For the Fallen Page 8

  “Steph?” Lisa asked, not letting go.

  “Salami for everyone,” she nearly sobbed.

  “Okay. Then go west down River Street, stay away from Pohl’s. Good luck,” Lisa told

  her as she ascended the rest of the way up the stairs.

  “Why Steph?” Melissa asked.

  Stephanie thought about telling her; but that would only create dissension in the

  group, and they were already on the brink. No, she would leave with her head high

  and with no parting shots for Curtez, even if he deserved it. Damn him.

  “There’s more out there, Melissa. And I…we…we want to find it.” She thought a moment

  about asking Melissa to join her, but she couldn’t bear the thought of watching her

  friend fall into harm’s way.

  Melissa left a small puddle of tears on Stephanie’s shoulder before she ran sobbing

  up the stairs. Hal gave Stephanie a stiff hug and then stuck out his hand for Trip.

  Trip gazed upon the hand as if it had sprouted wings.

  “You should become a hand model,” Trip told him, grabbing Hal’s proffered extremity

  and pulling it closer to his face to examine it.

  Hal pulled his hand away in embarrassment. “Um…yeah, you two be careful,” he said,

  following his girlfriend.

  “It’s just salami, why is everyone so concerned?” Trip asked his wife.

  “It’s just been a while since anyone has had any and they’re very grateful.”

  “Oh…that I get,” Trip said, whistling loudly as they pushed open the door that led

  outside.

  Steph wished he’d lower his pitch, but by the time she explained to him why he needed

  to they could have walked a block. Steph could feel the many eyes of her previous

  group looking down on them. She would not give Curtez or his followers the satisfaction

  of the sheer terror that had to be etched on her features. She didn’t buckle even

  when she heard whom could only be Melissa tapping on the glass.

  “Where are you going?” Steph asked, struggling to keep up with her husband who seemed

  to be a man on a mission.

  “Bus station,” he told her between tunes. “We need to get to Pagliaro’s. They have

  the best meats.”

  “Trip, Pagliaro’s is in Chicago. We’re in Philly.”

  “That’s why we need the bus, Steph. Sometimes you’re such an airhead,” he playfully

  admonished her.

  “Do you hear that?” Steph asked in a lull between Trips sets.

  “Sounds like it’s raining fish.” Trip cupped an ear, listening.

  The funny thing is that it does, Steph thought. But it wasn’t fish; it was the footfalls of many, many zombies. Some

  wearing boots, some shoes, some stilettos, and flip-flops. Others would be barefoot,

  and for some reason she couldn’t discern, some of them would have on mismatched footwear

  as if they had been in midstream putting their shoes on when they’d changed over.

  The pounding of feet on pavement echoed throughout the narrow city streets, the sound

  building up as it echoed off the myriad of storefronts and office buildings.

  “Come on, Steph. The buses run on tight schedules and we don’t want to miss it,” Trip

  told her, his gait noticeably longer.

  “Nobody is here. We’re either real early or real late,” Trip said as they walked inside

  the terminal. “Come on, let’s see if we can find any of the drivers.” He pulled her

  out into the back. Six city buses stood parked perfectly in their allotted spots,

  a seventh had crashed through the twelve foot razor wire tipped fence and somehow

  completely flipped onto its back like a giant turtle.

  The driver had obviously tried desperately to get back to the terminal as his passengers

  warred with one another. It was easy enough to see who had won the battle, blood and

  bits of bodies covered most of the remaining windows that had not been broken out.

  “I think that one is out of service,” Trip told her when he saw she was looking at

  it.

  A hand shot through a window near the middle, oblivious to the fact that its arm was

  being neatly carved up against a jagged piece of glass. Black liquid, oozed down the

  spike of solidified sand. Hands began to beat against the thin aluminum frame like

  children caught in a car that had slid off a road and into a lake and was quickly

  sinking below the surface, furious that they would be forever trapped in a watery

  death.

  Trip had already moved on, Steph hurried to be with him. He had moved to the bus furthest

  away from the crashed disaster. “What are you doing?” she asked as he pushed a small

  black button located to the left of the bus door. The answer became readily available

  as the door popped open.

  “Your chariot awaits,” he told her.

  “Trip, I don’t think the buses are running anymore.”

  “Good thing I was a bus driver once then.” He climbed aboard, quickly making himself

  comfortable in the driver’s seat, donning a cap and shirt that the previous driver

  had left behind.

  “Glad I have this.” Trip said happily as he pulled out a folded up square of tin foil.

  He proceeded to encase his new hat with the thin metal. “Can never be too safe.”

  Steph was about to ask him at least ten well-founded questions; the least of them

  being how he was going to get the bus started, when it roared to life. A plume of

  black diesel smoke drifted past the windshield.

  “Sounds good. I should do a quick mechanics check on it, though,” Trip said as he

  arose from his seat.

  Steph looked to their right, zombies from the crashed bus or the ones that had been

  running in the streets were now heading their way. “Maybe later, Trip, we should get

  going.”

  “Nonsense, the best bus trip is the uneventful one.” He quickly sat down when he saw

  the same sight as his wife. “Although, with more fares coming, we really shouldn’t

  mess with their schedules.”

  It took Stephanie a moment to realize that he meant to let them aboard.

  “I chartered this bus for myself!” she blurted out. “No other passengers!”

  Trip turned towards her slowly. She could almost hear the gears in his head spinning.

  “Oh yeah, you were going to pick up some friends before the show! I remember now.

  Party bus here we go! Right on, man.” He pulled the doors closed just as the nearest

  zombie slammed into it. “Sorry, fella! The lady bought this ride for herself!” he

  yelled to the zombie.

  Steph let her heartbeat slow down a bit before she realized they weren’t moving. Trip

  was looking at her.

  “We’re going to be late, we need to leave.”

  Trip pointed to a sign at the front of the bus: State Law – The operator may not move this vehicle until all passengers are below

  the yellow line. Stephanie noticed her right foot was halfway across. She quickly moved it. Trip

  nodded in approval and turned back around. The bus pushed up against the fence before

  Trip realized he needed to be in reverse. “It’s been a while.”

  If ever, she thought.

  Trip was hooting and hollering as if he were the one that had chartered the party

  bus as opposed to driving it. The bus rocked back and forth as he pulled out of the

  depot and off the sidewalk.

  “Curb check!” he yelled as if he needed to be heard above the music only he could

  hear
. “Are any of these people in your party?” he asked her as a wave of zombies headed

  their way.

  Stephanie emphatically shook her head in the negative and said the words aloud lest

  he mistake her actions; it wouldn’t be the first time. A few months before the zombies

  came, Stephanie had returned home from an extended business trip and had been all

  kinds of desiring to be with her husband. She had dressed in her sheerest negligee,

  lit a bunch of candles in their bedroom, and when he’d come back from taking a walk,

  she had cooed to him that she was ‘so hot’, she’d also used the ‘come hither’ finger

  movement. Trip had walked into their bedroom blew out every candle and had immediately

  left. He came back an hour later with seven different types of ice cream.

  “This should help with the heat,” he told her enthusiastically.

  After they ate to their hearts’ content, they made love. She smiled at the remembrance

  but decided there and then she needed to be as clear as possible when dealing with

  him. The ice cream had been great, but it had cost her hours on the treadmill to get

  rid of it.

  Trip ‘blatted’ the horn as they passed by the hotel. He was waving happily upwards

  at the people looking down.

  “Son of a bitch,” Curtez said, smiling that they were safe. His conscience eased.

  “Zombies in the stairwell!” Melissa shouted.

  “How is that possible?” Curtez asked, running over towards her. “You guys were the

  last through! Did you shut it?”

  “Of course we did.” Hal came to Melissa’s defense. “And besides, we weren’t the last

  ones to use it.”

  “Bitch,” Curtez hissed. Grabbing his rifle and heading back towards the windows he

  was determined to take some shots at the retreating bus.

  “What are you doing?” Lisa asked.

  “Bitch left the door open because I kicked her and her doltish husband out!” he shouted,

  lifting the gun to his shoulder. He knew it was a futile effort; any decent firing

  angle had long since passed.

  “You did what?” Lisa and Melissa asked at nearly the same time.

  Curtez turned to face them. “He was useless, he needed to go,” he said, defending

  his position.

  “You’re a jerk.” Melissa turned her face into Hal’s shoulder.

  “Really, Curtez, that’s how you decided to handle the situation? So if I get hurt

  and can’t do anything, you going to kick me out too?” Lisa asked. “Is that the society

  you’re trying to create? Fuck the weak and infirm?”

  “It’s not like that, we’re trying to survive. Resources are scarce.”

  “So you took it upon yourself to be judge, jury, and executioner? Don’t you think

  we maybe should have talked about it first at least? This isn’t your little fucking

  Tinker Toy group to do with as you please. And I’ve known Stephanie almost as long

  as Melissa. She’d no more put any of us in danger than she would Trip. You, on the

  other hand, are just an asshole. Had I known that decision had been made, I would

  have left with them.”

  “Me too,” Melissa cried.

  Hal turned when he heard noise in the stairwell. His eyes grew wide as he watched

  the unthinkable happen. “The knob! The fucking knob is turning!” Hal pushed Melissa

  to the side and dove for the door, grabbing the bar that was used to open it from

  their side. His fingers turned white as he gripped it hard, attempting to hold it

  from opening.

  “Well there’s your answer, Sherlock,” Lisa said to Curtez. “Looks like our friends

  are getting smarter. I told you she wouldn’t betray us, she’s not you.” She got into

  position a few feet away from the door. “Okay, Hal, let go and move away from the

  door.”

  “They’ll get in,” he said in a panic.

  “How long are you planning on holding that door?” she asked.

  “Melissa, get my rifle,” Hal told her. He waited until she was a few feet away before

  letting go and grabbing his rifle. The zombies had the door open before he could spin

  and shoot his first round.

  Lisa drilled the first one in the forehead, blood sprayed back into the stairwell

  covering the next zombie to come through. He did not seem to mind the blood bath in

  the least. He quickly met the same fate as his friend.

  “We need to move those bodies!” Lisa shouted. She had effectively created a doorstop.

  Nobody made a move. Lisa’s words had stung Curtez. He truly felt that he was doing

  what was best for the group and now he felt the need to atone for his actions. He

  yelled as he ran towards the door, his gun firing bullets into the zombies that hurried

  to get over the fallen. His steps faltered as he was drilled in the side with a ricochet;

  the bullet piercing his side, going in and out. He did not stop to assess the damage

  until he was over the zombies in the doorframe.

  He was still yelling when his rifle’s bolt stood open, his magazine empty. “What the

  hell?” he asked.

  Six zombies were dead, there were no more in the stairwell. He saw the sunlight diminish

  as the door below him closed.

  “Where did they go?”

  His answer came quickly in the form of a woman screaming. He watched through the open

  door as zombies flooded into their location, having come up the stairwell on the opposite

  side of the building. It was not difficult to see that all had been lost. Lisa, Melissa,

  and Hal were rallying those not yet fallen into a defensive posture. Curtez could

  see the writing on the wall. He’d seen positions overrun, and that was what was happening

  here. He quickly pulled the zombies stuck in the doorway and flung their bodies down

  the stairs.

  He thought to call to Lisa but knew she would want to stay and try to save as many

  of the people as possible. He closed the door quietly and watched. Somehow, through

  all the noise and confusion, Lisa realized what he was doing. She turned and looked

  at him through the small window set high in the door.

  He opened the door. “I have no bullets, what do you want me to do? It’s over Lisa,

  come on!” he told her. She shook her head, but begrudgingly she tapped Melissa and

  Hal and motioned to the door.

  The four of them crowded around the small, wire-encased glass window and watched their

  friends and co-workers fall quickly to the zombies. Three or four zombies would descend

  on a fallen human, tearing into them even as they thrashed about. Screams were cut

  short as throats were ripped out. Eviscerated and de-limbed people lined the floor,

  rapidly firing nerve endings making their bodies twitch violently.

  “I can’t watch anymore.” Melissa headed down the stairs. Hal was next to pull away

  to comfort Melissa. Lisa’s breaths hitched as she watched.

  Curtez was distraught that all he had managed to save was lost in a matter of moments.

  How though? How had they learned to open the doors? It had seemed a task light years beyond their skill set.

  “We’ve got to go,” Curtez said to Lisa when it looked as if the zombies were finishing

  up with the warm bodies still available to them. If they could turn a handle, pressing

  an arm bar would be a piece of cake.

  “Where to?” Lisa asked, all hope seemingly burned out of her.

  “I wonder if we can cat
ch a bus.”

  “Hello?” Melissa asked as the door on the first floor opened up.

  “Do you think it’s Stephanie?” Lisa asked Curtez.