Lakewood Memorial (16 page)

Maylee finally took her foot off the gas.
She was panting. She looked in the rearview mirror. The corpses
were strewn in the street, beaten up but still moving. One of them
was almost to its feet.

"Damn, Maylee," said Dalton. "You sure you
drive better than me?"

"Yes," said Maylee. She put the car in
reverse and backed into the street. The car bounced as it hit the
pavement. She spun backward until the car was facing the right way.
"Now put on your seat belt."

"Seriously?" Dalton raised his eyebrows at
her.

"Dammit, Dalton, just put
on the shitting seat belt right shitting now!" Maylee yelled,
sounding a little like Mom when Mom was really,
really
mad.

Dalton glared at her and clicked his seat
belt into place.

"Thank you," said Maylee, then put on her
own seat belt. "Now we can go."

She put the car into drive and drove.

Twenty-Three

Angie entered the laundry room, Park right
behind her. Kristen and Mr. Paulson followed. One of the dryers was
still running, loud and hot. Stacks of linens were piled
everywhere.

Mr. Paulson looked around. "You people
actually wash these things? Shit, how dirty were they before?"

"Be quiet," said Angie. She walked to the
other side of the room, where another door led back out into the
hall. She looked carefully around the edge of the door.
Nothing.

"Okay," she said, walking back to the
others. "It's clear for the moment. Let's get our shit together and
then get back to it."

She walked to a folding
counter and set her jug of alcohol on it.
Freeda had been folding sheets at this table.
She undid the belt around her waist and took one
of the full jugs from the belt. She used the full jug to refill the
used one. Then she slid the jug back onto the belt and tied the
belt around her waist.

Park was reloading his rifle. He shook the
box of ammo and cursed. "Running kind of low already."

"Great," said Mr. Paulson. "So we'll all get
halfway, then run out of ammo and get eaten. What a great fucking
plan this is."

Park looked at Mr. Paulson. The large dryer
in the corner rumbled and groaned.

"Well, here's a thought," said Park. "How
about you keep your fucking mouth shut and quit attracting their
fucking attention?"

Kristen sighed, looking at both Park and Mr.
Paulson. "We aren't getting out of here, are we?"

"Quit saying crap like that," said Angie,
adjusting her belt.

"Sam died before we even got out of that
room. How in the hell are we going to make it all the way out of
this building?"

"I said quit saying crap like that!" Angie
snapped, glaring at Kristen.

Kristen sighed again and backed up against a
wall. She put her head back.

Angie gave her one more glare, then went
back to adjusting her belt.

The dryer stopped.

The groaning didn't.

Angie spun around to face the dryer. Park
turned his rifle to it.

"What the hell's that noise?" said Mr.
Paulson.

The groaning could be heard clearly now. It
was not mechanical. It was loud and gurgling. From what sounded
like a choking throat.

Angie looked more closely at the dryer. It
was set a foot or so away from the wall.

"Shit," she said. "It's behind the
dryer."

"Well, it's stuck then," said Park. "Let's
leave it and get the fuck out of here."

"Wait," said Angie. "We can't be sure. It
could be someone hiding."

"They're awfully fucking small," said
Park.

"And not very verbal," said Mr. Paulson.

"It could be a hurt child," said Kristen. "A
survivor. Hurt and hiding."

Angie looked at Kristen and nodded. She
hated her, but she was right.

"We have to make sure it's dead before we
leave it," said Angie.

"Fine," said Park. "Just hurry."

Angie stepped toward the dryer. The groaning
continued. It did indeed sound like a child's voice.

"Is someone there?" said Angie, taking
another step.

The groan became louder. Whatever was behind
the dryer gurgled and moaned.

"It's okay. We're friends." She stepped up
to the edge of the dryer. "Don't be scared." She looked over at
Park. Park nodded and got his rifle ready.

Angie nodded to Park and turned back to the
dryer. She took a breath and pulled the dryer further away from the
wall. She leaned over the top of the dryer, looking down.

Two small, cold hands grabbed her face and
pulled.

"Fuck!" Angie heard Park say behind her.

"That's it," said Mr. Paulson. "She's done.
Let's get out of here!" Angie heard the wheelchair start to
whir.

Angie looked down at what had grabbed her. A
small child, hungry and very obviously dead. It was a small boy
with portions of his scalp chewed away. He tugged at Angie's head
but was not strong enough to get his writhing mouth to her.

"Oh shit," said Angie, softly. It was the
boy. The boy Angie had seen eaten.

"Stop right fucking there!" yelled Park,
presumably at Mr. Paulson.

The wheelchair stopped. "You gonna pull a
gun on a crippled old man?" said Mr. Paulson.

"Stop pointing that thing at my father!"
yelled Kristen. Angie heard Kristen's gun cock.

Angie felt tears coming. The boy writhed and
gnashed at her. His fingers pawed at her face, but he was too weak
to do any damage. "I'm sorry," she said.

She pulled her face away and turned to the
others. Park had his rifle pointed at Mr. Paulson. Kristen had her
rifle pointed at Park. "Knock it the fuck off!" Angie said,
stomping over to Kristen. She snatched the rifle away.

"Back off, bitch!" said Kristen, tears in
her eyes. "His stupid friend killed my husband!"

"Shut the fuck up or I will shoot you
myself," said Angie, stepping back over to the boy. The boy was
still caught behind the dryer, but his head and arms were now
visible over the top.

Angie stared at the boy and allowed herself
a few seconds to cry.

"Who the fuck is that?" asked Park.

"I dunno," said Angie. "Just some kid, I
guess." She swallowed, leveled the rifle and fired.

The boy's head rocked and a large hole
appeared in his forehead. His glazed eyes closed and he slumped
forward. Dark blood slowly pooled on the top of the dryer.

She turned and gave the rifle back to
Kristen. "This is only for those things." She looked at Park. "Same
goes for you. Now come on, we've made enough noise."

Groans came from both doorways.

"Dammit!" said Park.

Angie looked in both directions. Corpses
were already stumbling in the way they had come. The groans from
the way out were getting closer. She scanned the room quickly.

"This is it!" yelled Park. "Just keep
shooting until the ammo runs out."

"Then what?" said Kristen as she looked
around, panic on her face.

"Then I finally get my wish," said Park,
quietly. Angie was close enough to hear. She ignored it for the
time being.

Her eyes landed on a wheeled cart full of
folded white linen. "Here," she said, running over to the cart. She
opened the jug of alcohol and dumped all of it onto the linen.

More corpses from the way they had come
groaned and came through the doorway. Angie took out Park's lighter
and lit the pile of linens. It burst instantly into flames.

"Shit!" said Mr. Paulson.

Angie screamed and pushed the cart into the
corpses. The corpses moaned as the cart hit them. The corpses and
most of the doorway burst into flame.

"Crazy bitch!" yelled Mr. Paulson. "We're
flammable too!"

"Not if we run," said Angie, turning for the
second door. "Go!"

All four of them moved to the door. Three
corpses came through the other way, blocking them.

"Shit!" said Park, raising the rifle.

Angie was out in front, inches from the
closest corpse. The corpse, what was left of a dried rotted woman
covered in a dirty burial dress, grabbed her. The woman's mouth
opened, dry skin ripping and cracking, and she leaned in to bite.
Angie fumbled in her smock, found the scalpel, and shoved it into
the woman's eye socket. Angie grunted and pushed the scalpel in as
hard as she could. The corpse shook, then dropped away from
her.

"Duck!" yelled Park.

Angie did. Park's rifle went off, the shot
flying over Angie's head and into the corpse standing closest to
her.

"Shoot the other one!" she yelled. The
remaining corpse, a man covered in yellow and red sores, fell on
her, groaning. She rolled over on to her back, trying to push him
up. He was heavy and strong.

"I can't get a shot!" yelled Park.

"Leave her!" yelled Mr. Paulson.

Fire was spreading on the far wall. Angie
could feel the heat from it. She put her palm on the corpse's
forehead. He snarled and bit at her, missing but close. Angie
pushed upward with all her might. The corpse's head moved up an
inch or two, but that was all.

"You'll have to do better than that!" yelled
Park.

"Fuck the stupid bitch!" yelled Mr. Paulson.
"We're going to burn to death if we stay!"

Angie heard Mr. Paulson's wheelchair start
to move. She heard it whir toward the door. From the corner of her
vision, she saw one of his wheels move past her.

"Get back here!" yelled Park.

The wheel of Mr. Paulson's chair crunched
over the leg of the corpse atop Angie. "Shit!" said Mr. Paulson,
trying to swing the chair the other direction. He connected with
the corpse's thigh, knocking it to the side and off of Angie.

Park's gun rang out. The corpse flew back a
few feet and landed on its back, head destroyed.

Angie stood and glared at Mr. Paulson. She
looked at the fire. It was spreading badly.

"Okay, now let's go!" yelled Park.

"Not yet," said Angie. She moved to a wall
next to the washing machines. "I hate to admit it, but Mr.
Paulson's right." She pulled a fire extinguisher from the wall and
moved to the fire. She pulled the pin and emptied the extinguisher
into the flames. In a few seconds the flames died down and
stopped.

"We don't want the place burning down before
we get out," she said, moving to drop the extinguisher. The dried
corpse of the woman, the one with the scalpel buried in her eye
socket, stirred. She moaned and began to sit up.

"Shit," said Angie. She stepped over to
where the corpse was struggling to right itself. She hoisted the
extinguisher over her shoulders and threw it down at the corpse's
head. The head imploded, sending dried skin and dust flying. The
corpse fell down again and stopped moving.

Angie looked back at the others. She undid
her belt and removed a jug of alcohol. She tied the belt back and
took out Park's lighter.

"Now we can go."

Twenty-Four

Maylee slammed on the brakes. The car jerked
forward, then rocked back. Dalton yelped and tugged at the seat
belt dug into his shoulder.

"Damn it, your driving sucks, Maylee," he
said.

"Be quiet," said Maylee. She was gripping
the steering wheel and looking out at the junction they'd just come
to. She hated that she had to move the seat so close to reach the
pedals. "Which way to the good bridge?" she said.

"What?"

"You remember. The bridge. The new one."

Maylee looked both directions. There used to
be one quick way to Mom's work from here. An old wooden bridge that
tourists would come to look at in the summer. Then one year someone
from the government pronounced it unsafe, put a landmark sign on
it, and the state had to build a new one. The new bridge was built
farther up the same road, crossing the river at a different point.
Maylee had ridden to work with Mom dozens of times, first over one
bridge, then the other. Now, in the dark and terror and the newness
of driving herself, Maylee couldn't remember.

She turned to Dalton. "The one we won't fall
off of and die."

Dalton looked up and down the road. "How
should I know? Mom's the one who drives."

Maylee sighed and looked again. She looked
in the rearview mirror and saw a corpse stumbling up to the car,
far away still but visible in the red of her taillights. Time was
up. She'd have to choose.

"Well damn it, I think it's this way,"
Maylee said, then turned right.

For several minutes they drove in quiet.
Trees went by in the dark, and every so often Maylee was sure she
saw a corpse wandering among them. Then the bridge came into view.
It was the new one. Maylee sighed with relief.

Then they drew closer and she noticed the
corpses wandering up and down the bridge. Easily a hundred of them.
Maybe more. Where had they all come from?

Maylee noticed their
highly decomposed state and their tattered clothes.
The old graveyard nearby. This town's full of old
graveyards
.

Maylee stopped the car and cursed.

"What?" said Dalton, then he looked out the
window. "Oh."

"Maybe we can just run over them," said
Maylee. She drummed her fingers on the steering wheel, wondering.
There were more of them than she had run over in the garage. Lots
more.

"You sure?" asked Dalton.

"No of course I'm not sure," said Maylee.
"But it's that, the old rickety bridge, or going all the way back
and taking the long way around."

"That would take forever," said Dalton.

"That's why we're doing this," said Maylee.
She gunned the engine and tore for the bridge.

The nearest corpse turned just as Maylee
smacked into it. It flew backward a few feet into the mass of
corpses behind it. The car slowed to a stop. The corpses groaned
and clawed at the car.