Asylum (8 page)

Devon started to mumble something, his voice
so soft that Diva couldn’t make out the words. She leaned close to
him, smelling his sour breath. He was repeating over and over,
“They’re inside, they’re inside, they’re inside.”

“
No, honey, they’re not,”
she assured, stroking his face. “They’re still outside, we’re safe
in here.”

“
NO!” Devon screamed,
slapping Diva’s hand away. “They’re inside! I thought I was
helping, but I let them inside!”

Diva thought she heard movement on the far
side of the upstairs loft, but her eyes couldn’t penetrate the
blackness. “Lance? Jimmy?” No answer and Diva began to feel afraid.
The blood on Devon’s face, Lance and Jimmy’s silence, the feeling
that she was being watched, stalked—there were a lot of jumbled
puzzles pieces starting to come together in her mind.

Feeling frantic, she reached out and grabbed
Devon’s shirt. He was a lifelong smoker, and she knew he usually
kept a pack of cigarettes and a cheap Bic lighter in his shirt
pocket. She felt around until she found the lighter, pulling it out
and flicking the wheel. With the unsteady flame for light, she
turned toward the far side of the loft…

And immediately wished she hadn’t. Jimmy
shambled toward her, a gaping bloody hole where his throat used to
be, his eyes vacant, his movements jerky and uncoordinated. And he
was almost on top of her.

Diva let out a scream, but it was cut short
when Jimmy grabbed her by the shoulder and jerked her backward. Her
wig went scuttling across the floor like an overly-coiffed rodent,
and Diva’s second scream was cut short when Jimmy sank his teeth
into her throat.

Toby, with Clive behind him and clinging to
the back of his shirt, was making his way around the bar, drawn by
Diva’s screams, when Devon suddenly burst down the stairs. His face
was covered in droplets of blood, as if he’d been spritzed with the
stuff, and he was screaming, “They’re here, they’re among us, we’re
all going to die. There’s no hiding from God’s wrath.”

“
What the hell is going
on?” Toby asked, but Devon pushed right past him, rounding the bar
and heading for the door to the patio. He started knocking the
makeshift barricade of tables and chairs aside.

This seemed to wake Autumn from her
near-catatonic stupor. “Oh God, he’s going to let those things in!
He’s going to open the door and they’re going to rush in here and
eat us all alive.”

Toby was torn. He was worried about
Diva—Devon was covered in blood,
blood
—and he wanted to go
check on her, but Autumn was right. Devon was going to throw out
the welcoming mat for those creatures outside. Toby had to stop
him; Diva would have to wait. He’d just have to pray she was
okay.

Grabbing Clive by the arm, he dragged his
lover back around the bar. “We’ve got to stop him before he gets
that door open.”

Devon nearly had the entire barricade down,
and the sound of the zombies beating on the door was louder than
ever, almost as if they could sense that their goal of getting
inside was about to be reached and it was working them into a
frenzy. The door shook in its frame, and Toby imagined it was
actually bulging outward.

Just as Devon was reaching for the
lock—somehow he’d gotten a hold of Diva’s key, and it too was
stained with blood—Toby grabbed him around the waist and yanked him
away from the door, the two of them toppling to the dance floor.
Clive immediately started pushing tables and chairs back against
the door.

Devon rammed an elbow into Toby’s jaw,
causing an explosion of pain, his mouth filling with blood. Still
he held tight, not letting go of the DJ. Toby was short and not in
the best shape, but his survival instinct kicked in and gave him
some added strength and stamina. He was determined not to die in
this club, and the first thing he was going to do when he got out
of here was finish his damn documentary.

He’d been dicking around with that thing for
much too long. The truth was he could have been finished with the
doc by now,
should have
been finished by now, but he kept
dragging his feet, tinkering with this or that aspect of it, and
all because he was afraid. Afraid that the documentary wasn’t very
good, that
he
wasn’t very good. The idea of presenting a
finished product for judgment, it was too frightening a
prospect.

But he would rise above his fear and
insecurities, if he could just get through this. And that meant
keeping a hold of this crazy-ass motherfucker bucking in his arms
and making sure he didn’t open that door.

From over at the bar, Toby heard Autumn
exclaim, “Lance!”

Autumn had been cowering at the corner of
the bar while the two men grappled on the floor and the other one
tried to reinforce the barricade, but movement in her peripheral
vision made her turn to see Lance coming down the stairs. He was
moving funny, like he was having leg spasms or something, but he
seemed otherwise okay.

“
God, I was afraid that
nut had done something to you,” Autumn said, rushing to her
friend.

She and Lance had met their freshman year in
college, too many years ago now than she cared to consider. He had
still been in the closet at the time and they had dated briefly.
After he’d come out, she remained his best friend despite his
tendency to be cruel sometimes, but she also remained deeply in
love with him. She knew it was stupid, that he’d never be able to
return her feelings, but she couldn’t change what was in her heart.
Maybe she didn’t want to. It had occurred to her on more than one
occasion that it was perhaps easier to love someone who had no
chance of reciprocating, cut down the chances of being rejected and
hurt.

As soon as she threw her arms around Lance,
she knew something was wrong. Even before she put a hand to the
back of his head and felt the blood there. She started to pull away
but then he bit a chunk out of her cheek.

Toby heard Autumn’s garbled scream and
glanced over to see Lance chewing on her face. Devon apparently saw
it too because he renewed his efforts to get loose, screeching, “I
gotta get out of here!”

“
Help her,” Toby shouted
at Clive, who seemed frozen in shock.

Clive blinked slowly, blinked again, then
started to move. He picked up one of the chairs to use for a weapon
and ran toward Lance and Autumn. He’d almost reached them when
Jimmy and Diva emerged from the stairwell, both with their throats
torn open. Clive threw the chair in their direction, but Jimmy
swatted it away, and both zombies advanced on Clive, backing him
into a corner.

Toby immediately let go of Devon and
scrambled to his feet. He forgot all about the danger of the
unstable man opening the door, focusing only on saving his lover.
As he passed the place where Gil still slept—how could the fucker
sleep through all of this?—Toby yelled at the bartender, “Get off
your ass and help me!”

Clive was on the floor, blubbering, as Diva
and Jimmy reached for him. Toby snagged an air hockey puck that was
on the floor and sent it sailing through the air. It collided with
the side of Diva’s head, causing her to turn her attention away
from Clive. That still left Jimmy.

Toby could hear Devon across the club,
moving the tables and chairs away from the door again, but that
seemed unimportant to him at the moment. As Diva got within range,
Toby kicked out, his foot connecting with the drag queen’s crotch.
Even though Toby knew Diva still had a full package down there,
there was no reaction, and the zombie did not slow.

Clive screamed, but there was nothing Toby
could do for him until he took care of Diva, or the shell that had
once been his friend. Toby backed up against the bar, looking for
something that could be used as a weapon, maybe the bat he’d seen
Gil with earlier, forgetting the bartender had lost it when he’d
gone outside. A hand fell on Toby’s shoulder; he looked over and
saw the Tasmanian Devil tattoo on the bicep. “Gil, thank God, what
are we going…”

When Toby looked up and saw Gil’s face, the
words died on his lips.

Then Gil ate his lips right off his
face.

Jarvis and Curtis were lying on the floor,
sweaty and exhausted, when they heard Diva scream upstairs, then
the pounding of feet down the stairs and Devon shouting something
about God’s wrath.

“
What the hell is going
on?” Curtis said, pulling out of Jarvis’s arms and pushing up to a
sitting position.

“
Sounds like Devon has
really snapped. We should go out and see if we can
help.”

Curtis retrieved his clothes and slowly
started to dress. Jarvis, who only had the thong and the boy’s
jacket, beat him to it. “You okay?” he asked. “I mean, I know these
weren’t the ideal conditions for your first time.”

Curtis smiled at him as he shimmied into his
leather pants. “It was great, really. Hell, if the world wasn’t
ending, I probably wouldn’t have gotten laid.”

Jarvis was about to respond when he heard a
great ruckus out in the club, like furniture moving around, and
Toby yelling, “Help her!” “We better get out there and see what the
hell is going on.”

While Curtis put his shirt back on, Jarvis
opened the bathroom door…

Just in time to see Lance gnawing on
Autumn’s face. Clive was advancing on them with a chair in his
hands, but Jarvis saw what Clive did not—Diva and Jimmy, both
obviously dead, coming down the stairs.

Moving quickly before the zombies spotted
him, Jarvis closed the bathroom door and turned the deadbolt,
backing into the room.

“
What is it?” Curtis
said.

At first Jarvis couldn’t speak. He took a
couple of deep breaths, worked up some saliva in his mouth, then
said, “Zombies. Lance, Diva, Jimmy, they’re all zombies.”

Curtis let out a laugh that sounded more
like a cough and hugged himself tight. “No, no, no, this can’t be
happening, can’t be real. Stuff like this just doesn’t happen.”

From the other side of the door, there were
more screams. Clive, then Toby, then the sound of one of the doors
bursting open and Devon screamed, only once and briefly. Jarvis
could hear the stomp of many feet as the zombies from outside
poured into the club; it was like a stampede. In only a matter of
seconds they were pounding at the restroom door, as if they could
smell the two living beings inside.

Jarvis took Curtis’s hand and they retreated
to the far side of the room. “How long do you think that lock will
hold?” Curtis asked.

“
A while,” Jarvis said,
but he was pretty sure Curtis could tell he was lying. The door to
the restroom was nowhere near as sturdy as the ones to the club
entrances, and the deadbolt lock was flimsy. It wouldn’t be long
before those things were inside.

Curtis put a hand on Jarvis’s chin and
turned his head so that the stripper was facing him. “Thank
you.”

Jarvis frowned. “For what?”

“
For making my last night
memorable.”

Jarvis started to speak but paused. He was
all out of assurances and false hope. This was the time for
honesty, harsh and ugly. “I guess you were right,” he said finally,
pulling Curtis close. “It looks like we’re not going to make it
after all. Maybe I should have gone ahead and had that drink.”

“
What?”

“
Not important. So how do
you want to spend the time you have left?”

In answer, Curtis leaned forward and kissed
Jarvis. They sank slowly to the floor, and this time Jarvis didn’t
bother with a condom.

They were both nearing climax when the dead
broke through the door.

I'd like to take this opportunity to express
my gratitude to Tom and Billie Moran, whose belief in me bolstered
my confidence at a time when I really needed it. Also, I have
encountered many generous and talented writers in the past
year that have treated me like one of their own: James Newman,
Brian Knight, Gene O'Neill, Gord Rollo, Kurt Newton, L.L. Soares,
just to name a few. My partner Joel has listened to my babble
about many a story idea or character nuance without once telling me
to shut the hell up, and my mother continues to be proud of me even
if I write stories that aren't exactly to her taste. Thanks to
all the people out there who have read my stuff and offered me an
encouraging word. And finally, thank you to Jason Sizemore who
took a chance on this novella and gave it a home.

Mark Allan Gunnells is thirty-six years old
and holds a degree in English and Psychology. He is the author
of the chapbook
A Laymon Kind of Night
and the upcoming
Whisonant
and
Tales from the Midnight Shift, Vol. I
,
all from Sideshow Press. His short story "Dancing in the Dark"
was recently released through Darkside Digital. A small-town
boy at heart, he still lives in his hometown of Gaffney, SC, with
his partner of nine years.