Ground Zero: A Zombie Apocalypse (15 page)

Cutter went down to the foyer and pulled two chairs away from the barricaded furniture to clear a narrow path to the door. Then he doused everything in paint thinners – emptying half the bottle’s contents over sofas, cabinets, desks, tables and bookcases. The fumes hung in the air, rippling like a heat haze.

He crossed to the foot of the stairwell and left the bottle of thinners on the bottom step. Then he went back to the front doors and stared out through the tinted glass. The street seemed deserted.

There were bolts in each door at the top and bottom. He unfastened them and finally unlocked the door.

Cutter snatched the
Glock from his jeans and fumbled the cigarette lighter from his pocket. He went out onto the sidewalk, into the warm morning sunlight and stood staring.

The Durango’s rear
windows were splattered with dry blood. He couldn’t tell whether anything moved inside the vehicle, but somehow he doubted it. Then he looked back towards the bookstore. There were bodies on the ground, scattered across the road like discarded litter, and the only movement was the dark shapes of rats, scampering from one corpse to the next in evil delight. Cutter turned and glanced towards the traffic lights.

Stillness.

And silence.

No earthly sound, and no sign of movement.

He stood for a moment longer, and then took a deep breath. He raised the Glock into the air – and fired.

The sound of the shot was deafeningly loud in the oppressive silence, ripping apart the eerie stillness, and echoing between the tall buildings. Cutter counted to three.

Nothing happened.

For a split-second he considered making a dash for the Durango. It was right there! Not twent
y feet away from where he stood. The temptation was almost irresistible.

But what then?

He knew the silence couldn’t last. He knew it must be shattered in the next few seconds by screaming, wailing undead. How would he rescue Father Bob and Samantha? How could he get them to the car safely?

He shook his head. It was folly – and as if to confirm his decision, suddenly three dark shambling shapes appeared on the opposite side of the street, drawn to the
crashing sound of the gunshot.

There were two women and a man. They were dirty, filthy
apparitions, their bodies covered in torn tatters of material, their hair wild and stiff with gore. Their faces were streaked with blood, and they came into the sunlight with their mouths agape, their eyes wide and feral. Cutter stared at the undead.

They stared back, unmoving.

Cutter pointed the pistol at one of the women. She was standing on the opposite sidewalk, swaying mindlessly from side to side. Cutter had a shot between the abandoned cars. He took careful aim and fired.

He missed. The bullet went well wide, smashing a shop front window.

Cutter swore. He adjusted his aim and took another long breath. He could feel his arm wavering, unused to the weight of the weapon. He closed one eye… and then suddenly the entire sidewalk around the undead filled with a swarm of similar dark shapes, like an army appearing from the morning mist on an ancient battlefield.

They came from the buildings. They came from the shadows into the glaring warm sunlight – and they came at a run.

The street suddenly filled with the demented wail of hundreds of undead voices, clamoring and screeching in hideous fury. Cutter turned back for the open doors of the building and ran.

More dark shapes came from his left, moving to intercept him. They spilled onto the sidewalk and burst towards
him, their arms and legs flailing as they closed on their prey.

Cutter crashed
back through the doors and leaped the barricade. He dropped to his knees and flicked the lighter, focusing all his attention on the task. It wouldn’t light.

He heard the sound, like a storm surging closer. He glanced up and the glass façade of the building was suddenly enveloped in shadow as the undead filled the sidewalk.

“Concentrate!”

He flicked the lighter again – and a table and sofa erupted into flames with a sudden
‘whoosh!’

Cutter didn’t pause. He
scrambled to his feet and threw himself at the stairs. Behind him he could hear the crackling sound of the fire as it leaped across the entrance. He could feel the intense heat on his back. And he could hear the sudden sounds of glass smashing and the shrieks of the zombies as they spilled into the foyer and were confronted with a solid wall of flame.

He snatched up the bottle of thinners and took the stairs two-at-a-time.
The noise behind him rose to a crescendo. He reached the top of the stairwell and glanced over his shoulder.

The zombies were surging into the foyer
, moving like a dark wave. The press of their momentum was impossible to stop, forcing the first ones through the doorway onto the wall of flames. Their clothes and hair caught alight and they spun and flailed their wretched burning bodies in wild confusion. Some fell into the barricade and became part of the erupting blaze. Other crashed through and staggered like fiery torches into the ransacked ground floor apartments. The whole foyer became filled with flame – and still the press of the demented filled the sidewalk beyond.

Then they
saw Cutter through the fire and billowing smoke – and a hundred undead voices suddenly shrieked with malevolent fury. They hurled themselves at the flames, driven by insane madness, and the barricade blew apart in an explosion of shattering timbers and burning embers.

Cutter leaped the final steps onto the landing and splashed lighter fluid over the sofa that he and Samantha had prepared. The fabric burst into sudden flames and he heaved at it with his foot until it reached the point of balance, and began to slide down the stairwell.

He turned and ran.

The whole apartment block was going up in flames, and the heat rising up from the foyer was intense. Paint began to blister on the walls and he heard pounding footsteps behind him, sounding like the maddened beat of a thousand drums. He pushed himself on, driven by fear and panic. The footsteps came closer, became louder, and when he reached the second story landing he turned to see one of the undead staring up at him from the bottom of the stairs. The thing was hideously deformed. Once it had been a man, but now it was a disfigured wraith. It was naked, its body blackened and festering with ru
nning sores and open wounds. Its head was grotesquely swollen, and the fire had burned away its hair and eyelids and lips so that all that remained was smoldering melted skin. It hissed at Cutter, and then suddenly vomited thick black bile. Cutter stared in horror. The sickly sweet stench of burning flesh swept over him, mingled with the fetid odor of rotting corruption. Cutter drew the Glock and fired.

The bullet hit the zombie between the eyes and it was flung backwards down the stairs. It fell into the path of other undead and was crushed beneath their pounding feet.

Cutter pulled the bookcase across the stairwell as a final barricade. He threw the bottle of thinners over it and set it alight. The sudden wall of heat hit him like a shock wave. He reeled back, the air sucked from his lungs, and the side of his face suddenly stinging hot. For a split-second he thought he had been burned. His vision suddenly clouded, and then he realized it was thick smoke choking up from the ground floor. He went up the final set of stairs holding his breath, and his eyes streaming with tears.

Samantha was standing at the open
fire-door. He saw her as he reached the landing. He ran towards her.

She was screaming at him. He could see the horror in her face but the roar of the burning building and the demented wail of the pursuing zombies drowned her words out. Cutter felt himself stumbling. He felt his legs becoming leaden. He sensed the wave of
ghouls closing in behind him so that the reek of death seemed to hang over his shoulder like an executioner’s axe.

His feet went from under him. He
dropped to his knees and rolled. His hands clawed at the carpet. Then he was suddenly on his feet again, stumbling through the choking smoke, and Samantha was at his side, dragging him by his arm and leading him towards the blue sky and fresh air that waited beyond the fire door.

Cutter went reeling through the door and hung over the iron railing. His lungs burned. He was coughing and choking. He felt himself swaying with dizzy disorientation. Behind him he heard Samantha grunting. The fire door
slammed closed, and she kicked at the handles of the knives to wedge the door shut. Then she snatched at Cutter’s arm and flung him towards the stairs.

“Come on!” she screamed. “They were right behind you!”

Cutter stumbled down the narrow fire escape, clinging to the railing, his body still racked with heaving spasms of coughing. His clothes hung from him, drenched with sweat, and there was a pounding pain in his head. He pushed himself on, hearing Samantha’s frantic urging loud in his ears.

Father Bob was waiting at the bottom landing, and the canvas carry bag was at the man’s feet. He extended the ladder to the ground and pushed Samantha ahead of himself.

“You go!” Father Bob said.

Samantha didn’t hesitate. She scrambled towards the ground and leaped the last few yards, landing on her feet.

“Now you!” Father Bob pushed Cutter in the back. “I’ll drop the bag down to you.”

Cutter swarmed down the ladder. Behind him he heard a sudden loud crash. He looked up in alarm. There were zombies standing at the top of the fire escape. They saw Samantha and Cutter o
n the ground and they shrieked in murderous rage.

“Come on!” Cutter shouted to Father Bob.

The big man heaved the bag over the railing and Cutter caught it in two hands, the weight of it staggering him backwards. Then he heard the loud crash of a gunshot. Father Bob had drawn the revolver from his coat. He fired three shots at the zombies. One of them sagged against the railing and didn’t move again.

“Move it!” Cutter screamed. The pastor fired one more shot and then came down the
fire escape, his panic making him awkward. When he hit the ground he heaved the ladder back up, and then they turned and ran desperately into the alleyway.

* * *

They got ten paces. That was all.

Then suddenly behind them, Cutter heard a sickening crack of breaking bones and a snarling howl of fury. He spun around. One of the zombies had hurled itself over the fire escape railing. The ghoul had landed face-first on the concrete. Its body was twisted at an impossible angle, but its head rose up from the ground and its hands clawed at him. The zombie’s face had been crushed beyond recognition, but still the malevolent fury blazed in it
s eyes. Cutter dropped the bag and doubled back. He put a single round into the zombie’s head from point-blank range and then flung himself sideways as a second body plummeted to the ground. It landed just a few feet away; the body of a woman. It landed feet-first, and the crushing impact splintered and fractured every bone in its legs. Thick brown slime spilled across the pavement. Cutter shot the woman between the eyes and dashed back towards the alley.

They reached the dumpsters that blocked the alley entrance, and Cutter hurled himself at the obstacle, scrambling up onto bags of rubbish until he could see the street beyond. His heart was pounding
in his chest and his hands were clammy with fear.

They had a clear path to the Durango. He helped Samantha over the dumpster and then Father Bob heaved the bag up to him. Cutter passed it down to where Samantha stood and then helped the pastor over the obstacle.

They dropped to the ground together, crouched against the side wall of the apartment building.

“You go straight for the car,” Cutter said to Samantha. “Your father and I will cover you. Once you get there, check the back seat, for God’s sake. Thump on the window. They’re drawn to noise. If anything is still inside you will know it. If the car is clear, get in behind the wheel and get it started. Understand?”

Samantha nodded. She glanced at her father for a brief second and she smiled bravely. Father Bob put his hand on her shoulder and squeezed. He grinned to reassure her. “I’ll be right behind you, honey. Promise.”

Samantha went across the street doubled over and running as fast as she could. She was light on her feet. Cutter swung the
Glock to cover the entrance of the apartment block and Father Bob knelt beside him, sweeping the revolver in an arc to cover the opposite side of the road.

Samantha got to the Durango and pounded her fist on the windows of the vehicle. She glanced over her shoulder at Cutter – and the
n flung the driver’s door wide open.

Cutter waited. His nerves were drawn tight. His eyes flicked away from the entrance of the building to the Durango.
He heard the engine whine and then burble to life. Cutter let out a long breath of relief. He thumped Father Bob’s shoulder.

“Go!” Cutter said.
“Take the bag, and get in the back seat. I’ve got you covered.”

The pastor nodded. He went at a loping shuffle, weighed down by the canvas bag, and as he ran
his head swiveled from side to side looking for threats. Cutter followed him with his eyes until the pastor finally reached the car.