow, the girl’s closer to the shoulder. Each had a head of stringy brown hair.

Tracy pulled out her gun, took aim, then pegged off the guy. Without a sound, he fell to the ground the moment the bullet passed through his skull. Tracy brought the barrel over to the girl, lined up her shot, then fired. The female zombie stopped dead in her tracks, her head snapping back, her forehead gushing black blood. She folded backwards and hit the ground.

Tracy jogged down the length of the building, pawing at the air, trying to clear it of the dust. When she got to its edge, she looked up to see the giant zombie kneeling before the building’s front, oodles of blood still running from what was left of its skull, down its body, and pooling onto the street below like a backed-up sewer system.

She scanned the area for Joe. There was no sign of him.

He could be anywhere, she thought. She listened carefully, thinking maybe she’d pick up running feet slapping against the pavement, or the sound of gunshots. The most she heard was the groaning of the dead far up ahead. There must be a whole lot of them if I can hear them from here.

“Great,” she whispered. “Head for safety or check to see if they’d made a meal out of Joe. What do you do?”

The choice was obvious.

* * * *

Joe lay partly curled up on the driver’s seat, keeping himself out of view from the windows. Hopefully the zombies wouldn’t even go near the car and instead slowly but surely shamble on to their next source of food. Wherever that was. Aside from him and Tracy, he hadn’t seen any other humans out here.

X-09 held tight, he waited. The sounds of the dead didn’t abate, but instead drew closer. A low thunk echoed throughout the car as something smacked against the driver’s side door. Another low thunk filled his ears when something whacked the hood. A couple other low thuds made it clear this vehicle wasn’t the only one being smacked. The ones nearby were also getting hit.

Just then a worn green army jacket filled the driver’s side window.

Whoompwhoompwhoompwhoompwhoomp. Pasty palms drummed against the roof.

The rearview window was clear one moment and the next began filling up with faces of the dead as zombies climbed up the back and drew near to the cab. They slapped their decaying palms against the driver’s side glass.

The instinct to shoot them almost made Joe do so, but if he blew away the glass, they’d climb in and he’d be dead.

The passenger window! A zombie was coming toward it. Then another.

Sitting upright, Joe immediately reached for the ignition to turn the key . . . except there was no key.

“Um, um, um, um . . .” He reached under the steering column and yanked out whatever wires he could find. “Okay, no idea what I’m doing but—” A dead arm reached across the passenger seat and tried to grab hold of him. He aimed the X-09 and blew the creature away. Another zombie, the one in the green army jacket, beat on the glass beside him.

Joe fiddled with the wires, using the trigger guard of the X-09 to strip their coating. He began crossing one wire with another, seeing if any would get the thing going.

Another zombie reached into the vehicle. Joe blasted its face off.

Back to the wires.

Sweat ran down his face.

Zombies groaned outside the car.

Dead hands slapped against the metal and the glass.

Another creature came up to the passenger window and started climbing in. It managed to get in waist deep before it tipped forward face down against the passenger seat. Joe put the X-09 to the back of its head and pulled the trigger. Blood and bone splashed over him, the seat, the floor. The zombie’s body stopped moving. Fortunately, its body plugged a good part of the window, making it more difficult for the other creatures to enter.

Joe crossed more wires.

A blonde undead woman with missing teeth stuck her head over her dead kin’s rump and snarled. Joe wiped the sneer off her face with a bullet to her brain.

Back to work. This wire with that one? How about this one? Maybe like this?

He crossed them, rubbed them—sparks snapped. A couple more and—the engine came to life.

“Yes! Yes! Yes!” he shouted and threw the El Camino in drive. Foot to the gas, he plowed through the zombies in his way. Dead hands slid off the vehicle.

Wham! He crashed into one, then quickly into another.

Standing before him was a wall of the undead.

He pressed down on the gas. The El Camino sped forward and connected hard with several zombies at once, their decaying bodies going up into the air then flopping down onto the hood. Some dropped to the ground upon impact, no doubt kissing the grill with that rotting mouth of theirs. A few hands tore from the creatures’ arms; one hand smacked into the windshield. Another zombie’s body cracked in two, folded over the hood then rolled forward. Joe drove over it, a huge bump in the road.

“Yeah!” he roared, emerging on the other side of the pack of the undead. He gunned it down the street. Now to find Tracy.

20

The Parkade

Mark thought he heard Michelle call his name. His reply was met with silence. Upon tumbling into the hole, he hit the ground hard, scraping his elbows. There was hardly any light except for what came through the hole some fifteen feet above him, at the top of the mound of rubble. The gray and brown sky generated barely enough luminescence into the hole for him to see his hand in front of his face.

“Srrrmmmoonnnngggrrr . . .” he heard.

Someone? Mark thought, and made his way further into the dark, hands held out so he wouldn’t bump into anything. “Anyone there? Dillon? That you?”

He glanced back over his shoulder. He could barely make out the hole that landed him in this place. “Don’t go too far,” he said quietly. “You’ll be okay. Just not too far.”

Cautiously, he stepped further in, each footfall taking him on a gradual decline as he walked the ramp that led down into the parkade. His toe jammed into something hard with a slight bit of give. He reached forward and felt the smooth metallic surface of a car hood. Mark brought his foot back and kicked the car tire. “Lucky. So lucky,” he said, thankful it wasn’t his knee or shin that took the brunt of the blow.

“Srrrmmmoonnnngggrrr . . .” The voice sounded not too far off, perhaps just past the other side of the vehicle in front of him. It was hard to tell as it seemed to come from all sides.

Keeping his palm on the hood of the car as a guide, Mark slowly rounded the vehicle. He checked back toward the entrance hole. He couldn’t see it. Heart racing, he called out, “Dillon?”

Footsteps shuffled in the dark, followed by a low moan.

* * * *

Michelle backed her way into the hole in the rubble on her stomach, the flashlight clamped between her teeth. She slowly shimmied her way in and shone her flashlight. She stood on a heap of broken cement and rebar, with the trunk of a car sticking out from it. She aimed the beam into the dark to get a sense of what she was climbing into. Getting off this pile of rubble and debris didn’t appear too difficult a climb. Just a few navigated steps and she’d be level with the ramp that went down into the parkade proper.

Cars were lined up bumper to bumper, some of their windows smashed. The flashlight’s beam didn’t reach all that far, maybe twenty feet. It was bright enough for her to make out the dried blood on the walls along with its dried counterpart pooled on the ground. A few bones lined the side of the ramp.

“Hey, Mark,” she whispered, but kept the volume loud enough that he’d hopefully hear her. “Mark. Come on, answer me!”

No response.

“Srrrmmmoonnnngggrrr . . .” The voice was hollow.

Michelle pulled out the gun from the holster on her belt, gripped the handle tight, and held it under the flashlight as she slowly made her way down the ramp. That kid shouldn’t have run off, she thought. He knows better than that. Going to have to talk to Rhonda after this. She needs to take him over her knee and tell him going off alone into a collapsed parkade is downright stupid and dangerous. Her heart beat hard, angry.

“Mark?” she whispered.

A raspy groan came from somewhere up ahead. Michelle froze in her tracks.

Someone screamed, the tone high.

Like a child’s.

“I’m coming!” she said and kept to the side of the ramp as she jogged down, snapping the flashlight left and right, lighting her way. She already had her finger on the trigger should any of the dead jump out at her.

Once she was at the bottom, Mark screamed again. “Michelle! Help!”

“Where are you?”

She heard a hollow crash, as if something or someone just slammed into one of the cars down here. “Follow my voice!”

“I’m trying!”

“See the light?”

“Yeah. It’s far.”

Great. How did he get so far into this place? Did he run in and get lucky? “Come toward me.”

Mark screamed. Michelle moved as fast she could, maneuvering around vehicles, hopping over where one bumper met another. Now in the actual parkade, she had to stop and quickly get her bearings. Gone were the orderly rows of filled parking spots and the lanes in between. Some cars and trucks were still in their spots, but the majority were either clogging the lanes or half-pulled into them.

She heard Mark’s footfalls on the pavement. A chorus of groans followed.

From behind her, “Srrrmmmoonnnngggrrr . . .”

“Dillon, is that you?” she asked.

She thought she heard a faint wheeze, but it was hard to make out above Mark’s running footsteps and the growing calls of the dead.

The low thudding of what could only be bodies bumping into the plastic and metal of vehicles forced her to shine her light to her left. She briefly saw Mark pop into view before disappearing again in the shadows just as a dead man with a bald, veiny head missed grabbing him.

“Mark, over here!” she said.

“I see you. The light. I’m—AHHHH!”

“Are you—” Before she could finish, thick arms grabbed her from behind. She dropped the flashlight on the ground, its beam illuminating an old Chevy just past it. Undead shadows quickly materialized against the lit-up pavement.

Behind her, the zombie groaned just next to her ear. She thrashed and jerked to get herself loose. The zombie’s hands slipped off then quickly found her again and held on even tighter. Arms locked with no leverage, she twisted to the side and noticed the dark outline of a van in her peripheral. She jerked that way and slammed her body along with the zombie’s against the van’s side. A low thump echoed in the parkade as the zombie’s head rammed against the glass. It didn’t break, but the blow was enough to knock the undead man off balance. She shot her elbows back left then right, left then right; each time her elbows connected with the dead man’s ribs, each blow bought her a couple of inches away from his rotting form.

The gun. She had dropped her gun! She couldn’t believe she hadn’t noticed until now, her immediate concern having fallen on letting go the flashlight. Was she getting rusty? Didn’t matter. Not now. She had an extra gun anyway. She slammed her elbows at the same time against the zombie and got herself free. She yanked another gun from a second holster on her belt and sent a bullet into the creature’s head with a quick pop.

“I’m under a truck!” Mark yelled from beyond the Chevy.

“See the flashlight?” she asked, running in what she thought was the direction of his voice. She squeezed her way past the Chevy and stepped over the fallen motorcycle beside it.

“Yeah. It’s ahead, on my left. Hurry!” Mark said. “No! It’s got my feet!”

“Kick your legs as hard as you can,” she said.

Michelle went for the flashlight but not before firing off two more shots and dropping two stumbling shadows just behind the light’s beam.

She picked up the flashlight, shone it around mid level, and took out an undead crone of a woman who was trying to get between two cars, but couldn’t get past where the bumpers met.

Michelle dropped to her hands and knees and shone the light. “Mark!”

“He has my legs!”

She peered under the vehicles. Dirty pant legs and dragging feet were seen under most of the cars. There! On the left. A moving body. Had to be Mark.

“Srrrmmmoonnnngggrrr . . .” Where was that voice coming from?

“I’m coming, Mark!” Michelle said and slid over the hood of a gray Honda Civic. She plugged an undead teen boy shambling toward her.

Quickly, she was on the other side of the truck under which Mark lay. An undead man in a bad blue suit was on his stomach, tugging at the boy’s shoes, seemingly trying to get them off so he could bite down. The rest of Mark’s legs were hidden under the vehicle. Michelle pressed the barrel of her gun against the dead man’s head and pulled the trigger. Blood and brain splashed out and his body went limp.

“Mark, it’s me. Get out of there,” she said.

“I’m coming.”

Another zombie appeared on the other side of the truck.

“Wait!” she shouted, then shot the creature. It fell to the ground. “Okay, come out.”

A moment later, Mark appeared on the other side of the truck.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

Mark’s eyes were wide. His face looked white in the flashlight’s beam. He simply nodded.

“We’re going,” she said.

“What about . . . Dillon?”

She rounded the front of the truck and grabbed the boy by the arm. “If he’s here, I don’t think he’s alive anymore.”

Mark immediately began to sniffle.

“Stop it. Not now. We need to—” She fired off a bullet into the face of a redhead that appeared out of the shadows. “We need to go.”

She shone the flashlight around the parkade, searching for the ramp leading out.

“Srrrmmmoonnnngggrrr . . .”

“That sounds like ‘someone,’” Mark said.

“I know, but it’s all I’ve been hearing.” If someone was in serious trouble, they’d use more than one word when calling for help, she figured. But if panic and shock had set in, then maybe one word was all they had.

“It could be Dillon.”

“Let’s keep moving.” It took an extra tug on Mark’s arm, but she led him toward the ramp, doing her best to keep them tightly alongside vehicles lest they risk getting seen.

Faintly, behind them, “Srrrmmmoonnnngggrrr . . .”

Mark stopped. “You can’t. You can’t leave him here.”

“You don’t even know it’s him. Look what just happened! You were almost eaten alive.”

“I don’t care!”

“Yes, you do.”

“Stop it. I want my friend.” His eyes bore nothing but grim determination.

“Srrrmmmoonnnngggrrr . . .”

Mark pulled his arm away and headed back into the dark.

21

Death

“Push yourself, August,” Billie told him. The old man’s steps were beginning to falter. “I don’t think I can hold onto you if the dead latch on first.”

After having emerged from the doorway, the zombies followed suit. Fortunately, they were in a big room with enough space on either side to zigzag if they had to.

August grunted; Billie knew he was reaching down deep to give their escape everything he had.

“This is the same room we came in, right?” she asked.

It was a moment before August responded. “I think so. Could be wrong.”

The growls of the dead drew nearer. Billie’s legs felt like lead weights. She was slowing down despite the adrenaline pumping through her.

Hope the main door isn’t locked, she thought, but if Del was any strategist, it would be.

The zombie growls and moans grew in volume. She glanced over her shoulder. Del was a scant dozen or so paces behind. She pulled August along with everything she had.

“Where’s your God now?” she asked him without meaning to.

August didn’t respond.

“Your blood will fill this place!” Del shouted after her, his haunting voice coated with rage.

A tear inadvertently rolled down her cheek. This was how it was going to end. The door was coming up, not far away, but to get out of it she’d need a few seconds to open it. And if it was locked, a few seconds would be all Del needed to overtake them.

The thick footfalls of the undead grew louder in Billie’s ears until at last she knew that any second it would be over.

“I’m sorry,” she told August in between panted breaths. “I tried.”

“I forgive you,” he said. “You did what you could.”

They reached the door. Billie let go of August. The old man slumped against the wall next to the door, his breaths labored. His face was pale, his eyelids heavy. Billie grabbed onto the door handle and pulled.

Locked.

Del grabbed her from behind and flung her into the air. She sailed a good distance before landing into a horde of the undead. Many of them moved past her as she came down, as if their brains hadn’t yet comprehended they just got a free meal. She hit the crowd, stunned, and though she willed her legs to move and get themselves under her so she could stand, they didn’t. Instead she lay there helpless as zombies closed in on August and stole him from view.

His cries filled the room, then were silenced with a gargly scream as blood gushed from his neck and leaked down his windpipe. She saw his head lifted up above those of the dead’s, as if a prized catch. His body, she could imagine, was already torn to shreds, Del somewhere at the fore of it all, digging in with his brethren.

The remaining zombies took hold of her, one or two per limb. They pulled on her arms and legs, the force raising her body from the floor as if she was about to be drawn and quartered. Other zombies stumbled toward her middle, the closest being a slob of a fellow with green goop slopped onto his chin, unshaven and wearing a filthy gray and oil-stained Van Halen sweatshirt off his thick frame. Meaty fingers slapped down onto her stomach, sending a sickening shockwave through her core. She squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for the blinding white pain of undead fingers digging into her belly and ripping out her intestines.

The dead man groaned.

The wet slurps of zombie mouths smacking as they ate August floated through her.

She was next.

The slobby dead man groaned again—then was quickly cut off and a low choking sound escaped his lips.

Billie opened her eyes. A bright silver blade withdrew itself from the dead man’s neck. The zombie dropped. Before she could lay eyes on her rescuer, a blur of silver lit up all four corners of her peripheral as the dead arms and hands that held her aloft were quickly dismembered. She hit the ground with a smack.

“You,” Del growled from not far away.

Billie dug deep, sat up and scrambled backward on her palms and rear end to get some distance from the dead. She backed into the legs of another creature. It reached down, took her by the neck, and pulled her up. She wrestled against it and was quickly spun around, her face mere inches from the snarling jaws of a woman with her forehead peeled away, a flap of gray skin with dried blood hanging over her eyes like a set of bangs. Yellowed teeth opened wide and a dark gray tongue roiled around in her mouth like a dying snake.

Billie kicked at the zombie. Her foot punctured the woman’s rotted gut. Dry intestines fell from the woman’s middle. Immediately retaliating, the woman jerked her head forward, her mouth open. Billie shrieked. A flash of silver sliced off the top of the woman’s head from behind, the top of her head coming off like a bowler hat. The dead woman’s arms went limp and Billie plopped onto her feet.

She turned around, once more looking to see who saved her. She couldn’t find anybody.

“You are not welcome here!” Del shouted.

Who’s he talking to? she wondered.

The horde of zombies not far from her must have finished their meal because soon their attention was fixed on her.

Billie bolted toward the far side of the room. The zombies went after her. She spun around and struck the first one to approach with a fist to the face. The undead teen barely flinched and instead reached for her, its arm so badly decayed it did so in slow motion. His hand was easily avoided. She sidestepped as far to the left as she could and kicked another zombie in the stomach. The moment her foot planted back down, she slapped another—a reflex blow—before sending a palm into the mouth of an elderly dead man who was missing his cheek.

The zombies drew closer. She ran a few more paces but soon hit the far wall.

Breathing heavy, heartbeat now in panic mode, it all caught up to her and tears flooded her vision. August was dead. Joe was gone. Soon, she would be, too.

“Stay away!” Del snapped from not too far away.

The zombies closed in on Billie in a semicircle. She balled up her fists, deciding she would go down fighting. At least that way, in the afterlife, she could look back and say she did her best until the end.

Over ten zombies were lined up in front of her, most of them appearing to have been middle-aged when they died. Gray skin, cloudy white eyes, cracked lips and blood-smeared mouths were common to all. The rotten stench of decayed meat and foul eggs made her eyes water.

Vision blurry, Billie prepared to make her last stand.

The dead reached for her. The moment undead fingers clawed at her skin, bright silver sliced across the necks of them all. Dead heads separated from their bodies and the corpses stumbled a step then fell.

White light lit up the room and a man with his back to her materialized in front of her. He wore a long robe with a thousand folds, the fabric bronze like flame yet moved with liquid smoothness. An ornate silver shield, polished and bright, was strapped to his back. Something was written on it in a language she didn’t know, but had seen once before. His hair was a pillar of fire, and his feet were coated in bronze yet he didn’t seem to have trouble moving.

She knew who this was: Nathaniel.

An angel.

He held his sword partly to the side, its gleaming silver blade held firm by the bronze hand guard gripped with iron-strong fingers.

She wanted to speak. Thoughts of gratitude, greeting and just plain awe ran through her brain at breakneck speed, but at the same time, anger swelled inside. Joe was missing. August was dead. Nathaniel obviously possessed unimaginable power, and yet he was too late to save them.

The zombies just beyond Nathaniel recoiled at his presence and she didn’t have to see his eyes to know that white light streamed forth, his gaze penetrating each of them.

Del moved through the dead just beyond, his decaying form morphing back to that of a man again.

“Remove yourself, angel,” he said. “Our quarrel is not with you.”

When Nathaniel spoke, authority coated his voice. It was as if steel backed every word. “Your quarrel is with us, for we are in charge of those whom He asks us to protect. The one behind me is in my care.”

“You know that of which I speak. Don’t try to make it as if this is merely about the girl. She is simply food for us.” Del glanced past Nathaniel to Billie. “Worthless, pathetic. You waste your time with her.”

“Your opinion means nothing to me,” Nathaniel said.

“I know, and yours means nothing to me and on and on we go. We’ve spoken of this before and I do not care to venture down that path with you again.” He looked at Nathaniel squarely. “You are outnumbered. There are more than thirty of us. You will not stand. You must leave for if you keep your ground our master will come and make an example out of you.”

“Your master is a coward and seeks that which is not his own. So it was in the beginning, and his punishment will be just.”

“As if you know of such things.”

“I was there when he fell from Heaven like lightning. As were you. You made your choice that day.”

“You’re right. We did.”

Suddenly Del’s eyes went black and smoke leaked from their sockets. His skin split open on his forehead then peeled away down his middle, revealing dark green and black scales. The creature stepped out of his former shell, his body long and arachnid-like with a bulbous bottom and smaller top. Long, sinewy arms and legs ran off his torso. His hands and feet were long and disproportionate to his arms; sharp black claws protruded from his fingers and toes. At first, Billie thought Del was wearing a black cape, but soon he snapped the cape outward to reveal leathery wings, each one tipped with a lead-like spike.

“I’m scared,” she whispered.

“Do not be afraid,” Nathaniel told her.

In a series of wet pops, all the zombies in the room shed their decaying fleshy forms. Scaly creatures emerged from the corpses like hornets and began buzzing about the room.

In a loud whoosh, Nathaniel’s sword lit up in flame, its fire bright and hot. He removed his shield from his back, guarded himself, then spun around and faced Billie. In one swift motion he plunged his sword into the ground and drew a semicircle in front of her. Everyplace the tip of the blade touched, a wall of flame sprang upward to the ceiling.

Billie’s world went orange and she was shielded from the demons.

The wall of fire was so bright she could barely see. She raised her hand over her eyes to help but its fiery power was so intense her efforts didn’t matter. Just then, the wall of flame dimmed and went partly transparent; she could see into the room beyond as if through orange and yellow glass.

Nathaniel stood amidst the demons, a pillar of strength yet also serenity. He immediately drew up his sword and cut off the wings of the first demon to buzz by him. The creature fell to the ground and skidded to a halt several feet away. In a blur of motion, Nathaniel leapt over to it and plunged his sword into the creature’s back. The demon squealed then burst into black smoke.

More came at him. Nathaniel lashed out with his blade, spun, and sliced through many at once. A moment later his shield was in front of him as he blocked the sharp talons of a demon that had moved for his throat. He brought his sword up then down and cleaved the creature in two.

A haunting face appeared just on the other side of the orange fire wall and Billie jumped back. The creature’s pale gray eyes and snapping sharp teeth made her cringe, especially when the demon kept driving itself against the fire wall like a determined killer bee only to be rejected each time. Four more flew down and landed beside it, each one fixated on trying to break through the barrier Nathaniel had set up for her.

Billie screamed.

Nathaniel glanced her way. His feet left the ground and he flew beside the demons and removed the legs of all five of them before slamming his blade home through each of them in turn. Bursts of black smoke temporarily removed him from view as he destroyed them.

Del, she thought. He had to be around here somewhere, but each of the demons looked the same from where she was standing. To set him apart . . .

She kept her back to the wall, wanting to keep as much distance from herself and the forces of evil as she could.

Suddenly a black, scaly and taloned hand reached through the wall behind her and wrapped itself around her mouth.

22

El Camino Roadtrip

Even through the El Camino’s glass, Joe heard the gunshots on the air. He searched the street and the sidewalk for Tracy. Dust still hovered on the air, however it was beginning to settle, making it much easier to see than before. He honked the horn a few times, hoping to get her attention.

Another gunshot. It sounded like it came to the left. Joe kept his eyes that way, searching for any sign of her. He didn’t want to drive too fast and accidentally miss her, but going too slow would also be dangerous because it’d give any of the undead close to the car a chance to jump on.

Joe drove around abandoned cars and vans, took a right at the next street and headed down it. Another gunshot banged on the air, this one fainter than the last. He hit the brakes, popped the El Camino into reverse, did a U-turn and headed back the other way.

A couple of zombies shambled down the street. It was difficult to tell if they noticed him or not. It didn’t matter. He pressed on the gas and slammed into the nearest one. The corpse’s body thudded against the front bumper, flopped onto the hood, then rolled off to the side. Joe steered to the left and took out the next one, this time with a little more speed. The zombie hit the front bumper then the hood in one seeming fluid motion before rolling off to the side like its kin. Joe couldn’t help but grin.

A gunshot rang out, close and to the left. He took the next available street and went down it. The undead were thick up ahead, a good twenty of them or more. They were focused on something and he knew that something was Tracy.

“The trick now is to get in there somehow and get her out,” he said to himself.

Joe floored the pedal and headed for the zombies. A head-on collision would spell disaster for the El Camino so instead of slamming into them straight on, he waited until he was close to them then swung the wheel hard to the right, causing the car to turn sharply. The left side of the car plowed into the undead like a baseball bat, taking out many of them not just at the beginning, but in the follow-through as well. He pressed on the brakes and backed up, searching through the glass for Tracy.

He went past the dead then came back at them again, riding over the fallen dead like over rocky terrain, hitting more with the front of the car. Bodies hit the hood, denting it. A couple slammed into the windshield, their snarling mouths and white eyes reminding Joe why he hated them so much. He went in reverse again and shook off as many of the undead as he could. A couple hung onto the hood by the windshield wipers with everything they had. Joe drove close again to the rest of the zombies, hit park, then jumped out and blasted the heads off the undead still on the car while being careful to not aim square at the hood, but rather just over it so the bullets wouldn’t hit the engine.

Zombies shambled toward him. Joe kissed the end of the X-09 and shot the faces off two more undead. He avoided the grabbing hands of another, popped a bullet into the back of the thing’s skull, then kicked another as he ran past more, calling out for Tracy.

Joe dropped another three zombies and rounded the back of an abandoned hole-in-the-wall Chinese restaurant.

Careful not to get himself surrounded with no way out, Joe ran in a wide zigzag pattern to help scatter the undead.

“Hey!” The female voice was hoarse and tired.

Tracy was in the parking lot beside the restaurant, running from the zombies.

“Over here!” Joe called back.

“I know.”

He rolled his eyes and took out a couple zombies trailing her with the X-09.

When she caught up to him, she could barely speak she was so out of breath. “Lo—lots.”

“I know.”

She must have took it as a smart Alec response to her using the same words just a moment ago because she smacked his arm open-palm and not in a playful way.

“No, not—” he started. “Forget it.” He capped off a few zombies that had gotten too close for comfort. “This way.”

Joe took her by the arm and the two ran back in the direction of the El Camino. He hoped the engine was still running and the zombies hadn’t done anything to the car. He couldn’t remember if he had left the door open or not.

“You have a gun, right?” he asked her.

She took a deep swallow before answering. “Yeah. Down to one. Dropped the other.”

“Use it!”

Tracy raised the weapon and took a good look at it. What was wrong with her? A zombie killer not using a gun?

“Come on!” Joe said and fired off a few shots behind them.

They rounded to the side of the building. A crowd of the undead stood between them and the El Camino.

Joe slowed down to give himself enough distance between him and the zombies so he could unload shots into their skulls without running right into them.

An Asian zombie ambled toward them. Tracy took that one out. Another one, a guy with really white skin and no nose came in from the side. Joe sunk a bullet into his skull via his ear.

They ran over the undead bodies littering the ground, only stumbling a few times. Joe took the barrel of the X-09 across the face of one zombie, getting himself enough time to turn, drop down on one knee, and shoot the head off another. He caught Tracy doing something similar in his peripheral, but working against three zombies. Two went down rather easily but the third she missed and only pegged its shoulder.

“I’m out!” she said.

Joe ran and jumped on the zombie’s back just as it tried to grab hold of her. He wrestled it to the ground, punched it in the back of the head and neck, then shoved the X-09’s barrel against the base of the zombie’s skull and pulled the trigger. Bone and blood sprayed upward. Its rotten stench made him gag and he couldn’t help but spit out a small bit of puke.

He got to his feet.

More undead came.

They couldn’t get to the car.

Anger boiling his blood, he called to Tracy, “Run. This way. Just run.”

The two ran away from the vehicle as fast as they could. Side by side, they stood, waiting for the undead, which were about thirty or so feet away. Joe shot as many as he could, but more zombies came out of the alleyways and from the adjoining streets.

“We can’t stand here,” Tracy said.

“I know. Just need to get some distance between them and the car.” He turned to her. “You didn’t happen to notice if the engine was still running, did you?”

She shook her head. “It better be. Be stupid to try and get into—”

Joe fired off another shot, cutting her off.

“How close to do you want to cut this?” she asked.

“As close as we can.”

Joe felt his legs getting jittery, so he slightly bent at the knees and readied himself to start sprinting with all he had. “Head to the passenger door when I say go, ’kay?”

“Got it.”

The X-09 sounded a couple more times. An undead toddler fell before a heavier zombie and instead of tripping over it like Joe expected, the big dead man just hoofed it like a football and continued on.

Joe sent the big man to the ground with a bullet between the eyes.

“Now, go!” he said, and he and Tracy ran as fast they could around the zombies, one to the left, the other to the right. At first the zombies hesitated, seemingly not knowing what to do.

Go, go, go, Joe told himself. Push it. He dug in his heels despite the burning in his thighs.

He and Tracy reached the El Camino. The door had been left open. Joe jumped into the driver’s seat, closed the door and aimed the X-09 through the driver’s side glass at the approaching zombie horde beyond. The engine was still running. Tracy pulled the undead body off the passenger seat, grimaced at the blood, then got in and closed the door.

“Gun it!” she said.

Joe put the pedal to the metal and drove headlong into a half dozen undead that took up the road in front of them. Their decaying bodies left the pavement on impact and half of them got onto the hood while the other three fell by the wayside.

“Give me the gun,” Tracy said, hand held out for the X-09.

“You shoot through that glass,” Joe said, nodding at the windshield, “and we got nothing between us and them.”

“Not exactly what I had in mind.” He gave her the weapon and Tracy shifted in her seat. “Just don’t go too fast.”

She leaned out the window and fired off several shots into the zombies.

“Don’t hit the engine,” Joe said. He didn’t know if she heard him because she didn’t respond.

Zombie skulls burst open across the windshield. Blood coated the glass.

“Great,” he said, now only able to see in between the black spatters of undead blood.

Joe slammed on the breaks, the sudden change in inertia enough to force the dead zombies to slide off the hood and fall to the ground. Tracy slipped back into the car.

“Take it easy!” she said.

“Sorry.” Joe drove over the bodies and the two hit Main Street and headed away from the congestion of downtown.

“Where to?” he asked.

“We need some distance. I say keep going, if you can.”

Joe weaved around the stalled vehicles cluttering the road and did his best to be mindful not to run over anything that might pop his tires or cause damage to the car.

A few lone zombies walked down the road not far from them. Joe aimed for the middle one with the vehicle.

“Don’t,” Tracy said.

“Why?”

“You hit him this hard at this speed and you’ll bust the windshield. Besides” —she bobbed her head side-to-side, peering through the bloody splotches on the glass— “you can barely see as it is.”

Joe tried the windshield wipers, but they made it worse. “Where’s the—” He pressed on the brakes, not wanting to hit the zombies up ahead while doing this, and found the windshield washer fluid knob. “There.” There was still fluid and a few squirts was all it took to clear the glass of the syrupy black blood smeared across his line of sight.

“That stuff’s greasy,” he said, more to himself than her.

“Tell me about. Ruined so many clothes thanks to that crap.”

The car hit the zombie in the middle of the pack, his speed slow enough to take the thing off its feet and preserve the car.

“Nice,” Tracy said.

“They’ve taken so much from me—” he started, but stopped himself.

“I hear ya.”

He clamped his mouth shut. If she only knew.

Joe rolled down his window and held his hand out open-palm to Tracy. She passed him the X-09. “Thanks.” He popped off a zombie standing on the corner of Cropo Funeral Chapel.

They kept going, at one point the congestion of cars so terrible he had to drive up on the median and cross over to the street going the other way to avoid them. Once able, he crossed back over.

“Can I have that?” Tracy said, nodding toward the gun.

Joe passed it to her. She, too, reached out the window and capped off a couple of zombies wandering the sidewalks. She leaned back into the car and put the gun on the seat between them.

Joe turned the radio on. Static. “Mind flipping through the stations? AM and FM.”

“There’s nothing on, Joe.”

“Thought maybe here . . .”

“We’ve tried. Once the major stations went down, the army took over the radio. Then they went out, too. For a short period there were, kind of, what, pirate radio guys that took over the stations? They broadcasted on the regular waves and the Internet, too. Now those who still do it—and there’s very few—do it on the Net only. The power isn’t out everywhere.”

“It was the same back home.”

“Yeah. I guess a few survivors used to work at Hydro and kept things going enough so others would benefit. From what I know, Manitoba Hydro is another safe house from the zombies. They must have their own little world going on in there to stay alive and keep things running enough for those of us on the outside.”

“Ever been?”

“No.”

Joe smacked into another zombie. This one’s head cracked against the windshield before tumbling off the hood to the pavement.

“But I’ve thought of it,” Tracy continued. “At the same time, don’t want to upset whatever balance they got going on over there. I’m assuming nothing’s allowed in or out, the greater good being the goal and all that. Just don’t accidentally want to cause a breach of some sort.”

Joe nodded.

They passed Chief Peguis Trail. Traffic congestion was thinning as was the presence of the undead. Joe checked the gauges. All checked out but they were at around a quarter tank of gas. It wouldn’t take them far, never mind if for whatever reason they had to double back and head to the city proper.

“Once the roads clear, we’ll pull over and come up with a plan,” Joe said.

“Sounds good.”

“Also need to figure out something for food. I’m starving.”

23

Emergence

Billie couldn’t breathe as the leathery palm covered her mouth. The thick stench of sulfur rose into her nostrils, sharp, piercing her nasal cavities.

“We don’t lose,” Del hissed from behind her.

Her back was still against the wall. Somehow, Del was reaching through it from a room on the other side. Instead of coming up beside her like she expected, he merely pulled against her face, his awesome strength pressing the back of her skull into the stone wall behind her head.

Her muffled cries were barely heard by her own ears. There was no way Nathaniel would be able to hear her beyond the wall of flame. Eyes glazing over as her head was slowly compressed between demonic palm and stone wall, she could barely make out the golden movements of Nathaniel on the other side of the firewall, slashing his sword into the demonic hosts, bursting them into smoke.

Hands shaking, Billie reached up and grabbed Del’s hand, doing her best to dig her fingers in between his palm and her face. She managed to get them in a half inch or so, barely enough to have purchase to fully utilize her remaining strength, but she pulled anyway, doing her best to widen the gap between his hand and her mouth. Heart pounding, lungs starting to ache for air, she felt her legs go weak as she realized her efforts weren’t making a difference at all.

Del whispered into her ear, “Today you will join us in Hell. Our master has prepared a place for you. You will burn.”

Her eyes went wide at the thought of flames licking her body forever.

Nathaniel! she cried out inside. She tried speaking, but the best she could do was a muffled, “Nrrtthhhnnll.”

Head growing fuzzy, lungs pounding for oxygen, she stomped her feet on the ground as loudly as she could. She kicked at the floor, kicked back against the wall, made as much noise as possible.

God, help me! Immediately upon thinking those words, Nathaniel spun around beyond the wall of flame, his glowing white eyes fixated on her. He leapt into the air and covered the distance between them almost instantly. His bronze robe shone like the dawn, the surrounding fire reflecting like a thousand stars against him. He drew up his sword and the yellow and orange flame went bright blue and green. In one swift movement he lunged forward, the hot blade whooshing past Billie’s ear and plunging into the wall beside her head. Del’s foul screech sounded like a thousand agonizing screams. Instinctively, Billie went into panic mode. She still needed air and Del still had his reptilian hand around her mouth.

The sword still plunged into the wall, Nathaniel slung his shield over his back with his other hand, then shoved his fingers into the wall on the other side of her head. His eyes still held her gaze; the grim determination on his face—a part of her wondered if he would even spare her as he dealt with the demon.

Del screeched again, and in one fluid motion Nathaniel removed his sword and jerked out his other hand, dragging Del through the wall with it, the demon’s hand sliding off Billie’s mouth. She collapsed to her knees, gasping for air.

Del’s growl immediately drew her eyes upward to where Nathaniel held him by the throat. The demon sent its claws slashing into Nathaniel’s face and neck. Wisps of white smoke danced around the angel from every gash as the demon tried to tear him apart. Nathaniel only faltered a step once before drawing his sword back then driving it hard into Del’s middle, the blade entering at the gut then coming up through the torso and neck and out the back of Del’s head.

The demon howled.

Nathaniel tore him apart, snapping the sword out to one side, his hand to the other.

Del burst into smoke.

Billie stayed on her hands and knees, coughing. She wiped her eyes and when she went to say thank you, Nathaniel was back on the other side of the wall of fire, taking on the demonic forces beyond two and three at a time.

She slowly got to her feet and approached the wall of fire. She was maybe a foot or so away. Its heat was present, but not nearly as hot as she expected it to be. Its warmth was pleasant, in a way.

Nathaniel moved along the floor without need to obey the rules of gravity. He didn’t fly, but instead almost danced as he glided along the floor, plunging his sword into demons. At times, when cornered, he scaled the wall, sometimes as if running up it, others using his hands and feet, then landing behind the demons and cutting them up.

A couple of demons threw their scaly, arachnid-like forms against the wall of flame. Billie yelped each time and jumped back a step. The demons merely bounced off, only to be met by Nathaniel’s sword.

The angel stood in the middle of the room alone. Billie thought the fight was over, but was proven wrong when a half dozen demons appeared and charged him all at once. Nathaniel spun around, slicing the heads off two of them. He jumped into the air and plunged his sword deep into the reptilian head of another. A fourth demon flapped its wings and took him down mid air. The remaining two demons joined their kin and dove on top of him, a grotesque pig-pile. Nathaniel’s flaming sword appeared through the back of one of the demons, then through the head of another. He threw the last one off him. The creature soared through the air and recovered its fall by rolling across the floor and immediately springing back up onto its feet. It ran at Nathaniel headlong, claws raised, mouth open. Screeching profanities, the demon jumped into the air. Nathaniel did the same. The demon lashed out with its claws. Nathaniel removed them with his sword, soared past the creature as it landed, and was on his feet behind it. With a quick reverse of his blade, he slammed the sword into the creature’s back, turned around and finished the killing stroke by swiftly drawing the blade through the creature’s back and head, cleaving it in two from the waist up. The demon burst into black smoke.

Nathaniel stood in the room alone, sword still at the ready. He remained there for several minutes, watching, waiting. Finally, he slowly stepped backward toward Billie. Once at the wall of flame and without turning to face her, he pressed his sword against it. The blade drew in the wall of fire like a vacuum. Once complete, the fire of his blade went out.

The sudden absence of yellow and orange light sent everything into blackness.

“I can’t see,” Billie said.

“Your eyes will adjust,” Nathaniel said.

She felt his hand take hers, warm, strong, comforting. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Are they gone?”

“I don’t sense any.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

He gave her hand a tug and drew her forward as he began to move. “Can you see enough to walk?”

She blinked her eyes several times. “Yeah. Sort of. Everything’s there, just dim.”

“Okay, then. Let’s go.”

Nathaniel remained in front of her as they made their way through the room to the other side. She kept her eyes on him, a beacon of light in the dark. Once at the door, Nathaniel cut into it with such ease it was as if the door wasn’t even there. He cut out the locking mechanism then gave the door a quick shove open with his hand. Light greeted them and they went outside. The metal door screeched closed behind them.

The two stood outside the building as Billie let her eyes adjust. The familiar grayish brown sky came back into the view. Dead trees and shrubs made up the forest around them. What she wouldn’t give to see color right now.

Suddenly, her legs gave out from under her and she collapsed, pulling on Nathaniel’s hand as she did.

Nathaniel knelt down beside her, the brilliant bronze of his robe repelling the dirt. “Are you all right?” he asked gently.

She took several deep breaths before answering. “It’s just . . . catching up. Just caught up.” She sniffled and pulled her hand away from his and buried her face in her palms. Crying hard, the fear took her. Her heart raced and she grunted and groaned into her hands. Her heart broke as the memory of August’s death presented itself anew. Images of him being torn apart by the dead danced before her mind’s eye, stirring hate and grief and utter loneliness. The vacant look in his eyes as his dismembered head was passed around by the zombies as if a trophy.

She removed her glasses, held them by the arm between index and middle finger, and put her face back in her hands

She couldn’t stop crying.

Nathaniel put a hand on her back. His touch was warm and comforting, like a father’s, but she quickly pulled away.

“You let August die,” she said. “He believed in you guys. Believed in God. He was the one who gave us hope when we didn’t know what to make of all this. He was shot, beaten and eventually killed by these things. His family . . . . Have you no compassion or do you even care?” She swallowed the lump in her throat. “He’s dead. He’s dead.” Des is dead. Joe . . . “August.” My friend. The notion that the old man died for her struck her hard . . . especially when she realized it was true. He had protected her as best as he could during Del’s and May’s interrogation. He did all he could in the condition he was in as they tried to escape. He spoke with her about important things and connected with her in a way she hadn’t with anyone in a long time. Even with Joe.

Except for Des, she realized, August had been her closest friend in this world of the undead.

“Why did you let him die?” she asked and gave him a shove. Nathaniel took it, and didn’t respond.

She let the tears fall without reserve. Even when her head began to pound, she kept crying.

Nathaniel didn’t say anything, and she was happy that he didn’t. Instead he merely stayed beside her, one hand upon her back, his presence enough to give her comfort but not so overwhelming she felt smothered.

Billie didn’t know how much time had passed until she finally stopped crying. She pulled her face away from her hands, which were wet and slick, and let the remaining tears roll down her cheeks. She wiped her face in her sleeve and used the bottom of her shirt to clean her glasses’ lenses. She put her glasses back on, the world clear once more.

Nathaniel still had his hand upon her, but instead of being clothed in a bright bronze robe like before, he now wore blue jeans and a gray turtleneck and faded white running shoes. His clean-shaven face was white, his hair brown, cut short and neat.

“Thank you,” she said and sniffled once more.

“You’re welcome. And you’re not alone. My God and King is with us.”

“Wish He’d explain Himself . . . or just why I’ve lost everything.”

“He doesn’t have to, Billie,” Nathaniel said.

She pressed her lips together. She knew what she wanted to say, but was so weak with emotion that forming the words was too difficult.

“But maybe in time,” Nathaniel said, “because He loves you enough to let you know why you’re here and why things happened the way they did.”

“I hope so,” she whispered.

The two remained there a few moments more before the angel said, “Come, we have to get moving.”

He helped her to her feet and the two started toward the forest.

“Why can’t we take the plane?” Billie asked, pointing to the bi-plane that first brought her and August here.

“Because,” Nathaniel said, “they’ll be looking for it.”

They went a few more paces. “What about you? Can’t you fly?”

He smiled. “I can, and I could take you with me. But we’re not done here.”

She stopped in her tracks. Nathaniel continued a few paces before turning back to face her.

“Not done here?” she said. “What? Why? What is there left to do? What else must I endure?”

“Soon,” he said and started walking again.

She ran past him and stopped him. “No, no. No way. We’re not doing that. We can’t.”

“Can’t what?”

“Don’t give me this cryptic stuff like ‘soon you’ll know’ or whatever. That’s not fair.”

“Do you really want to know why we need to go on foot?” he asked.

She nodded.

“Many reasons, two of which are: demons fly, too. You saw their wings. Certain ones rule the air above. That’s their domain. They’ll see us and I’m not going to fight an aerial battle where I’m at a disadvantage while also trying to hold on to you. The other reason is we need to see a friend of mine.”

“Friend.” It was more of a statement.

“Yes. We have friends, too,” he said with a smile. “I was with him before I came for you. He’s in these woods, fighting our fallen brothers.”

“Who?”

“His name is Michael.”

24

Dillon

Fists clenched, Mark listened for that voice again. He could barely see anything, the light from Michelle’s flashlight only reaching so far.

Zombies groaned in the darkness. They were close, probably following their scent to the ramp.

“Srrrmmmoonnnngggrrr . . .” The voice was behind him now. Sometimes it was so clear, other times muffled.

“Mark!” Michelle shouted from behind.

“No!”

“I found him!”

Heart leaping into overdrive, he quickly made his way around the cars, eyes focused on the flashlight in Michelle’s hand. She was at the bottom of the ramp, standing beside a brown Station wagon, the front end of it smashed, partly buried in rubble from the wall beside it.

Mark ran to her side. “Is he—?”

She eyed him carefully, as if sizing him up. “I want to make you see this. Want to make you know what you came in here for. It’s not pretty. Up to you.”

“Up to . . .” His mother usually protected him from as much of the grisly displays of this world. If there was a body, he was normally told to look the other way. What Michelle was doing . . . would his mother approve? Dillon was his friend. To not see him seemed dishonoring. “Did you kill him?”

“No. There was a zombie just ten feet beyond. Its mouth covered in blood.”

“Srrrmmmoonnnngggrrr . . .” The voice came from inside the Station wagon.

Mark went over to it. Michelle stepped to the side and allowed him room. The boy took her flashlight and used it to peer in the passenger side window. A body lay pinned between the glove compartment and floor, bits of plastic and metal running through some of the flesh, keeping it in place. A pine freshener was on the floor beside it.

“M-M-Mark . . .” Dillon said, his voice just above a whisper. A faint smile rose on his white cheeks. Blood ran from his mouth.

Mark noticed a good chunk of Dillon’s shoulder was missing and his friend’s shirt was torn open, scratches and claw marks all over his chest in a multitude of red lines. “Hey.”

“Thanks . . . thanks f-for find . . . ing . . . me . . .”

Mark smiled, but couldn’t speak through the tears that overwhelmed him. He turned to Michelle. “I’m sorry.”

She nodded.

He shone the light once more into the window. He wanted to touch his friend’s head to say good-bye, but he couldn’t do even that in case Dillon was covered in infection. “See ya,” was all he could barely say.

“See ya,” Dillon said softly.

He gave the flashlight back to Michelle and made his way to the bottom of the heap of rubble. He didn’t look back when he heard the gun go off behind him.

25

More Pain

Mark and Michelle emerged from the hole in the rubble. The gray and brown sky greeted them and though they hadn’t been gone all that long, seeing its weird coffee and sidewalk gray mixture made Mark feel worse than he already did.

As they descended the rubble heap, Michelle asked, “Do you want to talk about it?”

“I want to forget it,” Mark said. He stopped in his tracks when he saw his mother lying there on her own, Andrew nowhere to be seen. “Mom!” He ran over to her. Rhonda’s body lay there in a pool of blood, her guts spilled in a mess around her.

Hands shaking, he reached down to touch her blood-soaked face but recoiled when he saw her nose and eyes were missing, seeming to have been dug out. Tears blurred her from view. He wanted to scream, to cry out and let his heart explode, but when he opened his mouth, no sound came, just a choking gasp of pure grief and anguish at seeing the destroyed body of the person he loved the most lying there in ruin.

He couldn’t breath. His lungs constricted as his heart hammered in his chest.

Michelle was at his side, then quickly on her knees. “No. Rhonda . . . no . . .” She looked around then got to her feet, gun out.

The pressure building inside pulsed through Mark’s veins, the searing pain of loss filling every muscle and bone within. Breathing became short and quick, his shoulders rising and falling like a boiler about to go over. With all that was within him, he cried, “MMMMMMMOOOOOOOMMMMMMM!” Tears gushed forth.

Mark wiped his eyes, bringing his mother’s bloody form back into view clearly.

A hand touched his shoulder. “Here, let me help you up. You shouldn’t see this,” Michelle said.

He shrugged her hand away. “I don’t care. She’s my mom!”

Michelle knelt beside him. “She wouldn’t want you to see her like this. Don’t let this be your last memory of her.”

“Last memory?” He knew what she meant, but saying the words suddenly added finality to his mother’s life and the sharp arrow of grief pierced his heart once more.

“Come here. Please, Mark.” She put her hand on his shoulder again. “Please?”

He clung to her and let her help him up, his eyes not leaving his mother’s body. It didn’t look like her, all broken and bloody like that, but it was the knowing that it was her that destroyed him inside.

Finally, he wrapped his arms around Michelle’s waist and buried his face into her embrace.

He cried. He shook.

He couldn’t believe that in less than ten minutes, both his mother and friend were gone.

* * * *

Andrew was nowhere to be seen. Michelle swore that if she saw him again, she’d kill him. Rhonda was no doubt attacked by a zombie. Andrew, it seemed, didn’t defend her. It was right that nobody trusted him or took him in. He deserved to die out here. Alone. The last thing the Hub needed was a coward.

The ground shook. A giant zombie’s head appeared above the rooftop of a building a few blocks away. Michelle held Mark tight. “Don’t move.”

“I don’t care. I want to see my mom.”

She was about to tell him not to say that, but thought better of it and just stood there frozen, hoping the massive creature wouldn’t catch sight of them out in the open like this.

What am I going to do? He’s a kid. It’s his mom. She’s going to get back up and I’m going to have to kill her, she thought.

Maybe as soon as the giant zombie was gone, they’d get moving and they’d be far enough away from Rhonda that she wouldn’t have to shoot her in front of him.

The giant zombie’s heavy footfalls began to fade. Michelle rose up on her tiptoes and was able to clearly see the back of the massive dead man’s head as it continued down its path.

“Come on, Mark,” she said. “Let’s go.”

He sniffled. “I want to look at her before we do. Before . . .”

“You don’t want to. Especially if . . .” Neither said it, but they knew what the other was thinking.

“It’s okay.” He abruptly pulled away from her. Slowly, he stepped toward his mom.

Michelle kept a gun aimed just over his shoulder, ready to pull the trigger at an instant.

“Mom,” Mark said, but before he could say whatever it was he was going to, Rhonda’s body stirred on the ground.

At first, she twitched, then slowly sat up. Her bloody and mangled face immediately turned toward Mark. She opened her mouth and groaned.

“Mark, get back!” Michelle said.

The boy ran over to her. “Are you going to . . . ?”

“I’m going to have to,” she said even though she didn’t want to. Rhonda was her friend. They had talked about what to do if one of them got bit. They regularly reminded themselves that whoever rose after death before the other was not the person they once knew, but instead something else. That was how they hoped it worked, anyway, and it wasn’t a case of the person knowing they were deceased and having lost control of themselves as they became one of the living dead.

“Kill me right away,” Rhonda had told her. “Especially if Mark is around. I don’t want you to wait. I can’t hurt my son. Even if you have to shoot me in front of him. Better to get it done and over than prolong it with debate. Promise me, Michelle. Promise me that’s what you’ll do.”

“I promise,” she had told her, and said it now.

Rhonda brought her knees to her torn-open gut, and stood without loss of balance. She faced Michelle and Mark squarely and started her march toward them, arms outstretched.

“I can’t look,” Mark said and buried his face into Michelle’s side.

“Cover your ears,” Michelle said.

Mark did.

She fired.

Rhonda dropped.

26

Humans Weren’t the Only Ones

Tracy watched as a dead world moved past her through the passenger window. The trees were bare of leaves; even the evergreens had lost their needles. They drove past a few neighborhoods; the streets were empty except for the undead that roamed them. Joe hit the zombies often and if any of them made a mess on the windshield, he’d simply spray a bit of fluid then clean them with the wipers.

Long ago she thought maybe her and Josh would get a house out here. Not necessarily directly off Main Street, but out here outside the city limits away from the smell of exhaust and the sound of honking horns. They would work from home as fulltime artists, if she didn’t get the job at Disney. It would have been perfect.

“It’s really quiet, isn’t it?” she said.

“Hm?” Joe said.

“I said it’s really quiet.”

“Yeah. I haven’t been out this way since the dead rose. I mean—you know what I mean.”

“Uh-huh. Same here. I liked taking drives out this way back in the day. Maybe around once a month. Seemed like a nice place to live at some point.”

“Would be.”

“Makes one wonder, doesn’t it?”

“Wonder what?”

“Just, you know, how your life might have turned out had the undead not come.”

“I try to not think about that.”

“But you do.”

“We all do. Can’t help it. You grow up thinking things are going to be all right, that life will unroll more or less normally. It’s not fair, really. Actually, it isn’t fair. You’re a kid; Mom and Dad take care of business for you. You’re in school; same deal. You graduate and a lot of the time you’re kind of eased into the real world. You either live at home or get some entry-level job somewhere. That’s the norm. At least it was where I come from. The problem is you forget you know deep down there isn’t a norm. You forget that life can just sneak up on you and kick you down so hard you might never get up at all. You saw glimpses of it growing up: kids with only one parent, some in foster homes. You saw the guy sleeping on the bench at the bus stop or the one picking through trash looking for something to eat. You see the commercials where kids are starving and the older one has to take care of their five younger siblings. But you don’t mind. It’s not you. Not yet. Hopefully not ever. And life happens. Sneaks up on you and beats you to your knees. In our case” —Joe peered out the driver’s side window and gazed up at the sky— “it was brown and gray clouds and some crazy rain that sent the world into a spin.”

A zombie crossed the road in front of them. Joe hit it dead on. The corpse rolled up onto the hood, up the windshield, over the roof of the car and back down the other side.

A moment later, Tracy said, “Got hit, huh? You, I mean.”

“In more ways than one.”

“Me, too.” She told him about Josh, their plans, what Josh meant to her. It was hard to do so without her voice breaking and tears wetting her eyes.

When she was finished, he turned toward her. His eyes met hers and it was clear he understood her pain. Joe set his eyes back on the road, just in time to avoid a stalled Chevy that sat at an angle across their path.

“You know, I’ve heard people say that life can hand you anything, it just depends what you do with it,” he said.

“And?”

“I don’t think it’s true. It’s one thing for something to happen and for you to be able to look at it and go, ‘hey, this is what went down, these were the consequences, and this is how I can react to it.’ And those people are right, to a point. There is a lot of stuff that happens that we can deal with by choice. You lose your job? Get another one. Kid won’t listen? Discipline them instead of letting them rule your life. Not feeling well? Go to the doctor. Too fat? Eat right and exercise. There is no magic answer, just common sense. Just take a step back and look at things.”

“Your point?”

“I’m not finished.”

“Okay.”

“The other part is, yeah, life can hand you something, but sometimes that something isn’t tangible. Sometimes it isn’t something you can mentally or physically change. I’m not even talking about emotions, as those can be controlled for the most part. Sometimes life hurts you so bad you break inside, that you’re damaged beyond the point of emotional distress. Your spirit is broken. That’s something you can’t change, can’t fix. It’s not a light switch you can just flick on and off.”

She understood what he was getting at and, from the tone of his voice, it seemed very few people understood him. It seemed he’d been down a road like hers, one where the connection to someone or something else went beyond love, to that place where love is inadequate to describe it. To somewhere and to something deeper, connective and sacrificial, where one life became another whether you knew it or not at the time.

“She meant everything to you, didn’t she?” Tracy said.

Joe glanced at her, his eyes soft, not the same set of hard and determined eyes she was so used to seeing on him. “She was everything.”

“I understand.”

He took a deep breath and sighed. “That’s why I told you. I thought maybe . . . I thought maybe it’d help us somehow as we try to figure out our next move. I think we have more in common than we realize and that we should use that somehow.”

“Me, too.”

Tracy’s heart ached at trudging up memories about Josh. A part of it was therapeutic, she had to admit, but every time Josh rose in her memory, a sharp pain pierced her heart and anger brewed inside against her inability to go back and make things right. Being helpless to heal would kill her in the end, she knew. She just wondered how long she’d be able to hold on until she’d throw in the towel.

Joe hit a couple more zombies. They were far enough outside the city now that the houses got farther apart. Most had expansive yards, the once-green grass now pale yellow and dry, spackled with gray.

“Do you think you’ll ever go back home?” she asked.

Joe pressed his lips together and breathed out through his nose. He gently shook his head.

“I’m sorry.”

“So am I. Not that there was much to go home to, mind you, just that it is home. That’s what I’ll miss.”

“Must be hard.”

“It is.”

“Anything I can do?”

“No.”

The two rode in silence.

Suddenly, Joe pulled over, the tires grinding to a halt against the gravel of the shoulder lane. Tracy’s heart leapt into her throat.

* * * *

Joe threw open the door and rounded the front of the vehicle. He stood not far from the passenger door. Tracy came out of the car and stood beside him.

He turned to her. “We got a big problem.”

She nodded.

Before them was an old, rickety fence, nothing more than a series of pegs a couple meters apart, with a couple of slats spaced about a foot apart starting at the ground. A solid fifty meters from where they stood was a black horse looming over what appeared to be another horse’s carcass. Though the horse’s facial features were hard to make out this far away, there was no mistaking its loose stance and the way it stumbled side-to-side as it tried to maintain its balance while gorging on the animal on the ground.

“I didn’t know . . .” Tracy started.

“I did. It was like this back home. The rain got to the animals, too.”

“Then maybe the only difference is the giants?”

“Looks that way,” he said.

The horse leaned down and tore a stringy piece of meat off the carcass.

“Think it can see us?” Tracy asked.

“No, but we should be careful.” Joe surveyed the property. To the side of the corral was a yellow and white two-storey farmhouse. A gray Ford pickup sat in the driveway; an old and rusty transport that looked like it could fit a couple horses sat about thirty feet from it.

Tracy must have noticed the furrow of his brow because she asked, “What?”

“Just thinking that that horse is eating one of its own. Fine. Makes sense if the other horse was alive, just regular. But if that was true, the healthy horse would have been long devoured by now. Seems undead animals eat other undead animals.”

“Unless it’s a fresh kill. Let’s hope it goes that way for the human ones. Maybe they’d just kill themselves off and that’d be it.”

“Or at least the big ones.”

“There’s something altogether different about them. They don’t go after each other. They don’t eat the regular zombies. I’ve seen them eat people, but where are they getting enough people to fill themselves?”

“Don’t know. Don’t really want to find out, either.”

She nodded.

“Come on,” he said, “let’s get going.”

The two began making their way back to the El Camino. That’s when Joe heard the low whinny of a horse. He spun around.

The undead horse stumbled, regained its footing, stumbled, regained its footing, as it tried to run toward them.

“Move!” Joe shouted at her.

Tracy bolted for the passenger side door and dove into the car. She immediately closed the door behind her.

Joe rounded the front of the vehicle. The horse was fast despite being dead. Moved like a horse at a trot than a run, but it was fast enough to close the distance between them in a short period of time. He got into the driver’s side door just as the horse hit the fence. It crashed into the horizontal pickets and bounced back a few feet, its creamy white eyes fixated on the car.

“Hit it!” Tracy said.

The snap of wood startled him and he looked out Tracy’s window just as the undead horse rammed into it. The horse’s big black head shoved into the El Camino, its teeth like giant yellow Chiclets snipping at the air before finding her hair. It got a mouthful and pulled Tracy’s head toward itself as she screamed.

Joe fumbled for the X-09 off the seat. Once he got a firm grip on the handle, he aimed its barrel between the horse’s eyes and fired. The horse’s skull exploded in a burst of black blood and eggshell-white bone. Brain and grue splashed onto Tracy.

Joe got out of the car and went to her side. “You okay?”

She didn’t respond, but he did hear spitting. She probably didn’t want to talk with the horse’s blood all over her face.

He checked where the horse’s mouth met her hair. The teeth were clamped tight onto it, the sudden impact of the bullet probably having forced the horse to tense its muscles before it died.

He leaned over the horse, looked Tracy over, and located a knife on her belt.

“Hold still. I’m going to cut you free,” he said.

Tracy stopped moving as he reached down, pulled the six-inch blade from a holster on her belt, then got to work cutting her hair where it met the horse’s mouth. Blood from the horse’s open skull gushed out on his hands. He did his best to use them as a kind of umbrella so that it wouldn’t flood onto Tracy’s face and stop her from breathing through her nose. Once he cut her hair free, he threw the knife to the ground and grabbed what was left of the horse’s head by the mane and heaved it away from the vehicle. The horse weighed a ton and the best he could do was pull it to the side so it was just clear of the car.

Joe picked up the knife and ran back around the front of the El Camino. “One more sec.” He drove ahead past the horse’s body. He put it back in park, got back out and went to Tracy’s side. He opened the door and helped her out of the car. Immediately she went to work wiping the blood from her face, shaking her hair out and getting as much of the flesh and goop off as she could.

Joe was back on the driver’s side and rummaged around, checking under the seat. Maybe there was something under it Tracy could use to clean herself up with. Instead he found nothing. He checked her way to see how she was coming along. She got most of the blood off her face, but her hands were filthy.

“Here,” he said, and took off his trench coat. “Use this.” He reached across the seat and gave her the coat. She still had her eyes closed so he climbed across and stuck it directly in her hands.

Tracy scraped the suede coat against her face and cleaned herself. When most of it was gone, she blinked open her eyes. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

She continued to wipe the blood off as best she could. “This stuff stinks.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, thank you. I appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome.”

A few minutes later, Tracy was relatively clean, but Joe’s coat was covered in undead horse blood.

“Just chuck it,” he told her. “But let me check the pockets.” She passed him the coat. Joe emptied a few items from the pockets then tossed the coat by the side of the road.

Joe went back to his seat and Tracy got back in the car.

“You ready?” Joe asked her.

“Yeah.”

He put it in drive, pulled away from the shoulder and got back on the road. A few minutes later, he rounded another stalled car and drove on.

They didn’t talk much since the incident with the horse. Joe didn’t hit the zombies that wandered the road here and there. Instead he drove around them, eyes fixed forward. They couldn’t go too much farther, though. Gas was down to an eighth of a tank.

There was something on the horizon ahead on the side of the road. The closer it got, the more it took shape. Another zombie. As it got even closer, it grew into a young man with dirty blonde hair and matching beard.

Joe looked out the window at him as he drove past.

The young man was alive.

27

Michael

“Is he much further?” Billie asked Nathaniel.

The angel walked as if the trek through the woods demanded little effort. Billie, being much shorter, had a harder time keeping up.

So far they hadn’t encountered any more undead or demons.

“He was close for a moment, but then was gone,” Nathaniel said. “I sensed him briefly, but I also sensed something else. More than something else. Several creatures at once.”

“Are they still here?”

He shook his head. “No. I suspect Michael either dealt with them swiftly or, sensing me near and knowing I was with you, drew them away to protect you.”

“Could a” —Billie was having a hard time switching gears and dealing with demons on top of zombies even though the two, it seemed, were the same thing— “could demons kill me if they wanted to? I mean, in demon form, not zombie?”

Nathaniel seemed to think for a moment. “There was a young man who loved to climb. One night he and some friends decided to go rock climbing in the dark. There was a climbing wall outside a neighborhood community center and they entered the lot even when the sign said not to do so after ten at night. They began to climb. The young man wasn’t the best at it in the group, but he still held his own and managed to get a solid twenty feet off the ground before he fell. He hit the ground and broke his neck. Couldn’t walk after that. Later, when he was in the hospital and was well enough to relay the story to his friends and family about what happened, he said that as he was climbing, he felt a sudden viselike grip grab his wrist and pull his hand away from the climbing hold. The force pulled at his hand so hard he lost his balance and fell.”

“So you’re saying a demon caused it.”

Nathaniel stopped walking and looked back at her square in the eye. “I was there. I was fighting other creatures not far from the pastor’s son. There were so many and I was temporarily bound. One got past and went for the young man.”

Billie fell silent.

Nathaniel kept moving.

She wanted to ask him why God allowed the young man to get hurt despite his efforts, but thought better of it for the time being. She also realized she needed to mind her place and remember who this man walking with her was. He had just saved her. He was protecting her now. He deserved her respect. What troubled her was the sense of ease around him despite what she’d just seen. He was an angel. A real angel. She had seen him as he was fighting evil in its purest form. Had living with the undead numbed her so much she had grown used to the supernatural and the bizarre? Billie hoped not. That was a kind of numbness that belonged to those who were disturbed, and thrived off death and murder. Killers, rapists, psychos. Sane people were still supposed to be scared and awed by such things.

A shudder ran through her.

The grass was dry beneath her feet; every fallen leaf she stepped on crunched and crumbled. If there was something else lurking in these woods, they would surely hear their footsteps.

Billie came across a large branch about the size of a baseball bat and just as heavy. She picked it up and held it at the ready. Nathaniel looked at her.

“Just in case,” she said.

He nodded.

The two went out, weaving around trees and around bushes, down a few slopes and up others. If Nathaniel suddenly vanished, she’d be lost.

Low moans filled the woods around them. The two stopped, both scanning the trees.

“How close are they?” Billie whispered.

“Close.”

They walked a few feet more, careful of their footsteps, making them as silent as possible.

The dead appeared from behind the trees. First one, then three, then four more.

Eight zombies.

Nathaniel immediately transformed, going from man to angel in a split second. His bright, bronze-lit robe illuminated the forest. Gleaming silver sword drawn, he brought it aloft then lunged through the air at the nearest zombie.

The others stumbled toward Billie. The first to reach out to her—an African fellow with beautiful dark skin that, aside from his white eyes, wouldn’t make you think he was a zombie—was quickly met with her branch to the side of his head.

Nathaniel was back beside her, having quickly taken care of the previous zombie. Suddenly, the angel jerked and threw up his hands as leathery fingers reached up through the ground, grabbed him around his feet, and pulled him into the forest floor.

The woods grew dim due to the absence of Nathaniel’s light.

About to call the angel’s name, Billie’s voice caught in her throat when an old hag of a zombie stumbled toward her, one leg missing a foot. The old woman’s clothes were in tatters and she smelled of wet moss. She slashed out with her long, cracked and yellow fingernails and narrowly missed Billie’s arms. Billie brought the branch straight down on the old woman’s skull. A faint cracked followed. Billie was about to bring the branch down again when a zombie grabbed the arm holding the branch and pulled it down. Billie kicked him in the legs and pulled the branch free. She ran and got some distance.

Eyes searching the ground, she said between panted breaths, “Nathaniel. Nathaniel. Get up here!”

Was he dead? Could angels die?

The zombies came forth. Billie charged the old woman and instead of striking her head-on, she quickly veered to the side at the last moment and swung the branch as she past, smacking the thick stick into the back of the woman’s head. The hag zombie fell forward and stopped moving.

Five more to go.

She held the stick tight, ran up ahead and hid behind a tree. Billie kept her eyes peeled, making sure the zombies she just ran from were the only ones around and others weren’t lurking near her hiding place.

The first undead to come past the tree was met with the branch to its head, the force of the blow sending the zombie’s head into the tree trunk. The creature’s skull was in such a bad state of decay it cracked open on impact and left a streak of blood and brain as its body slid down the tree’s bark.

Four left.

Billie couldn’t help but keep count.

She moved to go behind the tree again but the moment she set foot there, she was greeted by the snarling face of a zombie with pale yellow skin, a smooth skull with the bone exposed, and grimy brown and yellow teeth.

Yelping, Billie turned and ran a few steps only to encounter another zombie, this one a little girl. Like a bat to a ball on a T, she quickly clocked the girl in the side of the head with the branch, then ran past her.

Three undead left.

The skull guy with wan skin caught up to her rather quickly. He didn’t run, but had somehow managed to turn his awkward shuffle into a kind of jog. Billie swung the branch, misjudging her distance. The branch struck the zombie in the side of the arm. She tried to strike the creature again, but the skull zombie batted the stick away. The branch fell to the ground.

Billie ran past him and met up with a dead hippie woman in a washed-out rainbow dress. She snarled at Billie, raised her hands and took hold of her hair. A sharp tug and Billie was drawn in toward the woman’s mouth. About to close her eyes so she didn’t have to see the woman’s teeth bite into her face, a jolt rocked Billie’s core instead when a bright flash of silver appeared through the woman’s mouth, the hippie zombie’s expression locking in a kind of shock and awe.

Nathaniel stood behind the woman, his sword coming out from the top of the woman’s head. He withdrew it, snapped out a hand past the hippie, shoved Billie to the side, then gave a sharp lunge forward as he ran his blade through a green-haired dead man beyond.

The two undead fell.

The skull zombie stood only a few feet from the scene. It appeared he was almost thinking—not in an intelligent kind of way—however, there was some sense of “inner workings” going on behind his white stare.

Without any sort of fancy display of combat, Nathaniel merely rounded the dead he just slew, approached the skull zombie and ran him through by shoving his blade under the zombie’s chin and straight through to the brain. The zombie fell, and Nathaniel sheathed his sword.

Billie just stood there. “I’m getting tired,” was what she said, though it wasn’t what she wanted to say. She supposed the emotion was so strong it got the better of her. She wasn’t physically tired other than the typical fatigue following a fight, but just weak in spirit thanks to battling the dead for such a long time. She was tired of them more than anything, and just tired of living a life that only resembled her previous one in the sense she was the participant in it and nothing more.

Nathaniel didn’t respond to her statement, but instead held out his hand and beckoned her to come with him. She joined him.

It wasn’t a moment later until Billie heard, “Well done.” She turned around and standing amongst the dead bodies was a man dressed in a fiery bronze robe like Nathaniel. His hair was alight as well, same with his eyes. Across his chest was a blood-red sash decorated in strange gold symbols, the same as those on Nathaniel’s shield.

“Billie,” Nathaniel said, “this is Michael.”

She stood there transfixed despite having seen Nathaniel in angelic form before. Michael was different despite being similarly dressed. He was taller, looked to weigh more, and had a larger, more muscular frame. His fiery eyes weren’t just mere orbs of sunlight, but instead bore emotion and at the moment that emotion was approval. However, his gaze also suggested there was zero room for humor or any form of lightness. A heavy sense of utter seriousness emitted from him as did a strong commanding presence.

“Hello, Billie,” Michael said. “Do not be afraid.”

She thought she was going to faint, but instead felt an outside force strengthen her legs and steel her spine. “Um . . . hi.”

Michael came up to her, his eyes never leaving hers. “I know of you, Billie Friday,” he said.

He knows my last name, too? Wait, of course he does, she thought.

“I am sorry to say I haven’t yet had the chance to see you personally, however Nathaniel has kept me updated as to your whereabouts and the situations unfolding around you.”

“Wait,” she said, glancing at Nathaniel then thumbing toward him. She did her best to not falter in her speech. “You’re saying Nathaniel has been watching over me since . . . since always?”

“No, not since always. Since recently, that day at the bank when you witnessed Hell rise up and flood the land of the living,” Michael said.

“Angels are assigned to different tasks, some of whom are given charge over humans,” Nathaniel said.

“Humans,” Billie said, the label suddenly sounding so cold and empty. People always thought of themselves as more than just a species. Now, she was learning that there were other forms of life as well.

I feel like an animal, she thought.

“It is an honorable assignment,” Michael said. “You are important to God more than you know.”

She didn’t know what to say to that. Despite all this, a part of her still clung to her old ideologies and, frankly, she didn’t want to dive headfirst into a world of religion. Yet, she also recognized she was getting dragged into it whether she wanted to or not.

“The zombies . . .” she said.

“This is Hell’s attempt to alter prophecy and place the End of Days in their favor,” Michael said. “Nathaniel is one of the host’s finest warriors and so was assigned to you because our God has foreknowledge of all things and knew the trials you would undergo.”

“Foreknowledge? You know, I . . .” Billie said. The words were there, but talking to the angels as they stood there all bright and glorious, she felt like her opinion didn’t matter.

She closed her eyes. The light beyond her eyelids dimmed. When she opened them, she was surprised to see Nathaniel as he was before the recent undead attack. Michael, too, was dressed as a man, brown hair, tanned skin, an untucked blue button-down and jeans, with brown suede work boots.

“How—?” she started.

“Prayers are always heard,” Nathaniel said.

“It wasn’t a prayer.”

“Let me rephrase that: not only are prayers always heard, but desires as well.”

She slowly shook her head. “Then if that’s true, and if God is all foreknowing like you say, then why did He even allow all this to happen?”

“Why wouldn’t He?” Michael said.

She found it much easier to talk to him like this, so much so it would be easy to forget he was an angel. “Why wouldn’t He?”

Michael just looked at her. Did he not get it?

“Why would anyone allow, like you said, Hell to take over the Earth? How does that make sense?”

“Why wouldn’t you allow it?” Nathaniel said.

“Me?”

He nodded.

“I don’t know, because millions died, the earth is dying, monsters and demons are walking around. This might as well be Hell.”

“So you want to control everything,” Michael said.

She bit her lip. The nerve of him. “No, not control everything, just make sure this would never happen.”

“So control everything.”

“Not everything, just this.”

“No, everything because you just said you wouldn’t allow millions to die, the earth to die and monsters and demons to walk around.”

“Yes.”

“How is this different than the way things used to be?”

“There were no zombies. I didn’t see those bat-demon things.”

“Before, around a hundred and fifty thousand people died daily, most of them unjustly from murder, disease, hunger, thirst, earthquakes, floods and old age. And, yes, even old age is a result of evil infesting your planet. The earth has been dying since mankind fell and turned its back on God. Demons and monsters roamed the planet for thousands of years. It is only recently that you’ve seen them. It seems to me you are more interested in changing what you see so you can see what you want to see or hide that of what you wish. Plagues and calamities have struck your planet since the beginning. What is happening now is the same.”

“You’re not making sense.”

“You’re not thinking about what I’m saying.”

She shook her head. “Nathaniel, help me out here.”

“I’m afraid he’s right, Billie. What you’re telling us is if you were in control you would do a better job. You’re confusing God’s sovereignty with control. Control involves active choice and adjustment every time any form of situation big or small arises. God’s sovereignty involves Him allowing things to happen so that all things work out for good.”

“How do zombies work out for good?”

“You will learn that. If I told you now, it might interfere with what is planned.”

“Do you know?”

“No. Angels cannot tell the future. We only know what our King informs us.”

“What about the outcome against these creatures?”

“Like you, sometimes we are along for the ride.”

She crossed her arms and set her weight on one foot. “Doesn’t sound like much of a plan.”

“Mind your words,” Michael said. “It was this ‘plan’ that brought the three of us here.”

“And it was this ‘plan,’” Nathaniel said, “that allowed you, Joe and August to have seen what you saw.”

Joe. It’d been awhile since Billie thought of him, not for lack of caring but for lack of focus. So much going on. So much danger. No time to think of anything but the present.

“Do you know where Joe is?” she asked.

“Yes,” Michael said. “I do.”

28

The Hitchhiker

The young man’s name was Andrew, the kind of guy who appeared to like old records, was a ’70s rock fan and probably had a decent zine collection stashed away wherever he used to call home. Joe guessed that before the dead rose, the artsy part of the Exchange District was where this fella had spent most of his time.

“Thanks for picking me up,” Andrew said, sitting in between Tracy and Joe. It was a safety precaution. If Andrew suddenly acted up, he was surrounded.

“You said you were on your way out of town,” Joe said. “Made it pretty far, if you ask me. Winnipeg is a ways back.” He nodded toward the rearview window.

“Just couldn’t take it anymore,” Andrew said. “I stuck to the outskirts by the Perimeter anyway. The dead weren’t as thick there. But between seeing the big ones sometimes venture out to where I was, never mind the regular kind, man, just too much. I figure there’s got to be a safe place somewhere. If anything, I’m willing to bet there’s places out there that haven’t been affected by zombies one iota.”

“That’s probably true,” Tracy said, and Joe got the feeling she was holding something back.

“You guys from the city?” Andrew asked.

Joe nodded.

“Yes,” Tracy said.

Andrew glanced side-to-side. “What brings you out here?”

“Just felt like going for a drive,” Joe said.

“No, really, why out this way?”

“Same as you,” Tracy said. “You can only survive so long in the city.”

Andrew eyed Joe up and down. “That’s some pretty decent hardware you got strapped to you,” he said, indicating the X-strap of bullets against Joe’s chest.

“Some pretty decent threats out there,” Joe replied.

“You can say that again.”

The three rode in silence for a few moments. Joe got the distinct feeling that despite the quiet from the dead roaming the earth, Andrew was the kind of guy who hated uncomfortable silences and would take chances to keep conversations going.

“How far are you heading up the road?” Andrew asked.

“We’ll see what we’ll see,” Joe said.

Andrew gave Tracy a nudge. “Not very friendly, huh?”

“Friendly enough,” she said.

Joe eyed Andrew coolly. Andrew met his gaze for a moment then put his eyes forward again.

“What were you doing before this?” Tracy asked.

“Me?” Andrew said. “Like I told you, just wanted to get away from the city.”

“I know, but where were you from, where did you hide? Not many places left that the dead haven’t filtered their way in to.”

“Usually the basements of old buildings; boarded up the doors as best I could. Utility closets with their heavy metal doors are always handy. Just cramped.” He cleared this throat. “Got anything to drink?”

Joe shook his head.

“Thirsty,” Andrew said.

Joe nodded; so did Tracy.

Andrew rubbed his hands together.

“Cold?” Tracy asked.

“Naw. Just dirty. Listen, before I left, I was looking around for more survivors. The only ones I found were dead.” He seemed to have caught himself. “What I mean is, found body parts, you know, a torso here, a head there. Saw a couple, um, intact people once. I called out but they didn’t hear me. Even chased after them but couldn’t catch up. They rounded a corner and by the time I got there, they were rounding another. Got to that one and they were gone. Then a zombie came.”

“Glad you survived,” Tracy said.

“Me, too.”

“How did you survive?” Joe asked. He heard the air escape Andrew’s nostrils when he smirked.

“A brick.”

“A brick?”

“Was kind of funny, actually. Found a brick near the mouth of an alley. Threw it at the zombie. Hit it in the head. Was enough to make it stagger to the side. I ran and picked up the brick and chucked it at it again. The second time the zombie’s skull cracked. Did it once more and all this brain gooped out. Was gross.”

“I see.” Liar.

“Hey, it worked.” He paused. “Got anything to eat?”

“No.”

“Wonder if any greenhouses are still standing. The Rain wouldn’t have gotten to them. Maybe the irrigation would be on autopilot, you know, powered by a generator. Wait. No sun. Maybe . . .”

“Maybe that’s enough for now,” Tracy said.

“Sorry. Like to ramble.”

“No worries.”

Joe eyed the fuel gauge. Gas was getting low. He and Tracy still didn’t know where they were going, and now with Andrew in the car—a part of him regretted picking up the kid solely because the guy was new, wasn’t part of the plan and it was kind of embarrassing being not yet sure where they were headed.

“How did you guys last so long?” Andrew asked.

When it appeared Tracy wasn’t going to answer, Joe said, “It’s complicated.”

“Probably. What’d you do? Hole up in buildings, too?”

“Sometimes.” Joe thought back to his world when he, August, Billie and Des spent the night in the maintenance room in Winnipeg Square.

“And others?”

“What’s with the twenty questions?” Tracy asked.

“Just something I do. Just a curious person.”

“Well, stop it.”

“Touch-y.”

Joe couldn’t help but notice Tracy shooting Andrew a hot glare. The young man sunk in his seat.

“Man, I’m hungry,” Andrew said.

“Heard you the first time,” Joe said.

“I know. Just thinking about food. Haven’t had a real meal in a while. Went out again this morning looking . . .” He cleared his throat again. “Went looking for this place. Heard there was food there.”

“What place?” Tracy asked.

“Dunno. Just rumors about this underground place, away from everything. Not saying it was the Hilton” —he cracked a smile; no one else did— “but just heard there was still a safe place in the city.”

“You mean you never found it or found anyone who knew anything?”

“Haven’t talked to anyone since . . . in a long time.”

Tracy gazed out the open passenger window. “There was one place.”

“Yeah?”

“One. That I knew of, anyway. Was part of it. Took people in.”

“Where?”

Joe looked at Andrew just before Tracy did.

“Beneath the Disraeli Bridge,” she said.

“Tracy,” Joe said, hoping to have cut her off. You should know better. What’s wrong with you?

“What?”

He just sighed. She seemed too eager to share that information and as much as he knew she was only trying to help, it just seemed too soon to tell Andrew about it. At the same time, it was her eagerness to help that saved himself and brought him to that place under the bridge. He thought maybe the fatigue was getting to her and she wasn’t thinking straight.

“Beneath the bridge,” Andrew said.

She nodded.

“There’s two humps to it. Wait, never mind. One of them goes over the Red. Okay, I get it.” He gave Joe a cool glare, as if saying, “See, it’s fine. She told me. No biggie.” Andrew said, “There’s food?”

“Enough, yeah.”

“People?”

“Enough, yeah.”

“How many?”

“I don’t know. Enough.”

Joe said, “Okay, Tracy, that’s good.”

“What?” she said.

“I just think we should focus on what we’re doing here, that’s all.”

“Not cool, Joe,” she said.

“Joe?” Andrew said.

Joe nodded.

Andrew stopped talking. Then, “Thanks.”

“For what?” Tracy asked.

Joe looked at the young man.

Andrew’s face was gray, his eyes white. Thin purple veins ran around his mouth and up his cheeks. His hair was messy and caked with filth. The sudden smell of excrement filled the car.

Andrew quickly snapped his gaze toward Joe and lunged at him.

29

On the Side of the Road

The El Camino swerved, swept the shoulder, then arced back toward the correct lane when Joe pulled down on the steering wheel while keeping his forearm beneath Andrew’s neck, holding the zombie at bay.

“Shoot him!” Tracy shouted.

The car swerved again.

“I can’t! Gun’s in my . . . my holster.”

Tracy’s arms came around behind Andrew’s chest. She pulled back, grunting. “Come on, grab the gun and get him!”

Andrew jerked forward; Joe tugged back, Andrew’s teeth banged together, just missing him.

Joe went for the gun then had to put his hand back on the wheel as the car veered off to the side again. “Hold on.” Wrestling against Andrew, he slouched in his seat and got the wheel in between his thighs.

“Careful,” Tracy said, still pulling Andrew back. The zombie grabbed on to her hands and started pulling them away from his chest. She fought his force and brought her hands in again so her palms and fingers pressed against the grimy material of his shirt.

They change their clothes, too, when they transform, she thought absentmindedly.

Andrew jerked, twitched, and twisted in his seat so he faced her more squarely. Tracy suddenly found herself more twisted as well.

The El Camino lurched forward as Joe pressed hard on the breaks.

“Hold him still!” he said.

“I’m trying!” she said.

Andrew locked her arms against his body by using his elbows and upper arms like a pair of vices.

Tracy yelled.

Andrew went for her shoulder. His mouth opened and landed on her flesh.

With a loud bang, the zombie’s head erupted like a loaded water balloon and blood, brain and bone exploded all over Tracy, the car, the seats—everywhere.

Andrew’s weight went dead on top of her. Somewhere far away she heard Joe throw the car in park. His door opened and a moment later Andrew’s corpse was pulled off of her. Tracy lay there against her seat, covered in blood—again.

The weight of Joe’s boots crunching against the side of the road behind her on the other side of the passenger door made her heart rise with hope at the upcoming relief of complaining about getting zombie blood on her for the umpteenth time.

The door opened behind her and Joe pulled her out.

“You can breathe now,” he said as he set her on her feet.

Tracy shook her head and hair and wiped the blood off her face with her hands. “Easy for you to say.” She eyed him coolly.

Joe yanked Andrew’s body out of the car and dumped it by the roadside. “I’m sorry this happened. Let me look at you.” He moved to touch her neck and shoulder but she batted his hand away. “Tracy, I’m not kidding. This is serious. Were you bit?”

She grimaced. “No.”

“Would you tell me if you were?”

“What do you think?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know you well enough to know what you’d do.”

She took note he still held the gun in his hand. “Fine. Fair enough.” She reached for his hand holding the gun. At first he moved it away, but she fixed her eyes on his and then he let her bring his gun hand up to her head. She made sure he felt her pull the gun hard enough, the barrel pressed to her forehead. “I’m fine, Joe.” Go ahead and shoot me, if you don’t believe me.

He furrowed his brow. “You’re overreacting.”

“No, I’m not.” She noticed his eyes change and light up with anger at the prospect of her being bit. It was apparent by the way he studied her with his gaze that he’d been down this road with someone else before, someone he cared a great deal about having succumbed or been transformed to the undead. Someone he felt responsible for.

“Let me look at your shoulder,” he said.

“Take my word for it or pull the trigger.”

“Why are you acting like this? Need I remind you this is your fault. You told him about the Hub. Why?”

“I—You’re the one who picked him up.” Just wasn’t thinking.

“What’s the matter with you? Is there a reason you’re acting like this? I’m not pulling the trigger.”

“I thought—” —I thought maybe you got me, that you understood me. But you don’t trust anyone, do you?

“If our positions were reversed, would you pull the trigger?”

She didn’t reply.

“Be honest, Tracy.”

She huffed. “If I thought you had something to hide. I’d kill you.”

“Then you have to the count of three to show me your neck and shoulder or you will die by this roadside, regardless of our forming friendship.”

She stared at him from beneath the barrel of the gun.

“One,” he said.

She closed her eyes and braced for the shot. Death would be instantaneous. She wouldn’t feel a—

“Two.”

Put it aside. Enough, she thought. Grunting, she pulled down on her collar and showed her neck. Joe kept the barrel against her head as he felt her neck with his fingers, and pushed her jaw side-to-side so he could check her from all angles. He even rounded behind her and lifted her hair off her neck and felt around back there.

“Shoulders, too,” he said.

Pissed, Tracy unzipped her collar and outfit far enough so she could pull the top down to expose her shoulders.

“Oh, Tracy,” he said.

The gun lingered a moment longer at the back of her head before Joe pulled it away. He touched the nape of her neck, the upper part of her back, her shoulders. His fingers running across her skin made her shake inside: partly upset at her vulnerability; partly excited at the tingling sensation his fingers created.

“I’m sorry, Tracy,” he said. “You can zip it up.”

He didn’t go to the front of her like she expected him to. She covered her shoulders again and zipped up her shirt.

She didn’t face him. Not yet.

“What happened?” he asked. He was talking about the scars. There were so many, all small, each one a deep cut gained from fighting the undead, to gouges created from trying to fit through tight spaces, to practice cuts so she’d be used to the pain should a zombie bite her flesh. She wanted to be able to withstand the agony so she could still fight the creatures to the death and rid this planet of at least one more monster before she left the earth for good.

“It’s who I am,” she said softly and turned around.

He almost looked disappointed at her, yet she also picked up the sense that he understood, that her relentless fight against the undead matched his own and even the pain caused by her self-mutilation was something he could relate to.

For a brief moment it appeared he was going to say something, but instead, Joe pressed his lips together and nodded.

He holstered his weapon, went to Andrew’s body and pulled off the zombie’s shirt. “Though they’re probably bone-dry, let’s see if maybe there’re some gas stations around here. If not, we’re too far along to go back anyway. Let’s just drive and see what we’ll see. Sound okay?”

Tracy nodded.

Joe used Andrew’s shirt to clean up the inside of the car. Once done, Tracy got in and they pulled off the shoulder and left the side of the road behind them.

30

Soda Cans

Heading back to the Hub had been slow going. Michelle and Mark had encountered a few zombies, which she quickly took care of with a scatter of bullets. Mark dragged his feet despite her prodding him to pick it up. She didn’t want to be cold, but to be caught out here with the undead while grieving would be a hard fate.

“I miss her already,” Mark had said.

“I know you do,” Michelle replied. “I do, too. She was my friend and I loved her.”

“I feel so . . . so . . . sick inside. There’s no way to change this. My mom . . . my mom is dead.”

She saw the tears in his eyes. “I want to cry, too.” But it was too late. Tears were at the corner of her own eyes. “We need to be strong, okay? We can cry when we get home. We can’t cry out here. It’s too dangerous.”

He sniffled. “I know.” And wiped his nose with the back of his hand.

Originally they were going to go up Main Street from Portage Avenue, round the debris of the Richardson Building, and head directly to the Hub, but the appearance of the undead forbade that. The detour took them in the opposite direction, even so far as behind the old Giant Tiger on Donald and Ellice. The store had been raided long before, so they didn’t bother going in to check for supplies.

Coming up McDermot, Michelle spotted a vending machine truck, its back door partly open, the base of a few blue machines within plainly visible.

“We have to check,” she said.

“I just want to go home,” Mark told her.

“After. It’d be selfish not to at least take a look.”

He cast his eyes downward and simply nodded.

Michelle went up to the back of the truck, then pushed up on the rear door. The door rolled up, revealing a handful of vending machines inside.

Wonder if they come fully loaded? she thought. “Only one way to find out.” She got up onto the truck. “Mark?”

“Yeah?”

“Come up here.” Then with as warm a smile as she could muster, “We’re going to have some fun, okay?”

“What fun?”

“Come up here and I’ll show you.”

The boy came over and climbed the back of the truck, then stood beside her.

“I’m going to go on this side, you stay here. We’re pushing this thing out and smashing it open.” She went to the other side of the machine, gripped the back of it with one hand, placed her other hand on the front.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Think it’ll work?”

“Who knows, but the locks are already on these things and I’m not about to go hunting for a key. Besides” —she winked, feeling dorky for doing so— “this is way more fun.”

Mark smiled for the first time since they left the parkade.

“Ready?” she said.

Mark gripped his side of the machine. “Uh-hm.”

“One, two . . . three!”

They pushed against the vending machine. Two wobbles later, it spilled forward, its front crashing good and hard against the edge of the back of the truck; it slid off face down to the pavement below, stopping short of falling off completely, its bottom end still elevated by the back of the truck. Good thing, too, because it enabled the cans to crash out of it and roll onto the pavement.

“That was a close one,” Mark said, beaming.

“Should have thought that one through better, huh?”

He nodded, and went down and picked up a can of Pepsi. He opened it. The sssfft POP of it opening never sounded so good. Michelle had to have one of her own. She jumped down off the back of the truck, picked up a can, opened it and took a long swig. It was warm, but its sweetness was gloriously refreshing.

“Grab as many as you can. Stuff your pockets,” she said. She looked around the area for something to put the extra cans in. They’d be heavy, but it would be a wonderful treat for some back at the Hub.

A groan came from down the street. Michelle stopped mid sip. A zombie was coming toward them from a couple blocks away. Another came from around a corner, dragging its broken leg as it walked.

My fault, she thought. Try to do something nice and I screw it up. Try and make the kid happy, and I can’t.

“They heard us,” Mark said, stating her next thought.

“I’m sorry.”

He furrowed his brow and shot her a sharp look, then slammed the can of Pepsi on the ground. “How many people do you want to kill today?”

The words cut her.

All she wanted was to help ease his pain. Instead, she caused much more. She put her can on the ground.

“Stay beside me, Mark,” she said, her tone firm. Fine. Not going to play nice anymore. She lined up her shot and took out the dead man that just rounded the corner.

Mark picked up a fresh can and hurled it at the zombie down the street. “Go away!” The can fell well short of its target, but Michelle knew hitting it hadn’t been his intention.

Michelle let the zombie beyond come a bit closer then lined up its head with the tip of her barrel. She pulled the trigger. The zombie went down.

“I’m going home,” Mark said and started off down the street in the opposite direction of the fallen undead.

She went after him, feeling guilty for leaving the cans of Pepsi behind. Maybe later her and a crew would come out and gather them up in newspaper bags or something.

Other gun shots echoed on the air and Michelle wondered who else was out shooting the undead.

Mark stopped, seeming to have heard the gunshots, too.

“Could be another crew,” Michelle said.

The two walked on.

A few zombies roamed the streets. Michelle only shot them if they got too close. Some were far enough away that she decided not to waste any ammo on them.

Mark started to cry again. “Sorry,” he said.

Hope he doesn’t think— “Don’t be. Just try and stay focused until we get home. I know it’s hard, but you can do it.”

He wiped his nose, pinched back more tears, and kept moving.

Low, heavy footfalls droned in Michelle’s ears. Quickly, the ground shook.

“Run!” she said as a massive zombie some fifteen stories high came out from behind the rubble of the fallen Richardson Building.

The creature’s frame was thick, its gut hanging nearly to its knees, its double-chinned face covered in filth and blood. Short, black spiky hair sat atop its head. It only had one eye, the other seeming to have been burned until all that was left was a crusty crater of skin and flesh. Its bloated nakedness turned her stomach.

Stopping herself from throwing up, Michelle pulled Mark by the arm as they tried to outrun the creature.

Its giant strides quickly caught up with them.

31

Huge, Dead Fat Guy

Mark had seen the giant zombies before, but always at a distance, even if that distance was a few hundred meters. Seeing it up close and personal like this forced his heart into this throat as panic flooded through him. His legs pumped hard and fast beneath him and he was only partially aware of how quick he found himself able to run, his body super-charged on adrenaline.

“Shoot it, Michelle, come on!” he said.

“Think these bullets’ll make a difference?”

“Got anything else?”

“Couple of knives.”

“Not good.”

They ran in between abandoned vehicles, the act of doing so giving Mark sharp reminders of the parkade and the loss of his mother.

A giant zombie fist came down behind them, flattening a van they just passed. The zombie withdrew its hand and slammed it down again, the shockwave of it hitting the pavement enough to send Mark and Michelle off their feet and onto their knees.

“Get up!” Michelle said, and jerked him up by the hand.

They kept going.

The giant zombie howled. A loud, explosive crash sounded behind them as, glancing back over his shoulder, Mark watched the creature punch out the side of a building that used to house a dance studio.

Michelle pulled out her gun.

“I thought you weren’t going to use that thing?” Mark said.

“Don’t have a choice.” She threw her arm behind her and fired off a couple of shots. The mammoth undead didn’t even acknowledge the bullets. Only two black dots spraying a fine squirt of blood manifested on the creature’s thigh for her efforts.

Michelle pulled Mark to the right so hard he thought his shoulder was going to fly out of its socket. Quickly, she pulled him up the steps of the Concert Hall. The museum was beside it along with the planetarium, the dome of which was more in the fore of the two.

“Might be able to lose it in here,” she said.

Mark didn’t care. Well, he cared, but whatever she was going to do to ensure their survival, that part didn’t matter to him. They went to the front of the Concert Hall then in behind the planetarium’s dome.

Mark yelled without meaning to.

The zombie kicked up a couple of cars and stepped down onto the planetarium’s dome. The big half-circle structure popped underneath the creature’s foot like someone stepping on an egg. The monster’s colossal foot went right down below ground to where the planetarium seating was; the sudden shift in footing was enough for the creature to trip. It came crashing down with a resounding boom, the creature throwing its arms out in an effort to stop its descent. Its gigantic fingers scraped along the side of the museum, bringing glass and concrete down with it, its other hand landing on the Concert Hall and knocking down part of that building as well. The ground shook so bad, Mark and Michelle’s legs gave out from under them and they hit the ground just shy of where the zombie’s head smashed into the pavement.

A bit of blood gushed out from the zombie’s skull, but the wound seemed superficial as the creature was already trying to figure out a way to stand again.

“We can’t let it follow us home,” Mark said.

“This way,” Michelle said, and the two stood.

They rounded the back of the museum, then went along its side, stopping at the corner where it faced Main Street. The creature was still down, but already getting its legs underneath itself.

“I wonder if we could—” Michelle started, but didn’t finish.

“What?”

She aimed her gun down the street and fired. A gray Sedan exploded by the giant zombie’s feet. She fired again and hit a big silver truck, but nothing happened. Another shot, and the truck exploded.

Quickly, Michelle worked her way up the street, aiming at cars. Some blew, others didn’t.

“Good idea,” Mark said.

The zombie howled as it got to its feet and started looking around for the cause of all the explosions.

Mark backed away, the heat from the flames getting too hot for comfort.

Black smoked billowed up into the sky: the perfect cover. The zombie wouldn’t be able to see them through it.

As fast as they could, they headed toward the bridge, always checking back to see if the massive zombie was following them.

32

The Reason for Time Travel

Billie yawned as she tried to keep up with the two angels, her short legs not serving her as well as she’d like before the men’s longer ones. Michael walked in front of her, Nathaniel behind. It was strange to see Nathaniel in a position of meekness after his awesome displays of power earlier. She couldn’t help but wonder if Michael was the alpha-angel and every other angelic being was not as powerful.

“You have much to learn, Billie,” Michael said.

“So you can read my mind?” she asked, hands at her hips.

“Not exactly, our Father relays certain messages to us, those He deems you need correcting on.”

“Does He really have to snoop?”

“It’s not snooping. It’s just staying informed. He needs to keep things in account. That’s who He is and He doesn’t change,” Nathaniel said.

“The reason for the corrections,” Michael said, “is we don’t have time to sit you down and preach at you. We’re only correcting things that’ll be of service to you and us later. Part of what we need you to do is understand certain things so you can stand your ground when the time comes.”

“I still don’t get what you mean by that, the whole ‘when the time comes’ thing,” she said.

“Do you remember the other world?” Nathaniel asked.

“Of course, I do,” Billie said. “It was my home.”

“I remember it as well.”

“Obviously.”

Without missing a beat, he said, “That day at the bank, you remember what happened?”

“Yeah, we wound up in the past.”

“And what did you see?”

“Demons. Loads of demons, all flying out of the ground and going into the sky.”

“Did you know they saw you, too?” Michael said.

Billie stopped walking. Nathaniel side-stepped and came up beside her. Hearing Michael say that—they saw you, too—sent a pang of shock through her heart. She remembered them attacking her and the others, but she took that as more reflex than recognition.

“That’s why they kidnapped August and me,” she said.

“Yes.”

“The other world. You guys changed the past by witnessing Hell’s attack on Earth.”

“But . . . so do you mean that if we weren’t there, none of this would have happened?”

“No, because your future, your original future, had the undead in it. This future—this place—happened as a result of you being in the past.”

“They saw you,” Michael said, “and in turn, it seems, interpreted your presence there as a sign of strength and Divine blessing on your part. Instead of infecting the planet in the way you originally witnessed before you went to the past, they changed their plan and infused supernatural evil into your world so not only did the dead rise like before, but they were able to mutate some of them and grow them to spectacular heights. However, to them, there was never the future you originally were a part of.”

Billie reran the information in her head. It kind of made sense. “But how do you know about the ‘old way,’ you know, where I’m from?”

“Angels are eternal. We exist outside of Time.”

“But demons are fallen angels, right?”

Nathaniel nodded.

“So don’t they exist outside of Time, too?”

“No,” Michael said. “They exist outside of Time in the context that they, too, are eternal, but all angels are the same in this regard: we cannot travel through Time nor can we predict the future. Any future event we know about is because of what has been revealed to us by the One who made us.”

“Therefore I first met you over a year ago,” Nathaniel said, “but it is only now we are reunited.”

The information made her head spin, but Billie understood enough that things were beginning to line up.

“So had we not traveled back in Time,” she said, “then it would just be a ‘regular’ zombie fight, for lack of a better word?”

Michael nodded.

Billie sighed. “We really messed up, didn’t we?”

Nathaniel shook his head. “No, because, again, you were allowed to go back in Time. In fact, you were sent there.”

“Why? To make things worse?” She remembered the storm, the flashes of lightning and skulls in the sky as her, Joe and August rode the helicopter from one point in Time to another. Were the demons trying to stop them from going back? Did the attack happen in linear Time or did it only seem that way?

“Let us keep going,” Michael said. “Billie will need to rest and, Nathaniel, you and I have much to go over.”

33

Dead Grass, Dead Forest

The El Camino ran out of gas not forty-five minutes after Joe and Tracy left Andrew’s headless corpse alongside the highway. They didn’t pass a gas station as planned. The only hope for getting back behind the El Camino’s wheel would be if they found a gas station within reasonable walking distance and were able to get fuel and carry it back.

But that was an hour ago.

Joe and Tracy kept to the side of the road, searching up and down the highway and the surrounding trees and open fields for any undead that might stumble out. So far, only one had shown its ugly face and Joe quickly dispatched it with a bullet to the brain.

Time went on.

Tracy yawned.

“Tired?” Joe said, her yawn contagious enough to make him let out one of his own.

“Getting there.” She raised her wrist, folded back the cover on her black watch. “Past eleven.”

Joe was used to staying out late. In the old days, night was when he went out and hunted the undead. Though the bright of day and the dark of night no longer existed in this new undead world, most people still adhered to their biological clocks and caught shut eye between ten in the evening and seven or eight in the morning. This meant less chance of regular folks on the street, in turn ensuring less casualties in case something went wrong. That, and also increasing the odds that anything Joe saw that moved was undead.

“Going to have to find a place to hole up for the night,” Joe said.

“Just trees and roadside. Take your pick.”

“Trees would be better.”

“Not on ground level.”

“I don’t know. We’d be harder to spot and, so far, we’ve only had to defend ourselves once since the car swallowed the last of our gas.”

“You want to sleep in a tree, be my guest.”

It wasn’t that farfetched, sleeping in a tree. You just needed to be high enough and on a wide enough branch. You could probably just fit yourself in some of the natural V shapes, cross your arms and you’d be good. Unless you slept so heavy nothing waked you (and in a zombie-infested world, you learned to sleep light). Even if you started to tip your body’s instinct to stay alive would alert you that gravity was about to take over.

“We can’t sleep out here,” Joe said.

“Wasn’t suggesting it.”

“But—”

“Was being sarcastic.”

They kept on. Every so often the small forests lining the side of the road would break to an open field. Roads ran off these fields, usually one that ran across the highway and down either side. A few hundred more meters then the forest would pick back up again. Joe didn’t think all of it was used for farmland; some people just liked having big properties. The roads that did lead into the forested parts most likely led to houses buried deep within. He had considered going to one of those, but should they be crawling with zombies, he didn’t want Tracy and him to be trapped in between a series of walls with only a few ways out.

Open field houses would be the safer choice. At least there, if you had to run out, you saw what was in front of you and nothing was obscured by crowded rows of dead trees.

A couple minutes later, Tracy pointed up ahead. “There’s a place over there.”

Joe followed her finger to the boxy shape of a house that appeared to be a half kilometer off the gravel road up ahead, the one just after the block of trees they currently were making their way past.

“Think it’s empty?” he asked.

“Only one way to find out.”

The two walked on and came to where the gravel road met the highway. They turned down it and started toward the house. The more the house came into view—faded white panels, an old roof in need of new shingles—the more uneasy Joe became. The dead grass surrounding the property was tall and unkempt, at least a couple feet in height. It was faded out to a light brown, the tops of the blades covered in gray from the Rain that originally caused the dead to rise. The grass was bent over, creating strange heaping mounds that looked like waves, making it difficult from their position to see the entire house accurately.

Joe pulled out the X-09 and held it firm. Tracy must’ve noticed because he caught her eyeing the weapon before getting back to searching their surroundings again.

“Don’t know if I’m up for barricading tonight,” she said as they drew nearer.

“Don’t think you’ll have to,” Joe said and nodded in the direction of the house.

Now, closer, the bottom of the house was visible as was those who stood near it. Zombies covered the property, a thick mass of the undead: at least around ten out front, about the same along the side, and a bunch in the back. Joe assumed the far side of the house was equally guarded.

“There’s so many,” Tracy said. “Wish I had a working weapon.”

“That’s only what we can see on the outside. Look at them: they aren’t trying to get in. Either the house is indeed empty and they know it, or they slaughtered whoever was within and are now just milling around before leaving.”

“Either way, we can’t go there.”

“I know.”

“Any ideas?”

Joe looked back over his shoulder. They could double back and get on the highway again and try somewhere else. It wasn’t his first option; they were tired enough already and his legs were getting sore from walking, but what choice was there?

“Let’s go back,” he said.

“Okay.”

They turned on their heels and started in the other direction.

The groans of the dead rose on the air. Joe checked over his shoulder. Back by the house, the zombies still hung about. Others were emerging from the field across the way, appearing out of the tall dead grass like spectres from behind a veil.

Must be a fresh kill, he thought. Has to be. What else would draw out so many? Maybe out here was where they congregated and which was why they didn’t see any except one on the walk out this way.

He put his eyes forward; Tracy and him kept going.

A few minutes later, Tracy said, “I think we should run.”

Joe glanced over his shoulder. Zombies stumbled up the road behind them, their arms already outstretched, plainly eager to grab them.

Joe threw his arm back and plugged the two nearest dead—around forty feet away—dropping them. One was hit properly in the head; the other, it seemed, somewhere else because it got back up and kept moving toward them.

Tracy and Joe ran, aiming for the main road.

“We could probably lose them if we hit the grass,” he said. “I don’t see how the uneven terrain could help them.”

“If you want to risk spraining your ankle . . .”

“It’s a chance we’ll have to take. This way.” Joe darted off to the left; Tracy followed.

They ran into the field, Joe instinctively slowing down thanks to Tracy’s words. The ground was bad here, not at all like running on regular grass. It didn’t matter it was dead grass, but it’s sheer length and the way it was fallen over and interwoven with itself like a nest of dry noodles made it go up in parts and suddenly drop down in others.

He checked on their pursuers. The undead were entering the field, now way more than the dozen or so that had been following them on the road. He stopped, fired off a shot, striking the nearest zombie in the shoulder. The creature’s flesh burst from its bone, its body twisting back from the blow . . . and kept coming.

“Save your ammo,” Tracy said.

“Couldn’t help it.”

“We’ll need it.”

“I know.”

“Okay, then.”

A patch of forest—the most recent one they passed when traveling up the road—drew nearer.

“Know anything about woods?” Tracy asked him in between breaths.

“Just basic camping stuff, nothing fancy.”

They ran to the edge of the forest. Joe went into the trees. He glanced back over his shoulder; Tracy hesitated before entering.

“Let’s go,” he said.

She bounced on the balls of her feet a couple times then ran in. Once together, they continued into the forest, the calls of the dead echoing behind them.

“Go right,” Joe said. Doing so would take them closer to the road. It was the safest place to be since it made it less easier to get lost and, if they needed, would provide an almost immediate clearing should things get crowded within the trees.

The two ran toward the outer edge of the forest. They straightened their path once Joe saw the ditch that ran up to the highway not fifteen feet to his right.

Zombies groaned and growled, their distance closing.

“Is it just me or are they getting faster?” Tracy asked.

“I think they just might be getting more adept at hunting. I also think the ones that forced us in here aren’t the ones that are close. These ones were already in here.”

Joe scanned the tree line and canopy above, and the trunks and branches leading up to them. So far, none of the trees looked climbable. The trunks were so tall that even the lowest branch was well above his head and higher than his best jump. Best case scenario: he could boost Tracy so she could get up there, but he’d be too heavy and it’d be too awkward for her to pull him up.

Been there, done that, he thought, remembering the fire escape. “Just keep going straight for now.”

Her only reply was swallowing what sounded like a dry lump in her throat.

The crunching of leaves grew louder to his left. It seemed any and all undead in these woods were joining in the hunt.

“Think maybe we should head back to the main road,” he said, nodding toward the highway.

“We do that, they’ll come to the road anyway. At least here we have cover.”

A series of growls erupted behind them. Tracy looked back. So did Joe. Six zombies were not far behind. Quickly, two more revealed themselves.

“Faster,” he said.

They picked up their pace, digging down deep and weaved around trees, hopping over fallen ones, and rounding skeletal bushes.

The forest up ahead began to thin, then a gravel road running perpendicular to the highway appeared.

They ran up the small hill leading up to the road, crossed it, and were about to enter the forest on the other side when Joe grabbed Tracy by the arm and yanked her to the left.

“Easy!” she said.

He pulled her close to the edge of the forest along the road. A small brown structure hid partly within the trees. A couple feet later, it looked like a small house around five or six feet square.

A shed.

“How did you see that?” Tracy asked.

“Used to finding quick hiding places in the dark.”

The shed was made of wood, single door, the roof shingled. The door was locked with a padlock. Down the road to the right, zombies emerged from the woods and continued across the street.

Joe turned the X-09 around in his hand so it acted like a hammer and whacked down on the padlock. The faded silver lock was thick and didn’t budge or bend from any of the blows.

“No choice,” he breathed and shot it off.

Down the road, a couple zombies looked in his direction. Joe picked them off, same with the first two to emerge from the woods.

“Get in,” he told Tracy. He pulled the lock off and she went inside.

Other zombies emerged from the woods, walked past their dead kin, and continued across the road, not noticing Joe. He went into the shed, too, and pulled the door closed behind them.

He prayed they’d be safe.

The moans of the dead filled the air outside the door.

34

It’s Getting Darker

As if sleeping was an option.

Michael had led Billie and Nathaniel to a small clearing in the forest, one only wide enough to pitch a small campsite—if they had a tent, that was. Instead of a miraculous supply of sleeping equipment, Billie instead found a spot beneath a tree, one with a wide enough trunk so she wouldn’t be exposed to anything on the other side.

Nathaniel and Michael were on the far end of the clearing, talking beneath another tree. Billie couldn’t hear what they were saying. The two men occasionally moved their mouths, exchanging quiet words. The rest of the time they merely looked at each other and she could only assume they were communicating telepathically.

She couldn’t sleep despite being oddly comfortable here in the dark of the forest. She could only assume it was because she knew the angels were near and that she was in good hands should anything happen.

Eyes closed, she waited for sleep to come. Only thoughts of the events leading up until now played in her mind’s eye. Her heart ached for August. Such a sweet old man. She thought of Des and their friendship, his death in the stairwell of the Richardson Building back in their world, which somehow led to his resurrection as a shape shifting zombie in this one. Even with the knowledge of Time Travel being possible, there was little comfort. Could they go back and save August and Des? Would doing so somehow alter the Timeline so much the world they’d return to would be worse than this one? Would it be better?

Would she even have the courage to ask for such a thing?

This wasn’t the same game they were playing before. No more run-of-the-mill zombies ambling about, hunting the human race. This was about something bigger. This was about something that had spiritual and possibly eternal consequences.

Billie partially opened her eyes and watched the angels in the dim lighting across the way. Their expressions were ones of grave concern. She wondered what was wrong aside from the obvious. She stood, at first hesitant to go over there, then a calm came over her and she was comfortable with the angels once again. And that, too, seemed out of place. She realized she accepted them and their being around as almost natural. Perhaps Someone was making things easier for her.

She approached them and apologized for interrupting.

“It’s all right, Billie,” Nathaniel said. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong other than I can’t sleep,” she said. “I’m just wondering why you’re so quiet?”

“We were talking. We communicate differently amongst our kind than we do with you.”

“That’s not what I meant. I can see you from over there” —she pointed to her spot beneath the tree— “and can tell by your expressions whatever it is you’re talking about is serious.”

Nathaniel looked down then exchanged glances with Michael.

“It is serious,” Nathaniel said. “The enemy is advancing in a way we didn’t expect.”

“Didn’t expect? I thought you guys knew everything?”

He shook his head. “We’re not omnipresent nor omnipotent. Any power we have is that which is given to us. Knowing everything, as you say, is something that isn’t true. But it is interesting you say that because it was the desire to know everything that was one of the reasons Lucifer fell long ago.”

“You have a choice, then,” she stated.

“A choice?”

“To choose between Good and Evil.”

“In a manner of speaking, yes. But angelic choices are different than human choices. There’s more to it in terms of what you’re talking about than choosing Good or Evil, up or down, left or right. To keep it simple: Lucifer and his followers’ choice to rebel against God Almighty went beyond mere intellectual decision. It simply wasn’t a case of him one day thinking about overthrowing God and then going that way. It involved an entire surrender of his will to darkness, one done with utter rejection of God Himself. Intellectual decision is one thing; deliberately letting all that you are succumb to darkness is another. That is what he and his followers did over time.”

She wanted to ask why Lucifer wasn’t just killed that day and that was that, but also wasn’t in the mood for a theology lesson. Not this late. Besides, her head was full enough as it was.

The two angels looked at her and appeared to not wish to speak any further and instead seemed to hope she’d return to her spot beneath the tree.

She couldn’t. Not with all that had happened and not with knowing that Michael knew where Joe was despite not yet saying so.

“What is his plan, then?” she asked.

Nathaniel locked eyes with her; his stern gaze made her steel herself for the news to come. “Word has reached the enemy that we have revealed ourselves to you.”

“To me?”

“Let me finish. I told you before they know who you are. They watched you and Joe and August witness their rise into the sky right before the Rain fell. They know you discovered the origin of the undead.”

Her mouth fell open, but not at the angel’s words. She and other survivors had been caught in the gray rain the day it fell. The ones who had been inside had not been changed into zombies at all—based on the stories she heard—but whoever was outside had except for a handful here and there. “Why did I survive the Rain?”

“I said let me finish, Billie.” She felt compelled to listen all of a sudden. “You must understand an important truth: the supernatural war between Good and Evil remains hidden from view for many reasons, one of which is simply it is an angelic battle. It is our issue. Unfortunately, you humans are caught in the crossfire and your being caught has caused problems for your race almost from the moment of creation. Now pay attention because this bit is very important: the devil can and does use human beings apart from their own sinful nature to do his will. So do demons. They hate you and all of humanity because your very image is of the One who created you. You remind them of the One who banished them from Heaven eons ago. Just your presence is enough to drive him mad with hate. Lucifer’s revenge on God is simple: bring as many souls to Hell with him as he can before his time on Earth is up. It’s the only way he can truly hurt his Maker. His latest ploy was to infiltrate the human race and possess the bodies of those who have already chosen to reject Redemption. Those who survived were God’s own people. Others who survived, in His wisdom, were those who would become such before their time on Earth was done. But the enemy hopes to stop the redemption of those who have not yet given their lives to Christ and kill them before they can make that decision. If a person dies without Jesus, they are doomed.”

Her heart beat rapidly in her chest because those last words, she knew, were directed at her. “That’s why I survived,” she said softly. She didn’t mean to say it out loud.

“Yes.”

“Any . . . any other reason?”

“To complete your earthly assignment given by the One who created you.”

Suddenly feel like I’m in Sunday school, she thought. What Nathaniel said made sense, except for that last part. What did a Guy who lived roughly two thousand years ago have to do with anything?

Billie suddenly felt split in two. She wanted to know what Jesus had to do with any of this. The other part wanted to move on and talk about something else.

Torn, she merely said, “What do I do?”

“Give your life to Christ and be preserved. That is the first thing.”

“I’m not ready for that.”

“Despite all we told you? Despite all you’ve seen?” He said it as a statement rather than a question.

“Don’t be foolish, Billie,” Michael said. “We are trying to save your soul here.”

“It’s not what I meant. I am ready to give my life over as you’ve stated it seems the choice has been made for me, my survival and all.”

“Maybe it’s not yet time,” Nathaniel said to Michael.

Michael nodded. “Perhaps.”

“It’s a lot to process,” Billie said, “and, frankly, up until all this, God and I never really got along.”

“It’s an affliction inherent in all humans.”

“What of the enemy?” Billie said, her heart sinking at changing the subject, yet too embarrassed to get back to the previous topic.

“As I mentioned,” Nathaniel said, “and was explaining, sometimes the devil uses humans to accomplish his tasks. God also uses humans, too.”

“Like Jesus?”

“Not quite. He isn’t a man, but the Creator of all.”

“I thought God was the creator of all?”

“You’re confusing her,” Michael said.

“It’s not complicated,” Nathaniel said.

Michael merely held his gaze.

Nathaniel put his hand on Billie’s shoulder. His touch was comforting. “We’ll watch out for you. The enemy is coming not just for you, but for Joe as well, same with the woman he is with.”

Woman? she thought.

“Your witnessing of the undead’s birth and their knowledge we have shown ourselves to you has elevated you to a position of power in his eyes. He will stop at nothing to see to it you perish, especially before you’ve trusted Christ to save your soul.”

“And since you’re now a perceived threat, they have increased their activity in this world and are amassing an army. Their number has grown significantly since the Rain first fell. Very few humans are left. They also know we stand beside you and all of humanity. Their first priority is to destroy what’s left of humanity. The next is to come after us. The final step, we believe, will be to try and overthrow God again, using their sheer number to their advantage.”

“How many of them are there?” she asked.

“Right now,” Michael said, “billions.”

Billie understood the math. Those who have died before rose. Those living were changed. Others were infected and transformed after that. Billions.

Heart thumping wildly in her chest, she asked, “How do we stop them?”

“We remain alone no more,” Michael said, the warrior within rising to the fore. “We meet Joe and the woman he is with, and join with the other angels and saints and stand against the evil one.”

“It’s time to retake this planet,” Nathaniel said.

Billie was about to ask how long this would all take when a series of low raspy groans rose from the woods around them.

35

Night in the Hub

That night Mark didn’t want to sleep alone. Michelle couldn’t blame him. It was just him and his mother, the rest of the family having died the day the Rain came. Strip away the “other” in “other family members,” and what was left was a sheer interdependence between the surviving parties. The two had spent nearly every moment together, and when they were apart, it was for a very short time. Rhonda even once confided in Michelle that on some nights, she would allow Mark to sleep with her on her cot, the boy needing the constant presence of someone who was family to help fill the gap left by his father and sister.

Michelle, at first, thought Mark would stay in him and his mother’s room. What was she thinking? Things would never be the same for the boy again. As it stood, aside from a few other friends Mark had in the Hub, she was his only link to a time when his mother was still alive.

They had first gone back to Mark’s room when they returned and gathered some of his things. The boy started crying when he saw his mother’s belongings heaped in a pile in the corner of the room. He fell down upon a mound of her clothes and just lay there for over half an hour, grieving. Michelle stood by the door and shed tears of her own.

Later, they bundled up Mark’s blanket and pillow and the two pairs of clothes he had, a couple action figures and his mother’s sweater, then went to Michelle’s room for the night. She promised him they could come back in the morning and go through his mother’s things and decide what they would keep and what they would share with the others in the Hub.

In Michelle’s room, Mark stood close to the door, seemingly at a loss for what to do. Michelle started to get things ready and asked if he wanted the cot or the floor.

“Don’t be shy,” she said. “You can sleep on the cot if you want. I really don’t mind.” Besides, she was sore from the day’s events and sleeping on a nice hard floor would be good for her back.

There was silence between them.

Then, “I don’t snore,” Mark said, his tone such that as if saying so would somehow alleviate the awkwardness of them sharing her room.

“I’m not worried about that,” she told him. “I’m worried about you.” Even she was amazed at her own tenderness, especially toward Mark, who reminded her so much of her own son, both in mannerisms and in appearance. It was why she had such a hard time being around him. She suddenly felt ashamed at her selfishness of trying to put her own feelings above those of others.

“I don’t know . . .” He furrowed his brow. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to say.” He suddenly looked scared.

“Don’t worry, Mark. You don’t need to say anything. I’ll take care of you,” she said. The words were out before she could truly think them over. Ever since her son died, she had made an effort not to get too attached to any one person in case the worst happened. It was also one of the reasons she made a good Black Lady: no personal ties to anyone at the Hub. “Here” —she stripped the cot of her blanket and pillow— “you sleep here.” She took Mark’s bedding from him and laid it out on the cot.

“You sure?” he said.

“Positive.”

“What about—” He pointed to her outfit.

“I’m in my clothes tonight. Bathroom’s just three doors down on the left, if you need it.”

He nodded and came over to the bed. He stood beside it for a few moments before lying down. Michelle tucked the blanket around him and assured him he could wake her at any time during the night if he needed to talk.

“Thanks,” he said.

She smiled, then laid out her own bedding on the floor. She lied down on the blanket, and didn’t mind sleeping without anything on top.

“Good night,” she said.

“Night, Michelle. Thanks.”

She closed her eyes and let the stress of the day begin to ooze out of her.

Her stomach growled. A moment later, Mark’s did, too, as if in response. They had missed dinner, and breakfast wouldn’t be served until morning in the mess hall. No problem. She knew he’d had many nights without food before and this was no different than any of those. But a bit of food would probably comfort his aching heart. Hers, too.

Michelle had to hand it to the kid. Eight years old, life hardly begun, and here he was immersed in a life where death was all around. He had hardly tasted anything normal before the Rain, and barring some miracle, would likely never experience anything normal again.

The thought made her heart ache for her own son. In a way, his passing was a way out of this mess and she hoped to God—if there was one—that her boy was in a better place now.

Eyes closed, she slowed her breathing, stretched, then rolled over onto her side.

The heaviness of sleep began to take hold.

36

The Shed

Tracy stood huddled up against Joe. The only light seeping into the shed came through the cracks in between the wood and the couple rotted holes on a few of the boards. Foot space was near nothing, maybe four feet by three. The shed walls were unfinished, the wood splintering in places. Some of the boards toward the front of the structure were stained a faint gray from the day of the Rain. Tools lined the walls; a few crowbars; a saw; an old hammer with a wooden handle; some electrical cords; a weed whacker; and a few buckets of paint.

She wrinkled her nose at how stuffy it was, amplifying the sharp stench of body odor and sweat from her and Joe.

“Hear anything?” she whispered.

“No,” he whispered back. He leaned against the door and seemed to press his face against it so he could get a better look outside between its slats. His hand held onto the interior handle so it wouldn’t swing open.

Tracy leaned toward the side wall. She couldn’t press right up against it because the tools lining it were in the way, but she felt she was able to get a better sense of what was going on outside the shed. She was also mindful to keep an ear out for any sounds coming from behind them as well.

The smell of their sweat grew thicker; she was warm from not only running, but from the confines of the small space, too. She wrinkled her nose again.

This is rough, she thought. She could only hope that—

A hard thud echoed throughout the shed. It had come from behind them, like a big hand slapping against the wood.

Joe turned around, one hand still on the door handle. He had the X-09 in the other. “Cover your ears.”

She did. He aimed past her to the rear wall, but didn’t pull the trigger.

Another thud rocked the shed and sent a pulse of fear through her heart.

Joe fired. Tracy turned toward the back. A hole the size of a golf ball was in the wood around eyelevel.

A low moan came through that hole then dead gray fingers with cracked yellow fingernails came through right after. The fingers wiggled around in the hole as if the zombie beyond was trying to get a good hold on the wood and tear down the back of the shed.

Joe fired again, creating another hole in the wood. The undead’s fingers kept wiggling around in the hole.

“You won’t find the head that way,” Tracy said.

She reached for a small crowbar hanging on the wall, grabbed it with hook side up, then raised it above her head. She aimed the chisel side at the dead finger and brought the crowbar down. Iron scraped against flesh and sliced it clean off the bone. The finger kept moving. This time she put more strength behind it and brought the crowbar down, this time wedging the chiseled side into the finger, severing it.

“That won’t stop it,” Joe said.

“I know. Just letting it know we’re serious.”

“Still won’t stop it.”

The zombie withdrew its stumped finger from the hole. The shed went quiet. Tracy waited.

“I can’t believe—” Joe started, but Tracy shushed him.

She listened carefully. The zombie was moving outside at the back of the shed, perhaps rocking on its feet. It didn’t try and round to the front.

Ever so slowly, she leaned forward, clenching the crowbar. She put her eye up to the hole in the wood. The angle made it too hard to see anything. The most she saw were the shadows of the branches and trees beyond, nothing more.

A dead face moved past the eyehole and Tracy jumped back. Joe caught her.

“Easy,” he said.

She huffed and lined up the end of the crowbar against the highest of the holes. She plunged it through, hoping to strike the dead person beyond. No resistance was met. She did the same with the lower hole and hit nothing but air as well.

The shed went quiet again; no movement outside.

She heard Joe adjust his grip on the X-09.

Is it just one zombie out there? she thought. Hope so.

The inside of the shed shook as meaty palms slammed up against the front of the shed. Even Joe’s shoulders went up and down with a jolt.

He leaned against the door, appearing to peek through the crack in between a couple boards. His other hand still held the handle firm.

“Right in front of us,” he said and raised the X-09 so it was level with his chin and about four inches away.

The door shook in its hinges and the hand Joe used to hold the handle jiggled.

“Grab the door,” he said.

Tracy reached forward and put her hand around his. His fingers were thick and it was hard to fully wrap around them before allowing him enough movement beneath her hand to pull his own hand out.

“Switch on three,” she said, then counted it off.

Joe slipped his hand out from under hers; her thumb and forefinger fell onto the handle, but before her other three fingers could wrap around the handle as well, the door was yanked open. A dead man with stringy blond hair stood on the other side. His body jerked forward as he lunged for Joe.

The X-09 went off.

The dead man folded backwards.

Her and Joe stood there for a moment, panting with panic.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

Joe let out a long sigh. “Be more careful next time.”

“I will.” Tracy couldn’t believe what happened. This was the first time she majorly slipped up in months. Aside from telling Andrew about the Hub, that was.

Joe stepped out of the shed, X-09 held out; she followed, crowbar in hand.

Up and down either side the gravel road was empty, but the strong stench of the dead still lingered.

Movement rose up in behind the shed; dead leaves crunched underfoot. Tracy and Joe whirled around. Zombies stumbled out of the darkness, their heavy dead arms raised, fingers reaching. Their groans seemed to be the only sound.

Tracy and Joe backed up so they were on the road. Eight undead came out from behind the shed and the tree line on either side.

Joe fired off two shots, taking a couple zombies down. A weighty bald guy with a rose tattoo on his scalp hobbled over to Tracy. She brought the crowbar up like a baseball bat, hook end out, and drove the hook into the dead man’s skull. Black blood spurted from it and the zombie toppled to the side, his dead weight ripping the crowbar from her hands. The moment he hit the ground, she put a foot to his head and yanked the crowbar out, dragging a bit of skull with it.

A zombie grabbed her from behind, locking her arms down on either side.

Joe fired off another shot beside her, but not at the zombie that had her.

She stomped down on the zombie’s foot, pushed out with her backside, and loosened its hold on her enough so she could wriggle out beneath its arms and get a few steps away. The creature, now joined by another, came toward her, its white eyes seeming to bear more determination than before. She swung the crowbar at the one that just had her and struck it across the jaw. Its skin tore and a couple teeth flew from its mouth. She brought the crowbar back across its face, this time connecting squarely with its temple. The zombie stumbled to the side and bumped into the creature beside it. With a grunt, Tracy brought the crowbar down on the zombie’s head, embedding the crowbar’s hook into its forehead. The dead man looked at her squarely and as it fell to the ground, the zombie beside it moved past it and reached for her.

Another shot fired, then another and, like before, not at the zombie nearest her.

The undead man, who was more skeleton than man and wore a ’70s-style brown tuxedo with oversized lapels, was almost upon her. She swung out with her fist, punching the undead man in the face. His head snapped back, the neck breaking. She jumped up and let loose a sidekick into his chest, sending him flying back. He crashed against the ground and didn’t get back up.

Tracy wiped the film of sweat off her forehead then brushed her hands off on her thighs.

“You okay?” Joe asked.

“Fine,” she said.

They remained on the road back to back, Joe looking toward the way they had come and to his left. She looked the other way and to her left, this way covering all four sides. At least out here on the road they could get a clear view of things should the dead come calling again. They stayed that way for what Tracy suspected was a good twenty minutes. They didn’t speak other than the occasional encouraging statement to “Be ready” and “We’ll be okay.”

After awhile, Tracy asked, “We need to find a place to camp.”

“I know. That house is off limits.”

“Yeah.”

“Remember seeing any other structures nearby as we came up here?”

She thought for a moment. “No. Wait. Just a vegetable stand. Not really a place that’s covered up, though. I think there might have been another house, but I can’t remember how far off the highway it was.”

“We won’t find it in the dark anyway.” Joe’s body jerked. “Wait.” A second later the X-09 fired off a round.

Tracy turned around. “How many?”

“Just the one.”

She faced back down the road and resumed her watch, heart pounding. “The forest won’t work either.”

“I think we’re going to have to go back in the shed.”

“There’s next to no room in there.”

“We can shuffle things around and make some room.”

“Not to lie down.”

“No, but maybe enough so we can secure the door. One of us can keep watch through the cracks in the planks. The other can maybe sit and rest that way.”

“Fine.”

They surveyed the area once more then, both satisfied the coast was clear, went back to the shed.

Joe shuffled around the paint cans and opened up a few more inches by stacking them. To secure the door, he took one of the electrical cords, tied it around the door handle, then tied the cord to one of the nails from which a saw hung across the way.

“Not perfect, but it’ll buy us the extra seconds we need should it come to it,” he said of his handiwork.

He looked into her eyes and it was so dark in here she couldn’t see the green of his anymore.

“I’ll take the first watch,” he said.

“Thanks,” she said. “How long until you want to switch off?”

“An hour or two, would work, I think. We’ll play it by ear.”

She nodded. She didn’t know why—perhaps being far from the city and the stronghold beneath the Disraeli Bridge—but her heart picked up speed and she started to tremble.

“Tracy . . .” he said. He raised his hands slightly.

“I don’t know what . . . . Maybe it’s just being tired. Maybe it’s them. I don’t . . .” She shivered.

Joe took her in his arms. At first it was a loose embrace, but after she put her arms around his waist, he drew her close and gave her a gentle squeeze. Warmth flooded through her and for a moment there was safety.

He suddenly took his hands off her. She pulled away as well, but only because he did.

It was just a hug, Joe, she thought. Don’t freak out on me.

He stood there frozen, as if he’d just did something wrong.

“Thanks,” was all she said. Tracy sat down against the side wall, knees drawn up to her chest. She folded her arms across the tops of her knees then laid her head down on them.

Her heart still beat quickly, but not from the undead. She glanced up at Joe.

He was already facing the shed door, gun at the ready.

37

The Undead in the Woods

Zombies surrounded Billie, Nathaniel and Michael. They came out of the woods, stumbling out of the dark, heads dipped to one side, their gazes vacant. They moved slowly; many reached out as if already able to grab the three of them.

Bright flashes of light lit up the forest as Nathaniel and Michael transformed into their angelic forms. Michael moved in a whirlwind, sword aflame, cutting into the undead like a jet engine gone wild. Bodies dropped and blood and guts splashed against the dry grass and surrounding trees.

Nathaniel stayed close to home, protecting Billie, plunging his sword into any zombie that drew near. A part of Billie wanted to join in the fight, like she had many times before, yet another part was relieved at her being sheltered from the undead onslaught surrounding them.

Nathaniel cleaved off the top of the head of a skinny dead woman who tried to go for Billie’s ankles. He then stuck his sword between the eyes of a dead high school kid with curly hair and a ripped-to-shreds Superman T-shirt.

Michael fought just beyond, his sword a blur of heated steel and flame. Every zombie that came near him was cut up as if caught in a meat grinder. Billie had never seen someone move so fast, not even Nathaniel. No wonder Michael was in command.

A foul shriek rose from the trees beyond, like a thousand crows cawing at once. The smell of sulfur rose on the wind as did the sudden heat of flame, this kind of heat dry, like air in a sauna.

The shadows in between the forest trees grew darker, the charcoal black now as dark as oil. A sudden gust of black smoke burst from between the trees, surrounding Billie and the undead, blowing past them as if they weren’t there.

The angels’ light was extinguished, and all was as black as pitch. The rush of sulfuric air danced around Billie, its heat immediately drying the sweat upon her skin the moment it made contact, even through her clothes. She fell backward from the force of the wind, her body tipping to the side as the gust of air blew her across the ground until she slammed into a tree. The hard woody impact made her muscles lock and her skin sting.

She still couldn’t see.

Desperately, she wanted to call out for help, to ask the angels to come to her rescue, but the force of the wind was so great that she couldn’t push out enough air from her own mouth to form the words. The thick and sharp smell of the sulfur on the air slammed into the back of her throat, filled her nostrils and made her gag. Choking, she pushed against the ground and rolled over inch by inch until she lay there with her face against the base of the tree. The wind pushed against her head and her plan to remove her face from the direct onslaught of wind fell apart. Instead, her skull was slowly being pressed into the tree trunk with such force it felt like her head would crack open front-to-back as it split against the wood.

She couldn’t move. Couldn’t think.

The wind howled and rushed past, pressing into her body.

She shook.

Then it stopped and she lay there against the foot of the tree, catching her breath. A few moments more and Billie was able to roll over . . . only to be greeted by a horde of the undead crawling toward her.

Quickly, she got to her feet, teetered a moment, then moved to run. A zombie came out from under the skeletal bush by her feet and grabbed hold of her ankle, tripping her. She clawed against the ground, everything still reeking of sulfur and decay. Dizzy from the smell, wanting to throw up, Billie kicked against the zombie at her ankles. She managed to slam her heel against its jaw, breaking it and stretching the decayed skin of the dead man’s face as the bone shifted far to the side underneath it.

The creature still held on and dug its rotten fingers—which were more bone than meat—into her skin and began pulling itself up her body.

Another zombie dropped to its knees just beside her head, its dirty black jeans coated in dried blood. The creature’s dead hands grabbed her by the hair, pulled her head up.

A gun blast sent a shockwave through Billie and her face was suddenly plowed into the ground. She felt blood pool around her nose and cheeks and she knew it was hers because her nose was alight with pain as were her eyes. She thought she heard her glasses break.

The zombie at her heels continued to climb up her. Heart racing, it beat even faster when another blast echoed through the air and the dead man moving up her stopped his climb.

Somewhere above, she heard the low clinking of metal, then the cocking of a gun. Another blast rang out, then another. Zombies growled. Others groaned.

That gun sounded a lot like the X-09.

Joe? Oh, please, God, let it be him! Oh please, please, please, please, please. A quick flash of Joe’s rugged face flashed before her eyes. She wanted to say thank you for saving her life, wanted to tell him how much she missed him and was so happy he was alive.

Two blasts rang out; Billie’s ears began to ring, too.

The weight of the zombie on her legs lifted. A moment later, the other dead man lying on top of her was rolled off.

She got on all fours, took a deep breath, then stood up, dusting herself off.

“Thanks, Joe. Did the ange—” she started but clamped her mouth shut when another man stood before her, shotgun aimed past her over her shoulder. She put a hand over her nose and mouth and got to work wiping off the blood from her face and glasses. She was right. One of her glasses’ arms broke and barely hung on to the frame. She pinched the bridge of her nose, tilted her head back, and had to look downward at the guy so she could see him.

The man with the dirty blue-and-gray plaid lumber jacket, blue jeans and filthy white Axiom-man baseball cap fired off a shot. Billie jumped on the spot from the sound. He swung the shotgun’s barrel past her face so it hung just over her other shoulder and he fired off another round.

Billie heard the undead drop behind her. She turned around. Everything was blurry so she put her glasses back on. There was a row of zombies dead on the ground, creating a small obstacle for the ones just beyond. Some were on their feet, trying to find the right footing to climb over their fallen brethren and get to Billie and the man; others were still on their hands and knees, crawling. A couple of the undead didn’t have legs and they dragged their bodies across the ground, the fallen dead around them making their job extremely difficult.

The man spat on the ground and reloaded his weapon with shells from his breast pocket. The fellow’s dark eyes were like tiny beads against his dirty face; he was unshaven with several days’ worth of stubble.

When he spoke, his words were hard and choppy from his German accent. “I didn’t think no one came out here no more.” Billie then realized it wasn’t a German accent, but it was just the way the guy talked. He probably hadn’t spoken to anybody in a long, long time and wasn’t used to it. He fired off a round into the head of an undead Asian woman who was almost past the obstacle of the fallen creatures. “What’re you doing out here?”

“Um . . .” was all Billie could say. The guy wasn’t running? He just stood there, brought the shotgun up with both hands to eyelevel, then pegged off another zombie. Once the creature dropped, he slowly lowered the weapon, popped out the two empty shells, then produced two more from his breast pocket which, judging by the way it bulged, was well-loaded with ammo, as was the other.

The man raised the weapon and lined up his next shot.

Billie quickly glanced around the surrounding woods for any sign of Michael and Nathaniel. She couldn’t see anything that would indicate their presence.

“You didn’t answer the question,” the man said.

What could she say? Obviously she couldn’t reveal the specifics of why she was out here. She didn’t want to lie, but what choice did she have? No, she wouldn’t lie. She’d just bend things a little. Wait, that’s still lying.

“They came from the woods, all at once,” she said, which was true.

“I know,” he said and popped off another round. He cocked the weapon again then quickly fired off another. “That’s two less,” he said, seemingly to himself. “You still didn’t answer the question: what’re you doing out here?”

“I could ask you the same.”

“I’m the one asking.” He reloaded his weapon.

“Just trying to find my way back to the city,” she said.

“The city?”

She nodded.

“You’re a long ways off from there. I’m thinking you’re crazy and these there things have gotten the best of you.”

The guy wasn’t that far off about that last part.

He fired. A little girl zombie in a cute blue and pink dress toppled over as her head was blown off her body.

Billie cringed. “Can we go now?” she asked.

“You can go anytime you want,” he said, lining up his next shot. “Just want to take care of a few things here first.”

“O-kay,” she said and slowly started moving away. “Um . . . nice meeting you.”

“Nice meeting you, too,” he said and fired off another shot, taking down an undead granny.

“Uh, bye.”

“Bye,” he said and emptied his gun before reloading.

Billie moved away and headed into the forest behind the man. About ten paces in, another shot went off. Six paces more and the shotgun blasted again. She looked back over her shoulder and was barely able to see the man thanks to the trees that already obscured her view.

She sniffled and got a strong whiff of the dead’s stink that lingered on the air. The sharp smell of the sulfur was still there, too; it made her gag. She spat on the ground and kept moving.

The bushes rustled off to the side and panic set in. She didn’t know where she was going other than away from that weird guy with the gun.

Nathaniel and Michael suddenly vanished in some kind of black smoke, which she could only assume was one or more demons that wanted them out of the way.

“Wait,” she said and stopped her stride. If they wanted Michael and Nathaniel out of the way, then they’re probably coming after me next.

She kept moving. Dead leaves crunched to her right. Billie listened closely.

An undead girl came out from behind the trees and stepped in front of her. Billie shrieked. The dead girl looked out from beneath long, messy brown hair, her eyes milky and vacant. She wore only a faded red nightgown with a worn picture on it of a couple of Care Bears sleeping on a cloud.

Billie swung out and clocked the zombie. The girl faltered in her step but kept moving forward. The zombie reached out and Billie felt the girl’s fingers graze her shoulder as she started to run back in the direction she had come. A sharp pain suddenly stabbed the toes of her right foot and the next thing she knew she had her hands out as she went face first to the ground. She crawled a couple feet, rolled over, and noticed she’d just tripped over a tree root.

The undead girl was only a few feet away.

Billie went to get to her feet; a pair of leather brown work boots greeted her at eyelevel.

The shotgun went off above her head. She heard the zombie girl fall behind her.

A dirty, greasy hand reached to her. She took it and let the man pull her up, then adjusted her glasses.

“Thanks,” she said.

The guy gazed past her to the dead girl beyond. “Yup.”

A zombie stumbled up behind the guy.

“There’s one behind you,” she said.

“I know.” He spun around, using his shotgun like a baseball bat. The butt of the shotgun smacked against the side of the zombie’s head. The creature fell to the ground. The man spat upon it. “I hate them things.”

Billie didn’t know what to say. Was this guy crazy? Handicapped? What?

“Okay,” she said, “I think we should stick together for now.” What was she thinking?

“Yup.” He walked past her and started into the forest. He didn’t wait for her to join him.

38

The Breach

A thunderous boom echoed just outside Michelle’s door. Both her and Mark awoke with a start.

“What the—” she said and sprang to her feet.

She went to the door and put her ear against it. Screams filled the hallway beyond as did the trampling of feet.

Mark sat upright in the cot. “What’s going on? What happened?”

“I don’t know,” she said and slightly opened her door. A cloud of dust immediately began to fill the room. Michelle slammed the door. “The Hub’s been breached. We’ve got to move.”

“Breached?”

“The zombies found us.”

“Our fault?”

“I don’t know,” she said.

Mark’s eyes went wide and he jumped off the cot. He started to gather his things.

“No time,” she said, then reached toward him. “Here, take my hand. No matter what happens, stay close. People are running scared out there, and if you’re not careful, you’ll be trampled.” Sheer terror was on his face. “I’m sorry, but I had to warn you before we go, okay? Better safe than sorry?”

“Okay,” he said, and swallowed what must have been a huge lump in his throat because his whole neck tensed for a moment before he did so.

Michelle breathed steady through her nose, gearing herself up to get moving lickety-split. “Gonna open the door now.”

Mark nodded.

Michelle opened it. Dust came in.

Her and Mark stepped into the hallway. The shouts and screams from those inside the Hub was almost deafening. The walls shook all around. The lights running off generators in the hallway flickered.

Coughing from all the dust, her and Mark headed straight for the exit. Unfortunately—or fortunately—there was only one. A security precaution for all those who called the Hub home, but it also created a very real danger should that exit leading up to the surface ever be sealed.

They ran down the hallway, Michelle gripping Mark’s hand tight and keeping him by her side. Others ran past them; some even tried to shove in between them before Michelle stepped to the side and let them pass.

Shrieks came from up ahead. When they came up to the oval catwalk on the lowest level, Michelle cried out when a giant zombie hand burst through the cement and debris that made up the interior walls. Giant fingers crashed into the hanging cages that housed the watchers with the periscopes. One cage was knocked from its place and fell to the ground, the man inside impaled as the cage landed on a piece of rebar jutting out from the debris. The other cage merely swung on its hinges, the fellow inside yelling in panic.

They didn’t see them coming? Michelle thought. “Or maybe it was too late.” Her mouth dropped. All that smoke from blowing up those cars. Did it— There was no way to know, and she certainly hoped she hadn’t accidentally blinded those on lookout from the mammoth undead.

“Michelle!” Mark screamed as debris fell around their feet.

Two giant undead burst through, reaching in with massive rotting hands, their groans like rusted metal bending.

Some people pressed on, obviously hoping to maneuver around the giants. Instead, they were scooped up by gray, decaying fingers and brought to the giant’s mouth. The other moaned as if begging for its share.

The zombie mashed down on its prey, blood gushing over and between its rotten gums.

“Sick!” Mark said.

“Grenades,” Michelle said. Shouting back over her shoulder, “Anyone have any explosives?” Sometimes she had them as part of her arsenal, sometimes she didn’t. She was planning to rearm in the morning. Shouldn’t have put it off, she thought.

Human-sized zombies appeared at the edge of the mouth of the hole. They dropped in like penguins into water. Their bodies tumbled down the jagged edges of the debris lining the entrance to the Hub. Once they hit the bottom, they got to their feet and started toward the first living thing they saw.

“Run, Mark,” Michelle said.

“Where?”

But she was already dragging him back the way they came.

The walls and ground shook again.

How did they find us? Had she truly blinded the giant zombie that tried to kill them before? Did she somehow lead it back here or at least allowed it to watch her and Mark return to the Hub without meaning to? Or did someone else tip the creatures off? She hoped for the latter. To be responsible for what would no doubt be the deaths of hundreds . . .

Zombie moans started to fill the hallway.

A chunk of the ceiling fell not twenty feet from them, bringing with it parts of the walls, too. People screamed from behind the doors to their rooms, now trapped. Other people shoved past others; some sent folks sprawling onto the floor only to be trampled by those in a mad panic.

“Everyone calm down!” Michelle shouted above the din.

No one seemed to have heard her or to have cared.

She thought about drawing her gun and firing off a shot to get some attention, but with the structure becoming unstable, she didn’t want to bring down more of the roof.

You’re better off saving your ammo anyway, she thought. She looked back over her shoulder. A horde of zombies poured in, biting into folks, ripping the limbs off others. Children cried, only to be bit down on a moment later, their young heads severing from their small bodies when an undead set their powerful teeth against the little ones’ necks.

“Michelle!” Mark shouted.

“What?”

“I’m scared.”

“Me, too.”

“I thought—”

“Not now.” To go back to where the ceiling collapsed would be suicide. Before, she had hoped retreating into the Hub would buy her and Mark some time, maybe even a chance to help a few other people. Not anymore. There was only one way out, and she was going to take it.

She aimed her gun at the first undead she saw—a rotting fellow more skeleton than flesh—and delivered a bullet to his head. Quickly, she aimed and dropped another, this one appearing as if it just-turned.

“Don’t let them touch you, don’t let them bite you,” Michelle said as they shoved their way past more people.

A part of her considered using those in front as a body shield, but she wasn’t that cold. If she could save them while saving herself and Mark, then she would.

Michelle fired off shot after shot, taking out every zombie she saw.

“To the right,” she told him, and they veered that way, hugging the wall.

The undead seemed more drawn to the crowd in the middle.

The walls shook and dust and bits of debris fell from the ceiling. Mark coughed.

“Hang in there, kid,” she said.

An undead teen grabbed Mark’s other hand; Michelle felt the boy suddenly jerk away, so she gripped his hand even harder and tugged him close, freeing him from the dead teen’s hold. She took the teen out with a bullet to the face.

She kicked another zombie that came up to her and got herself some room; with her free hand she brought the back of her fist against the face of another creature.

A fat undead granny wearing a tattered and filthy pink dress broke off from the throng of the undead and grabbed hold of Michelle with both hands. Michelle gave the granny a head butt and Mark pushed the old bag away.

The two continued on.

Back at the oval catwalk, giant undead hands reached in and scooped up more people, bringing them up to hungry mouths that bit down on them with the same ease as biting into a jelly donut. Blood sprayed out from their mouths; bones crunched. Heads and arms fell to the ground from the side of their mouths as they chewed.

Michelle had never seen these things eat up close.

The oval catwalk creaked beneath their feet. Another boom echoed throughout the hallway behind them. Some folks who managed to emerge from the zombie horde ran at them, probably not realizing they were running out of room. Michelle pulled Mark to the side. One live fella ran past them and tumbled over the catwalk’s edge. Others got up to the edge, turned, went a few feet, then made the jump to the chunks of debris just beyond in an effort to climb out.

“That’s our only choice,” Michelle said. “Think you can jump that far?”

“Going to have to,” Mark said.

Michelle kicked a zombie trying to climb up the side of the catwalk in the head. The creature fell off the railing to the chunks of concrete below, getting impaled on a rod of rebar. Another one came from the crowd behind them. Michelle sent a bullet into its brain.

At the edge of the catwalk, she told Mark to jump at the count of three. He insisted on counting it off himself, and did so. The boy leaped from the catwalk, landed on a slab of cement about two feet square, slipped, and wound up with one foot between a few rocks, the other on the slab.

She wanted to call out and ask if he was okay, but she was already behind him, jumping just past him to a wider piece of debris that looked like it could support her weight. It was on an angle so when her feet touched down, she fell on her behind and slid a few feet before crashing into another piece of cement sticking out from the rest of the debris.

Mark climbed over to her. “Come on, let’s go, Michelle.”

She got to her feet and, gun ready to take out any zombies, they started to climb out.

Undead fingers reached past them, picking up a couple more people. Michelle shot at the thing’s thumb, thinking maybe it’d be enough to make it drop the person. No go.

Mark seemed to be having an easy enough time climbing. She followed suit, doing her best to find proper footing as she made her ascent.

“Go, go, go. Fast, fast, fast,” she chanted.

Mark picked up his pace. She did likewise.

The undead giant squatting over the hole leading into the Hub groaned, its low bellow sending deep vibrations into Michelle’s core.

We have to make it, she thought.

She slipped on a bit of debris, skinning her knuckles. She should have holstered her weapon before climbing, but in the heat of the moment, had completely forgotten to do so.

Mark was near the top; she was a few meters from the edge.

The undead giant reached down with its right hand and picked her and Mark off the interior of the debris wall in one handful. The squishy interior of its palm made them both lose their footing. Mark landed on top of her, screaming.

“No,” she said, the word coming out not as a scream, but a plea instead. Heart racing, breathing springing into short, choppy breaths, she quickly imagined what it’d be like when those massive teeth the size of sidewalk slabs cut into her.

The zombie began bringing its hand up; they were at least forty feet above ground.

With a shove, she pushed Mark off her. Then, gun in hand, she dug its barrel into the creature’s palm and fired round after round into its rotting flesh.

The zombie howled and loosened its grip.

“Ahhhhhh!” Mark shouted.

Michelle rolled into the boy, pushing him toward the edge of the zombie’s palm.

Again she blasted in to it. Black blood spurted up from the wound. The zombie’s hand dropped lower; how far, she didn’t know. With a kick, she knocked Mark off the dead man’s hand and heard him scream as he fell.

The zombie brought its hand close to its mouth. Getting to her feet, Michelle aimed her weapon and fired off one last shot before the gun clicked empty.

Its mouth opened wide to receive her.

She had only one thought: Run, Mark. Run.

* * * *

Sheer pain ran through Mark’s legs as he tried to get to his feet. At least one of his ankles was sprained. How far he had fallen, he could only guess. Maybe a couple stories. His legs had collapsed beneath him on impact against the dusty ground and he could only suppose that somehow helped.

The giant zombie chewed above and in his mind’s eye, he envisioned Michelle getting mashed to mushy pieces of bloody pulp between the monster’s teeth.

Scared as all get out, he started hobbling away, hoping the massive zombie would be so lost in its meal that it wouldn’t notice him. He gave it everything he had, pulling his right leg behind him, his left doing all the work.

Breathing hard, stifling back tears, he pressed on, with only one goal in mind: run.

Just . . . run.

He glanced over his shoulder. Three giant zombies were gathered around the base of the Disraeli Bridge, digging through the debris, trying to get at the people within. Human wails and cries drifted up from the Hub like steam from a boiling caldron.

Regular zombies dotted the street, many already having caught sight of him and making their way toward him.

Mark pressed on, adjusting his run to get as far away from the walking dead as he could.

It wasn’t about living anymore. It was simply about running, whether he died or not.

His ankle throbbed and any time he put a decent amount of weight on it, it’d light up in sharp pain, traveling all the way from his ankle straight through to his shin and knee.

Loud groans sent a shudder through him. Explosive crashes resounded on the air. He checked over his shoulder and watched as other giant zombies emerged from between the buildings, their massive fists coming down on rooftops, punching through walls and windows in all-out fits. Dust and debris exploded everywhere.

One of the zombies by the hole to the Hub stood, bellowed, and brought both hands down on the bridge above, utterly collapsing it. The zombies beside it pulled their hands from the rubble and moaned, their meal suddenly cancelled.

Did anyone survive down there? Mark doubted it, and had his doubts confirmed when the zombie who smashed the bridge stomped on what used to be the entrance to the Hub.

With a loud cry, the zombie who had taken Michelle stood and knocked the other zombie down. The humungous creature toppled over and crashed into a building; the structure crumbled beneath it.

Mark had been so busy watching the undeads’ tantrums that an undead guy in mechanic’s overalls appeared beside him and tried to grab him. He bolted to the right and the creature’s stinky hand merely slapped down on his shoulders, temporarily knocking him off balance.

Yelling at the top of his lungs, Mark ran on and turned the corner and headed down another street. He noticed another giant zombie there, this one kneeling before a partially-collapsed building, unmoving, most of its head missing.

Other human-sized undead lingered about. He ran away from them and saw a dumpster against the back of an old Chinese restaurant.

As fast as he could, he ran over to it, opened the lid, did a quick scan inside. Just year-old garbage, its smell so foul he gagged.

None of the zombies were looking in his direction.

Knowing it was the safest place for him, he jumped in.

Outside the metal of the dumpster, giant zombies moaned. An ear-splitting explosion of rock-like destruction shook the dumpster, piercing him through.

The sound was so loud, the garbage’s stench so thick, his ankle hurting so bad, all he could do was wail, his cries echoing off the dumpster’s walls.

39

Walking

The sides of Tracy’s head felt like someone had their palms pressed tightly against them. Her eyes ached, but she knew she had rested. Give her ten or twenty minutes to fully wake up and she’d be almost as good as new. She raised her head off her arms, gave a small groan, then slowly stood, her legs tight and achy as she did. There was a small pop in her lower back once she was fully erect. She stood still for a moment, blinked her eyes a couple of times, then tapped Joe on the shoulder.

“Here, let’s switch,” she said and gave her head a shake in one final effort to wake up. She actually felt pretty good. “What time is it?”

“Probably seven or eight in the morning,” he said. “Don’t have a watch, though. Check yours.”

“Seven or . . . eight?”

“Yeah.”

He had let her sleep the whole night.

“But . . . what about . . . you . . . ?” She didn’t know what else to say. “Thanks, by the way.”

“It’s fine.”

“You should rest, though.”

“I can rest later. Back in the old days I used to write at night anyway, staying up until morning. Even when I did go to bed, I wasn’t down for long.”

“You sure?”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Joe,” she said; he turned around. “Thank you.”

He gave her a gentle smile then undid the cord around the door handle making as little noise as possible. Once done, he gave her the cord. She put it down in the corner of the shed. Joe opened the door. They stepped out. The sky was still the same brown and gray as always, the road and trees quiet.

I have to go to the bathroom, Tracy thought. “Joe?”

“I’ll stand on the road, facing the other way,” he said.

“How did you—”

“It’s morning.” He raised the X-09 aloft and stepped up to the gravel road. “Just don’t go too close to the forest. Holler if you hear the slightest thing.”

“’Kay.” She went to the side of the shed, but kept near its front. She took a deep breath, unzipped her outfit, the cool air giving her goose bumps. Getting things underway was more difficult than she thought it would be, what with Joe there. It took a minute, but finally she was able to get done what needed doing.

She came up beside him after. “Done.”

“Good,” he said. “We go now. Don’t want them to smell, uh, you know.”

She felt her face flush with embarrassment. “Main road?”

“I think so. We should pick up where we left off before trying to find a place to rest.”

“Sounds like a plan.” A few paces later: “I still don’t know what we’re doing out here, Joe.”

“Well, it started as a way to get out of the city. But you’re right: we can’t stay out here. Last night proved it. Back in my world, downtown was the worst place for zombies. We were relatively safe in the Haven. Not one hundred percent, but safe enough. Then things changed and the undead’s numbers grew in the burbs way more than usual and, ironically, my friends Billie and . . . Des . . . . We all made our way into the city. We didn’t know why the climate was changing and what the undead’s newfound interest in the suburbs was. Almost didn’t matter in the end. Once we met August and took that helicopter ride—yeah, none of it seems to matter.” He looked at her. “Almost seems to sum up life here, too, don’t it? In the end, some stuff makes sense, other stuff doesn’t.”

“That’s life, Joe. It ain’t a script. Seems that’s kind of like the old world talking through you; mine or yours, doesn’t matter. That was the media. The stuff on TV: all plot, things moving A to Z, wrapped up with a nice little bow in the end. Books, comics—all the same. You should know that. You said yourself you were a writer. Everything has to serve the story. Everything’s all supposed to tie together. Sounds good on paper, but that’s not real life. Real life has a million plot threads running through it at all times. Some wrap up, others don’t.” Her heart pounded with interest at her own words. She was tired of feeling like she had to explain everything even if only to herself. “You think people lie there on their deathbed, do a review and make sure everything wraps up neatly? They lay there and go, ‘Well, that’s it. What a good story’? Come on, man. Our grandparents—think about them—they didn’t have all the techno stuff we had. They weren’t inundated with TV and the Internet and podcasts and all the rest. They knew life. They lived in the real world where things sometimes made sense but most of the time they didn’t. I hate to say it, but I’m almost glad this zombie apocalypse happened.”

He shot her a stern look.

“What I mean is it’s given people a chance to wipe the slate clean, start over. No baggage.”

“No baggage, huh? And this is coming from you?”

“I know what I’m talking about.”

“I’m sure you do, but don’t start up about some sort of let’s-all-be-friends-and-get-back-to-the-good-old-days kind of mentality. You have more baggage than I do.”

“As if. You can barely walk you’re dragging so much behind you.”

“I see you limping, too, so don’t start pointing fingers.”

She threw up her hands. “What is with you? You’re not even listening to me! I’m trying to help you out here, Joe. Help myself out. It’s just you and me, in case you haven’t noticed. We’ve nearly died how many times since we’ve known each other?”

“You’ll get used to it.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? I am used to it. I go out there and hunt the undead, too, remember? You’re not some lone-cowboy-Captain-Clint-Eastwood type who can save the city from the bad guy. This is real life. Get off it.”

“I don’t know why you’re ripping into me.”

“Because you’re being a jerk!”

He shook his head, and stopped walking.

“No, no, don’t do that,” she said, stopping, too. “You’re cranky, fine. Nearly everyone left nowadays is. But remember it was you who let me sleep last night. It was your choice to be . . . nice.” She almost didn’t say that last word.

His cold eyes set in against hers and for a moment it looked like he was going to grab her by the shoulders and throw her down. Then his gaze lightened. “Come on, we’re almost at the highway.”

He walked past her, leaving her standing there.

* * * *

Tracy was right; Joe just didn’t want to admit it. She saw right through him. He’d told her about himself, gave her some history, but hadn’t gone so deep that he’d consider her an authority on him. But she was perceptive and, it seemed, an introspective ponderer like himself. So many lonely nights walking the streets, hunting the dead. So much time alone with his thoughts. Self-reflection, self-analysis, repetitious thought and constant memory replay was his world for so long.

It was all he knew.

April, the girl who changed his life. All it took was a weekend with her. Few people understood this. He supposed it was because few people really connected with someone in the way he did with her, something that went beyond just mere fun, even mere chemistry. They had been cut from the same cloth, it seemed, and if it hadn’t been for the drama in April’s life at the time and his cowardice of not trying to connect with her later—they’d probably be together now.

“I miss you,” he said quietly. “I’ve always missed you.” He didn’t think Tracy heard him, and even if she did, it didn’t matter. If there was anyone left alive that understood his hang up on April, it was her. She had a hang up of her own. Just how it was with some people sometimes.

Life could be so unfair.

Hunting the dead was his relief from the heartache. The zombies had transformed April, putting him in a position where he had to take her life. If only he’d gotten to her sooner, maybe she would have been spared.

The way her head exploded when he took that rolling pin to her skull—girls you loved weren’t supposed to be made up of the same stuff as everybody else. They transcended that. They were beautiful, magnificent sculptures crafted by God, filled with warmth and life and subtleties that pierced you and made you whole. April was all those things, and even at the end when Joe had to kill her, seeing her come apart like that was like not even striking her at all, but something else. A monster; the girl he knew gone forever, lost in the change from life to undeath.

Joe turned right when the gravel road met the highway, taking him and Tracy further away from the city. He just hoped when they passed the road up ahead, the one with the house that yesterday was surrounded by the undead, they wouldn’t run into any trouble. Tracy walked a couple paces behind him. The fact she was giving him space cemented even further his callousness toward her. It could have been the lack of sleep and the stress of fending off the undead, but he didn’t want to be around her and if he had a choice in the matter, he’d leave her there by the roadside and take off. Yet, he knew, somewhere down the road he’d double back to try and find her and make sure she was okay.

Tracy was powerful, he realized. She had dug in to him and pulled out his nastiness and also revealed some truths. He might be his own version of Zorro, saving the weak from the oppressor, adventuring one place to the next, but he also was a broken man, this undead world having gotten the best of him. She understood his art and his previous profession of crafting stories. She also understood the danger in living and thinking that way.

Tracy was right: life didn’t wrap up in neat little plotlines. Life wasn’t all lead up and clues and action and adventure and a big climax and some sort of conclusion.

Joe wondered how much of his own life he had been subconsciously scripting, the storyteller within molding his life into a comic book by creating drama, tension, action and adventure.

If that’s true, he thought, then you got a really big problem. Sick part is, there’s probably no one left alive who could help you.

To just somehow take control again—that was what he wanted. Ever since April it seemed his life started to slip away. When the zombies came, then chaos blew in, its storm ravaging his own life and slaughtering everything else outside of it.

He heard Tracy’s footsteps slow behind him so he glanced over his shoulder to check up on her. She was off the highway’s shoulder and stepping down into the ditch, which led up to the forest alongside it. She dug around in the ditch’s dead grass then pulled up a heavy-looking pipe.

After climbing up out of the ditch, she walked past him.

“Good eye,” he said after she was a few paces ahead.

“We’re going to need it.” She pointed up the road.

Seven zombies shuffled down the highway toward them.

40

Hank

Billie followed a few feet behind the man. She kept a look out for Nathaniel and Michael, but instead saw only trees and bush. Every so often the man would suck back a bit of phlegm then hock it off to the side.

Come on, you don’t want to get involved with this guy, she thought, then, as if another voice under the guise of her own: He’s the only one out here. He’s all you got. Besides, he’s got a shotgun.

She cleared her throat. “So, you got a name or something?”

“Yup.”

And? Yeesh. “What is it?”

He sniffled then spat out another wad of snot. “Hank.” He coughed. “That’s short for ‘Henry,’ you know.”

“I know.”

“What about you? You got a name or you just the girl with the weird pink hair. I can just call you ‘Pink’ or something, if you want.”

“My name’s Billie,” she said.

“Billie, like William? No, wait, that ain’t right. Willimina?”

“No, just Billie. Just what my parents called me.”

“I guess that’s all right,” he said.

“Whatever you say, Hank.”

For now, Billie kept a couple steps behind him. It made it easier to navigate through the bushes and around trees; she feared that if she walked beside him, he might want to strike up a conversation and she could only imagine how far a talk about squirrel burgers would go.

Hank held his shotgun against his shoulder like a lumberjack carrying an axe. He walked with his head held high, neck rotating it side-to-side like a periscope, scanning the woods for any sign of trouble.

I want to see Joe, Billie thought. She didn’t know where he was. If only Nathaniel or Michael had said something before they disappeared. She hoped they were all right. Prayed they were. Were they still in the forest? Or did they transform into their angelic forms and were now waging war in the unseen world that was their domain?

It didn’t seem right they would leave her here like this. If anything, the thought just cemented they had indeed been under attack and supernatural forces came specifically for them. It partly gave her a bit of relief because for so long she had been the target. Del and May made that much clear. They had wanted her for information. Had those two been there the day when Hell broke open and the demons rose into the sky? Had they seen her, or did they just find out about her afterwards as part of whatever rank or station they held?

Billie didn’t know why Joe seemed of keen interest to Del and May and for now could only suppose it was because he had been with her on that day, too, and had witnessed the Rain’s origin.

“Shh,” Hank said, then stopped walking and quickly held the shotgun with both hands.

Billie froze; her eyes darted side-to-side in their sockets. It’s never ending, she thought.

Hank brought the shotgun up and braced the butt up against the crook of his arm. He lined up his sights down the barrel and stood that way for a solid minute or two.

“Something there?” Billie asked quietly.

“Shh,” he said, abruptly.

Again, the man stood there, frozen like some kind of honorary statue to hunting.

The minutes ticked by, each second marked by Billie’s heart thundering in her chest. She strained her ears to hear movement or groans or any other sound in the bushes and trees. All she was met with was silence.

This can’t be right, she thought. He’s crazy. Has to be. I can’t hear anything. Hank’s a lunatic! “There’s nothing there, Hank.”

“Shh.”

She sighed and waited a third time. Same results. “Are you trying to scare me because if you are, it’s working.”

“Shh.”

“For crying out loud. Let it go, there’s nothing—”

Heavy footfalls cut her words short. The bushes up ahead swayed and bent.

A grizzly bear with white eyes and fur caked with patches of blood emerged and rose up on its hind legs.

Billie shrieked. Hank shushed her.

“Shut up!” she screamed and started to back away. The bear’s dead eyes locked onto her, not really looking at her, but more through her.

Hank dropped to one knee like a man about to be knighted and aimed his shotgun up at the bear. The big grizzly leaned its head back and opened its giant mouth, letting out a wheezy bellow. Billie could tell from the flesh dangling off its long sharp teeth that it hadn’t been long since it fed.

The bear towered over them both.

What’s he waiting for? What’s he—

Hank’s shotgun boomed and the top of the bear’s head erupted like a volcano science project gone wrong. Not only did the top of its head blow off like a hat of brain and bone, but the left side of its face blew off as well, black blood spurting out like a geyser. Hank calmly stood and took a step back to allow the beast enough room for its enormous muscled body to fall to the forest floor.

The smell of gun powder still hung on the air. Billie’s ears still rang from the shot.

“There, just like that,” Hank said and spat a little wad of saliva onto the bear’s carcass.

Billie thought back to that zombie rat in her apartment, the one that tried to kill her and Des. She wondered if all animals had been infected because this bear’s undead presence surely suggested it.

She exhaled slowly. “Thanks, Hank.”

He tipped his baseball cap and gave her a gentlemanly grin. “Don’t mention it.” He popped open the shotgun and shoved another shell into it. “All right, fully loaded. Let’s go.” Hank walked around the bear’s carcass and continued on his original path.

Billie picked up her feet and did the same, not bothering to look at the bear’s headless corpse as she walked past.

Where do the demons go after the zombie is killed? she thought. Why the brain or cutting off the head? How can that hurt a demon? She supposed she’d find out the answer if or when she reconnected with Nathaniel or Michael.

She suddenly stopped. Hank didn’t seem to notice and kept going. Billie got moving again but slower this time. What if Hank was one of them? Sure, he rescued her, but that didn’t mean anything. Del and May had done the same back at the Richardson Building. This could all be a ruse to lull her into a false sense of security before either torturing her for more information, or simply killing her or turning her into one of them. But she couldn’t be turned into one of them or, at least, she didn’t think so. Nathaniel said something about her predestined immunity to the Rain. She couldn’t be possessed otherwise she surely would have. But what about now? What about still having not yet made the choice to completely surrender to God?

Why couldn’t she completely surrender? Something was holding her back and she needed to find out what.

41

Internal and External

There had been no way for Joe or Tracy to hide from the undead. The seven coming down the road toward them had seen them. Joe made a move for the shoulder lane, the zombie on the same side as the road as him drifted that way a couple moments after.

Tracy already held the heavy pipe at the ready. As a kind of afterthought, Joe was impressed she seemed able to handle the weight of it fairly well.

He raised the X-09, double checked the ammo—he’d have to reload in a few more shots—and got it ready to fire.

“I’m assuming we’re just going to keep going toward them, huh?” Tracy said.

“Yep,” Joe said. “Not much of a choice and I’m not running through the woods again.”

“Better off out here,” she breathed.

“Just don’t get crazy and get in too close. I need you alive.”

“Do you, now?”

He didn’t respond, but instead lined up his first shot: the zombie in the middle. He waited until they were around thirty feet off before firing. The zombie dropped. He fired a round into the undead next to it and brought that one to the pavement as well.

When she was close enough, Tracy took the one furthest on her side and swung the lead pipe into its skull. Its head smooshed and it went down. She brought the pipe down on its face like an ax and took it out for good.

“Four left,” Joe said.

“No, three,” Tracy said as she drove the pipe across the neck of another one, snapping it. The scrawny zombie’s body bent backward in half from the blow and collapsed.

Joe fired off another round, taking out a chunky woman with brown smears on her mouth and cheeks. He didn’t want to know from what. “Two.”

He reached for a fresh clip of bullets from the strap across his chest, popped out the old one, let it drop to the road, and clicked in the new all the while sidestepping an undead that had reached for him.

“Joe!” Tracy yelled. A barrel-chested zombie had one hand on her shoulder, the other on her head. She swung out with the pipe but only connected with the dead man’s ribs. All her blow did was make it shuffle a step to the side.

“Coming!” Joe ran over, pressed the barrel to the side of the zombie’s head and pulled the trigger. The creature’s head erupted and it toppled over.

Its hand was locked onto Tracy’s head and it pulled her down with it. Joe was about to help her up when he felt a cold hand wrap around his face. One of the thing’s fingers had found its way across his eyes, blinding him. Quickly thinking of what this might look like if he was a bystander, he reached the X-09 around himself and shoved the barrel into something soft. He pulled the trigger. The force of the bullet’s impact knocked the zombie away. He turned around and put another bullet between the dead man’s eyes. The creature hit the ground.

Joe went over and helped Tracy up just as she finished wrestling with the deceased zombie’s grip.

“Thanks,” she said.

He nodded, and the two walked on.

An hour later, and without a single encounter with the undead, they stopped on the road and sat down.

Joe, legs crossed, felt weird about sitting in the middle of the road even though no one would be driving on it. His little stint driving the El Camino was the first car he saw moving on the road in months.

Tracy sat with her elbows on her knees. “Still want to go on?”

Joe gazed off down the road. “I came out here looking for a break, or even just someplace to just, I don’t know, stop. I kept thinking, Find someplace without zombies, close the blinds and if you close your eyes, it’ll feel like things were before. Guess I was just kidding myself. I can’t go back to the way things were. My world isn’t this one. I don’t even know if my world exists.”

“Wouldn’t it be weird if, you know, years ago, whether in my world or yours, we saw each other somewhere, not knowing how things would’ve ended up?” She looked the opposite way down the road. “Think about stuff like that all the time.”

He looked at her. “What ifs, and if onlys?”

“Yeah.” She faced him and smiled. “Always was a fan of that stuff. Like that episode of Star Trek, ‘Parallels.’ The one where Worf drifts through different realities, the point being that each choice we make, every choice happens but we only go down and experience the path we choose.” She smirked. “Not really related to what I was saying about us, but you can’t help but wonder who’s choice created this world. Mine? Yours? Someone else’s or lots of someone elses? Cause and effect and all that.”

“Too bad you couldn’t take a step back and see where each choice would lead, even experience each choice for a while and see if you’d like it.”

“No kidding.”

“I think about stuff like that, too. The scary part is you can get lost in it.” Her expression changed to something more serious, as if she knew exactly what he was talking about. “I think it’s rooted in control, you know, the desire to control. Everyone’s got one, just some more than others. You and me . . . we’re bad for that. All creative people are. We call it ‘expression’ and ‘art’ and all that stuff, but what are we really doing? We’re manifesting our fantasies and living there for a time, acting like gods. Kind of sad, when you think about it.”

“Maybe, but what’s inside us counts just as much—some would argue even more so—than what’s out here. Look at us humans: we’re physically complicated beings. You could break down things into generic sections like muscles, bones, brain, lungs, mouth, ears, etcetera. Go deeper. Start looking at cells, DNA, the water molecules running through our system, how some stuff is solid, some mushy, others liquid. Somehow it all works. I’d never buy that it happened by accident. There’s just no way. Point is, yeah, we’re physically complicated. What’s even more complicated is the stuff we don’t see: emotions, thoughts, ideas, longings, even our fantasies which combine all those things.”

“I thought—”

“Wait, not done. Call up a biologist or physician or whoever and they’ll start going on about chemicals in the brain, stuff circulating throughout your system, different nerve endings being the trigger and all the rest. Okay. I get that. All physical stuff. But get under all that. Close your eyes and an entire world materializes before you. Dip in deep enough and you can smell, touch, hear, feel. Where do ideas come from? Namely the stuff that doesn’t come from your experiences. We’ve all dreamed of flying. We’ve all felt what’s it like to have nothing but air beneath your toes, a sense of weightlessness yet control at the same time. Yet no one’s flown. I’ve lifted cars in my dreams, but haven’t done it in real life.

“Then there’s those times you walk into a place and you know, you just know, something’s not right. Chemicals and nerves? As if. It really hits home, when after you leave, you find out someone was stabbed just after you left.”

“Premonition,” Joe said.

She looked down and to the side, as if she wasn’t sure if she should say this next part.

Come on, Tracy. You got me hooked now, he thought. Talk.

She cleared her throat. “Or falling in love. Two people meet and ‘hit if off,’ as they say. Really connect. It can’t all be physical. Or those classic stories, ‘Love at first sight.’ Sure enough, not long after those people marry and live happily ever after. Skeptics might say it’s self-fulfilling prophecy. Folks like that lack an open mind, if you ask me. You know the kind: if it’s not empiric, I don’t want it.

“Really, how do people connect? Why be more attracted to someone than another? Not superficially, even. Just that part of you that goes yes when meeting someone else. Even crazier, why do some people just feel right and others don’t?

“I reckon those things are much more complicated than our already-complicated physical makeup. Our body seems to work like a machine on both external and internal levels.

“Anyway, like I said, I think about stuff like this all the time and it’s one of the reasons why I had little trouble accepting your claim of being from another world.”

“One of the reasons?” Joe asked.

“Yeah, one of the reasons,” she said with a bit of a smile.

“And the other?”

“Maybe,” she said, “I think it’s because we are very similar. Very similar. Even now” —she swallowed and looked him in the eyes— “I feel very comfortable talking to you. But it’s beyond feeling. Seems natural.” She held his gaze, as if afraid she had said too much or gone too far.

Joe’s breath caught in his throat and the words he was about to speak had no choice but to go back down deep inside else they come out a crackled mess. When he thought he could say something, he wasn’t sure if he should.

Tracy looked at him, eyes soft, even worrisome.

His eyes met hers, but he couldn’t speak. He wanted to, but now something in his heart kept the words at bay.

A few moments later, she looked away then stood up and dusted herself off.

Joe sat staring at the ground, feeling like an idiot.

“Tracy,” he said, and stood up.

She stood there, partly turned away. He had her full attention, though. She seemed frightened.

“Thanks,” he said.

She squinted her eyes, appearing to not get what he was driving at.

“What I mean is,” he said, “it’s easy to talk to you, too. And not just in a . . . in a ‘we get along,’ kind of way. I like being with you.” The words stabbed at his heart, a betrayal to April in his mind, and yet he felt as if a burden lifted.

Tracy smiled sweetly, as if what he just said was what she had been waiting to hear.

“Thanks for being my friend,” Joe said.

“Thanks for being mine.”

Their eyes met again, then he said, “I think we should head back.”

“Back where?”

“The city.”

“Okay.”

42

Hordes of the Dead

We’re going nowhere, Billie thought.

Her and Hank had been walking through the forest for at least an hour. Every so often Hank would stop, shush her, and make like he heard something. She had wondered the first couple times if it was another zombified animal, but each time he said in the same tone, “Must be the wind,” and they would move on. The problem with his excuse was there was no wind. There hadn’t been a wind since the Rain fell. The Rain did more than just bring the dead back to life and launch a demonic invasion on humankind. It also screwed up the weather by blacking out the sun, forbidding any natural rain to fall. She was no meteorologist, but she guessed that some of the demons were in charge of keeping the weather the way they wanted it to be because no sun would equal ice-cold temperatures and not just the fall-like weather they had now. Cold and hot air masses would have converged and created all sorts of disasters. No, the demons were in charge, it seemed, and wouldn’t let the earth die of floods and storms. Not yet, anyway.

When Hank shushed her the third time, she just waited for him to have his little episode before they moved on. On the fourth, she just stood there tapping her toes and was tempted to call him on it.

On the fifth time, she said, “Okay, enough. There’s nothing out there.” Now, she was certain what happened with the zombified bear was a fluke.

“I said shush.”

“There’s no wind, Hank. You should know that by now.”

He shot her a cold look. “Might be true, but there are plenty of them things haunting these woods.” He spat to the side. “I’m sure of it.”

She grunted, frustrated, and came up beside him.

“You’ll scare ’em,” he said.

“There’s nothing to scare.” At least, she hoped there was nothing to scare. Though they hadn’t encountered any more undead, she knew well enough to be ready to run anyway.

“I sees them,” he said and raised his rifle.

“Where?”

“Over yonder.”

Over yonder? She peered through the trees and only saw the thick skeletal forms of branches and tree trunks. “There’s—”

“Lost ’em.” He turned to her. “You scared them away.”

“I can’t scare them. They scare us, remember? Never seen one run from us before. What’re you—”

“There!” he said and ran off into the woods, leaving her alone.

* * * *

The old black Ford truck sat askew across the highway. Joe remembered having gone by it before. Him and Tracy walked up to it. It was the fourth vehicle they came across, hoping it would start. The first two, Joe tried hotwiring again. They were modern enough to be protected from that. The third, an old Mustang from the early ’80s, he couldn’t figure out. He blamed it on his fatigue.

He opened the driver’s door. “Stand watch,” he told Tracy and handed her the X-09. He sat in the driver’s seat, scanned the dash then let his eyes drift over to the ignition. Yeah, right, he thought, seeing the keys dangling there. Sitting here in this comfy chair made him want to lean his head back and close his eyes, just a short rest before they kept going.

He must have actually done so because Tracy jolted him by saying, “You going to try it or should I?”

Joe shook the cobwebs from his head. “No, here.” He turned the key over and the truck started.

“How ’bout that,” Tracy said. She rounded the front of the vehicle and started to get in.

Joe noticed the bloodstain on her seat before she sat down. “Careful.” He nodded at the seat.

“Looks dry.”

“Doesn’t hurt to be safe.”

“I’ve been in worse.”

“True.”

She sat down and closed her door. He closed his. Shifting the truck in drive, he straightened the vehicle out on the road and headed toward the city.

They rode in silence; Joe guessed their conversation earlier had changed things, at least it certainly felt like it.

Tracy leaned across him for a moment then sat back in her seat. “Just under half a tank. Got to wonder what happened to the owner.”

“Passenger probably got taken first, driver was pulled out. My seat was clean.”

“Or maybe the driver was trying to get a bitten passenger out of town and things turned south?”

“Maybe. Doesn’t matter. Just happy we found something with keys in it.”

“Yeah.”

As they drove, they caught the occasional glimpse of a handful of zombies wandering the fields beside the road. The closer they got to the city, the bigger the numbers seemed to grow. Joe found it odd that very few undead were on the road proper; most kept to the fields and ditches along the side.

“They’re all leaving,” Joe said.

“I don’t know about all of them.”

“Seems kind of weird, don’t you think?”

“I think it’s even weirder there seems to be a kind of method to it.”

“Learning?”

“Doubt it, in that the ones we’ve encountered didn’t seem smart or anything.” She leaned forward and placed her palms on the dash, her eyes scanning her side of the windshield and the passenger window. “But you would think if there is something going on, they’d just come out in a giant mob. Why keep the roads clear?”

“Don’t want to navigate around abandoned cars?”

“I’m serious.”

“Me, too. Maybe they’ve pieced enough info together from being in the city that they’re at least smart enough to avoid obstacles. Look, their brains are obviously working. That’s why they’re reanimated. Not only can their arms and legs move, but they can see, make noise despite non-working lungs, and have a desire to eat human flesh. I think there’s more going on than just the basics.”

“The basics.”

“Basic zombie stuff, if there is such a thing.”

“I don’t know what to say about all this anymore.”

“There’s nothing to say, Tracy. The dead are walking. Anything can happen.”

* * * *

Hank was a lunatic. It was no longer a question. No one in their right mind would leave another human being behind. No one in their right mind would see a couple zombies afar off and hightail it after them.

Billie ran behind him, her short legs pumping away hard and fast, just to keep up. Tree branches slapped her hands and face as she tried to follow Hank’s path.

The man ran on ahead of her, one arm swinging at his side for momentum, the other clutching his shotgun.

“Hank!” she screamed.

If he had seen zombies, he surely would have caught up with them by now. The dead weren’t fast.

She was certain the guy was so far gone that he totally imagined them and was chasing phantoms.

I don’t have a choice, she thought. I can’t stay out here by myself. Got nothing to defend myself with except for some sticks. He’s got a gun. Strength in numbers.

Panting, she dug in her heels and ran even faster. “Hank, slow down! I can’t keep up. Come on, stop! Hank!”

The man kept running and disappeared behind a group of thick-trunked trees.

“No!” she screamed, thinking that she lost him. “Nonononono . . .”

Billie slowed down against her will, her body starting to give out. Gasping for breath, she brushed away more branches. Her hands slipped off one, scraping the inside of her palms. The branch snapped back and whipped her in the throat. She stopped, tripped, and landed on her knees. Neck stinging from the branch, she put her fingers to her throat. She pulled them away and saw a thin film of blood. Catching her breath, she pressed her knuckles into the ground and got up.

She continued with a light jog after adjusting her glasses again.

“Hank!”

No answer.

A minute later, the trees began to thin, as did the bushes. She soon found herself on an outcrop of rock overlooking a lake.

She stopped, bent over at the waist and put her hands on her knees. Hank stood not far from her, gun held with both hands. His gaze was on the lake.

Swallowing the cotton ball in her throat, Billie straightened and examined the shoreline across the way.

Undead men, women and children lined the shore, their sopping wet bodies ambling into the woods. Other zombies stood in the water where it was shallow, others just coming up out of it after walking along the lake bed. A few moved along the shore to find a place to climb up onto the land. A few attempted to climb up along the rocks along the far right of the lake. Some made it, and tripped over the uneven surface. Others couldn’t find purchase on the rocks and kept sliding off, falling back into the water. More undead pushed past them and tried to climb up as well.

Undead groans hovered on the lake, loud and airy. Billie supposed she mustn’t have heard them above her own heavy breathing as she ran toward this rocky outcrop.

To her left and right, further down on her side of the lake, zombies emerged from the forest and walked into the water. Some waded in like going into the shallow end of the pool. Others waded in and after ten or so feet disappeared beneath the water’s surface.

In her peripheral, a man came up beside her. “Something has gone terribly wrong.”

She knew that voice.

“Nathaniel,” she said. She turned toward the angel, who was in his human form.

“Where’d you come from?” Hank said.

“It’s okay, Hank. I’m a friend of Billie’s,” Nathaniel said.

“How’d you know my name?” Hank took off his hat, scratched his head, then slid it back on. “Oh, wait, you’re that feller who got that zombie guy for me, right? ’Member? A couple months back I was camping out somewheres down that way” —he pointed a ways down the bank— “and you came along ’cause I’d fallen asleep and those things we’re going to eat me?”

“I remember, Hank. And you remember what we talked about, right?”

Hank grinned, his eyes sparkling like a child’s. “I sure do.” He pulled out a crucifix from under his jacket. “I may not think straight, but I knows what you told me. I pray now. Talk to Jesus. I’ll be okay.”

“I know you will, Hank. I know.”

Billie just furrowed her brow, but was relieved to discover Hank, it seemed, was completely human after all. She turned to Nathaniel. “What kind of problem? Where’s Michael?”

“Still fighting. He allowed me a window to escape so I could find you. I’m sorry for leaving you, but the enemy sent some of his top soldiers to capture us. I’m glad they left you alone.”

“I’m happy you’re okay. You’re not . . . hurt . . . are you?”

“Our warfare is different than what you probably think. I don’t have time to talk about that right now anyway. Something has gone terribly wrong, like I said.”

“What?”

“I’ll show you.”

43

The Dust Cloud

“We go to the Hub first,” Tracy said.

“Agreed,” Joe said.

They were coming up on the city limits now. Joe hoped the big truck would maneuver around the abandoned vehicles as easily as the El Camino had.

The few zombies that were on the road, he ran over. The truck plowed through them as if they weren’t even there.

As they drove past the Chief Peguis Bridge, Joe immediately took note of the change of air and its powdery taste despite the windows being closed. The closer they got, the worse it became. It wasn’t long before they saw the source of the change: a huge dust cloud grew larger and larger before them, billowing out and heading their way.

Joe drove around a few more cars before being forced to pull off to the side because it got too difficult to see.

The dark brown and gray cloud grew closer, picking up speed and rushing toward them.

“Look out!” Tracy said, pointing at the windshield.

“It’s heading right for us.” He threw the truck in park and turned the engine off. “Get to the floor. Now!”

They slid off the seats and huddled on to the floor just as a rush of wind rocked the vehicle. The glass above their heads shattered and blew inwards; the rear window also blew out. Joe pressed his hands to his mouth and put his face to the ground to avoid clogging his lungs with dust. Dirt and dust filled the vehicle as the cloud blasted through the truck. The Ford teetered to the side, then spun like a clock’s arm to the right, the wind carrying it. This close to the floor, Joe heard the tires screech as they slid across the pavement.

He hoped Tracy was okay. Was she breathing? There was no way to ask her lest he open his mouth and choke. He felt the weight of the dust settle upon him, growing heavier and heavier.

* * * *

Tracy wanted to gag and cough, but instead could only bury her face in her sleeve even further. She could barely breathe against the leather.

Joe. Joe. Joe. His name echoed inside her head. Joe. Joe. Josh. Josh. Josh. I love you, Josh. I love you. If she was going to die, then at least she’d see him soon.

The truck spun in a circle, tipped to the side, rocked back down. The momentary jolt was enough to loosen her mouth from her sleeve. A flood of dust pushed against her tightly-pressed lips, trying to get in. She squeezed her mouth shut even harder.

Lost in the dark of closed eyes, she listened as the wind rushed overhead like a tornado. The weight of the dirt and dust settling on her pressed her closer to the floor. She felt her legs starting to get stuck there seemed to be so much. She couldn’t open her eyes to check unless she wanted to go blind.

The truck spun again, first one circle then another before slamming into something. It rocked upward, slammed back down. A moment later, it rocked upward again and gravity left the interior of the cab for a moment before reactivating in full force, sending Tracy’s body into something hard. She hit her head against what she assumed was the underside of the glove compartment. Her feet hit something else kind of soft and she hoped it wasn’t Joe.

Lying at an odd angle with one knee pressed against her chest, her other leg bent and up against something hard, she winced when a sharp pain spiked across the back of her skull.

The truck spun again.

The wind howled.

44

The Gathering

Nathaniel held Billie about the waist on one side, Hank on the other. The gray-stained lake was far below them. Bronze-robe fluttering around her, she couldn’t believe Nathaniel had taken her into the air.

She smiled despite herself and felt especially bad about it because Nathaniel’s face was nothing short of utter seriousness. He kept his fiery eyes gazing ahead. Hank had a small smile upon his face and appeared to be taking the flight in stride, as if he did this kind of thing all the time.

The forest stretched on ahead of them, covered in gray and void of green foliage. Even the evergreens had lost their needles. The earth was a brown, black and gray mosaic.

The flight was short as Nathaniel brought them far enough away from the zombies to avoid being detected, but close enough to see what was going on. They landed on a large and wide tree branch some four or five stories from the forest floor. Nathaniel held each of them about their waists to help keep them balanced.

The undead moved in droves toward what appeared to be a series of large rocks piled in and around each other, some of them partly buried in the ground. A couple of dark openings marked the rocks, narrow and wide. It reminded Billie of a wolf den.

The zombies gathered around the rocks, hundreds of them, with the majority in front. Some stood on the rocks themselves.

They remained standing there, rocking side-to-side on their feet, eyes vacant, jaws slack. More and more of the undead joined their number, those making their way through the forest finally getting to the gathering site.

“Oh brother,” Hank said, drawling out the words. “Look at them.”

Decaying men, women and children covered the forest floor. It was as if every zombie in the province was here. Billie smelled their deadly stench even from up here. Their moans rose on the air, filling her ears. She could envision their gasping tones seeping their way into her brain, threatening to drive her mad.

Her skin crawled. Her heart beat so hard she winced from the pain.

“Be strong,” Nathaniel told her.

“So many,” she whispered. This was why Nathaniel and Michael were taken. If they were with me, she thought, they could have seen all these zombies coming and stopped them. Now . . .

“Nathaniel, what is this?” Billie asked.

“They are coming together,” he said.

“What for?”

“To greet the devil.”

About the Author

A.P. Fuchs is the author of many novels and short stories, most of which have been published. His most recent books are Magic Man Plus 15 Tales of Terror and Zombie Fight Night: Battles of the Dead, in which zombies fight such classic monsters as werewolves, vampires, Bigfoot, and even go up against awesome foes like pirates, ninjas, and . . . Bruce Lee.

A.P. Fuchs is also known for his superhero series, The Axiom-man Saga, and the author of the shoot ’em up zombie trilogy, Undead World. He also edited the zombie anthologies Dead Science and Vicious Verses and Reanimated Rhymes: Zany Zombie Poetry for the Undead Head.

Fuchs lives and writes in Winnipeg, Manitoba.

Visit his corner of the Web at

www.canisterx.com

Check out the Undead World Trilogy at

www.undeadworldtrilogy.com

And follow him on Twitter at

www.twitter.com/ap_fuchs

Praise for Blood of the Dead

Book One of the Undead World Trilogy

“Blood of the Dead isn’t what you think it is. Sure, it starts out as a zombie jamboree that drags you through hell on Earth, but then it goes further . . . a lot further . . . and takes you straight to hell and back again. This is the stuff of nightmares, boys and girls, with some unnerving and frightening action scenes that will have you on the edge of your seat and haunt your dreams.”

- Rick Hautala, author of The Wildman and Occasional Demons

“A satisfying addition to the ever-growing zombie subgenre . . . non-stop action and flesh-eating mayhem . . . Blood of the Dead will be enjoyed by any zombie fan.”

- The Horror Fiction Review

“Frantically paced and never predictable, Blood of the Dead takes the usual staples of the zombie-genre—blood, guts, guns and action—and mixes them with the bizarre to create a unique story. It’s a formidable mix—think Night of the Living Dead with a healthy dash of Dante’s Inferno! Fuchs leads his cast through a nightmare world filled with relentless pain, constant fear and never-ending waves of dead flesh, then takes them some place worse . . . . You’ve never read a zombie story like this before!”

- David Moody, author of the Autumn series

“Talented author A.P. Fuchs has woven a bloody tapestry out of human flesh, the dark ruins of a decimated earth and the raw fear and uncertainty of the few remaining survivors. Richly drawn characters face loss, isolation, hunger and, of course, hordes of the living dead in this post-apocalyptic gem. Zombie fans will do themselves well by picking up a copy of Blood of the Dead. Scary, heartbreaking and imaginative, this book sits near the top of my very short list of zombie favorites. An absolute blast!”

- Gina Ranalli, author of Chemical Gardens and Wall of Kiss

“Fuchs presents a hellish apocalypse underneath poisoned skies in Blood of the Dead. Well-drawn characters navigate the very edge of a meat grinder powered by Fuchs’s twisted imagination. The Undead World Trilogy looks to be a promising addition to the genre.”

- Gregory Solis, author of Rise and Walk

“Unrelenting and unnerving, Fuchs crafts an apocalyptic tale of empty humanity among a world overrun by the living dead. A world uniquely envisioned and vividly crafted by the imagination of A.P Fuchs. Blood of the Dead offers a rich blend of guns and gore that is sure to please the most diehard of zombie fans.”

- Geoff Bough, Editor of Revenant Magazine

Also by A.P. Fuchs

Undead World Trilogy

Blood of the Dead

Possession of the Dead

The Axiom-man™ Saga

(listed in reading order)

Axiom-man

Episode No. 0: First Night Out

Doorway of Darkness

Episode No. 1: The Dead Land

City of Ruin

Of Magic and Men (comic book)

OTHER Fiction

A Stranger Dead

A Red Dark Night

April (writing as Peter Fox)

Magic Man (deluxe chapbook)

The Way of the Fog (The Ark of Light Vol. 1)

Devil’s Playground (written with Keith Gouveia)

On Hell’s Wings (written with Keith Gouveia)

Zombie Fight Night: Battles of the Dead

Magic Man Plus 15 Tales of Terror

ANTHOLOGIES (as editor)

Dead Science

Elements of the Fantastic

Vicious Verses and Reanimated Rhymes: Zany Zombie Poetry for the Undead Head

Non-fiction

Book Marketing for the

Financially-challenged Author

Poetry

The Hand I’ve Been Dealt

Haunted Melodies and Other Dark Poems

Still About A Girl

Go to

www.canisterx.com

&

www.undeadworldtrilogy.com

The Coscom Entertainment Zombie, Monster, Mash Up and Superhero Books

Please go to www.coscomentertainment.com for a plot synopsis and more information on the books. All are available in eBook and paperback at your favorite online retailer. Thanks.

Zombie Books:

Adventures of Huckleberry Finn and Zombie Jim by Mark Twain and W. Bill Czolgosz

Alice in Zombieland by Lewis Carroll and Nickolas Cook

Axiom-man: The Dead Land by A.P. Fuchs

Bits of the Dead edited by Keith Gouveia and illustrated by Sean Simmans

Blood of the Dead (Undead World Trilogy, Book 1) by A.P. Fuchs

Dead Science edited by A.P. Fuchs

Don of the Dead by Nick Cato

Possession of the Dead (Undead World Trilogy, Book 2) by A.P. Fuchs

Praise the Dead by Gina Ranalli

Revolt of the Dead by Keith Gouveia

R.I.P. by Harrison Howe

Robin Hood and Friar Tuck: Zombie Killers by Paul A. Freeman

The Lifeless by Lorne Dixon

The Undead World of Oz by L. Frank Baum and Ryan C. Thomas

The War of the Worlds Plus Blood, Guts and Zombies by H.G. Wells and Eric S. Brown

World War of the Dead by Eric S. Brown

Vicious Verses and Reanimated Rhymes: Zany Zombie Poetry for the Undead Head edited by A.P. Fuchs

Zombie Fight Night: Battles of the Dead by A.P. Fuchs

Zombifrieze: A Zombie Graphic Novel by W. Bill Czolgosz and Sean Simmans

Other Monster and Horror Books:

Animal Behavior and Other Tales of Lycanthropy by Keith Gouveia

Anna Karnivora: A Vampire Novel by W. Bill Czolgosz

Bigfoot War by Eric S. Brown

Dracula by Bram Stoker, Illustrated by Sean Simmans with an Introduction by Nancy Kilpatrick

Emma and the Werewolves by Jane Austen and Adam Rann

Hound: The Curse of the Baskervilles by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and Lorne Dixon

Magic Man Plus 15 Tales of Terror by A.P. Fuchs

Snarl by Lorne Dixon

The Summer I Died by Ryan C. Thomas

Superhero Books:

Axiom-man (The Axiom-man Saga, Book 1) by A.P. Fuchs

First Night Out (The Axiom-man Saga, Episode No. 0) by A.P. Fuchs

Doorway of Darkness (The Axiom-man Saga, Book 2) by A.P. Fuchs

The Dead Land (The Axiom-man Saga, Episode No. 1) by A.P. Fuchs

The Wraith by Frank Dirscherl

Valley of Evil (The Wraith Series, Book 2) by Frank Dirscherl

Cult of the Damned (The Wraith Series, Book 3) by Frank Dirscherl

Bookazines:

Dry Ice Dreams (Bumper Sticker Shine No. 1) by A.P. Fuchs

The Macro Mechanic’s Manifesto (Bumper Sticker Shine No. 2) by A.P. Fuchs