Night of the Living Dead (5 page)

God, please don’t let me miss!

Lunging forward, Ben threw his jacket over her head and wrapped it around her face. He twisted his forearms, coiling the sleeves even tighter around his wrists, and with a final cinch, closed his impromptu trap. Perfect! The crazy bitch was now blinded, half-deaf, and most important, could not bite him.

That didn’t mean she wasn’t still dangerous, though. She flailed about in apparent confusion at first, but as soon as she touched his hands and arms, she went wild. She bucked and thrashed, tugging at the sleeve of his sweater, trying to get free and latch onto him at the same time.

Fortunately, Ben outweighed her by forty, maybe fifty pounds. He pulled her halfway to her feet, then shoved forward with his knee in her lower back. She collapsed back to the ground, lying nearly prone this time, allowing Ben to slip a shaky arm around her throat ...

It’s okay, she can’t bite you through the jacket,
do
it!

... after which he applied considerable force into choking her.

It was over. In another few seconds, Ms. Liza Connelly would black out, which would allow Ben to hogtie her with his ruined jacket. They could call the local police for her, and an ambulance for the old-timer (for what good it would do), and then maybe someone could tell him just what in the hell was ...

The woman was not blacking out.

It made no sense. Not only was the jacket smothering her face, but Ben was putting so much pressure on her windpipe, he feared he might crush something if he didn’t let up soon. She
couldn’t
be able to breathe through all this; despite her exertions, she wasn’t making so much as a peep.

That’s when Ben realized that she had made very little noise through the whole affair. Some wheezing, a little moaning ... but otherwise she had made none of the racket one would expect from someone who was so
clearly
out of her mind.

He squeezed her throat harder than ever, as hard as he could, and now he
did
feel something crumpling in there ... and yet she
still
continued to struggle.

I don’t understand
—

"She still goin’?"

Startled, Ben looked up to see the janitor emerging from Beekman’s. The man had unscrewed a broom or mop handle and brandished it now before him. He approached the mauled old man, who by now had stopped moving altogether.

"Yeah," Ben answered after a moment. "I’m trying to knock her out."

The janitor squatted next to the old man. He started to touch his throat, then jerked his hand away from the bloody mess; he settled for touching his wrist instead. After a moment, he announced, "Joe here’s dead."

Liza, rather than getting weaker from Ben’s efforts, suddenly surged in her twisting and turning. She started thrashing about in the direction of the janitor’s voice, evidently riled by the proximity of new prey.

"I can’t knock her out," Ben said, hoping that, somehow, the janitor might offer an explanation. "She can’t be breathing, I’m cutting off the blood supply to her—"

"Knock her in the head," the janitor said, releasing the old man’s wrist and standing. His voice shook with anger.

"I don’t want t—"

"I said knock her in the fuckin’ head!"

The janitor caught Ben off guard as he rushed forward and kicked Liza, hard, right where her face would be. His boot struck closer to Ben’s choking arm than he cared for, but it more than got the job done — he heard, and felt, a loud
crunch
as the nurse bucked once, then collapsed.

Ben dropped her, then stood and backed away. His right arm was aching and trembling from the exertion. "I think you just killed her, man."

"Like I give a fuck," the janitor seethed before spitting on her unmoving body. "She fuckin’ killed
Joe
! Fuckin’ bit his face and throat and killed him!"

"Okay, okay!" Ben said, holding up his hands and gesturing for the man to calm down. "I’m not passing judgement here, I’m just ... saying ..."

From around the corner of Beekman’s appeared another woman.
She was wearing a hospital gown, and even in the dying daylight, Ben could see
that she
, too, was a dirty mess.

First a nurse, now a patient,
Ben thought.
How fitting.

The janitor’s jaw dropped a little when he set eyes on the new woman, but the instant she started walking in their direction, the anger returned. "Another one."

"Wait, now, we don’t know ..." The patient’s face contorted when she saw them, and she reached out with fingers hooked into claws. "Okay, it’s another one."

"What the fuck is goin’ on here?"

"I don’t have a clue."

The patient shared some of the nurse’s unsure footing, but she was moving a bit faster. She would be on them in seconds if they remained where they were.

With a gentle but firm hand, Ben touched the janitor’s shoulder and pushed him back toward Beekman’s door. "Let’s get inside."

"To hell with that." The janitor shook free, moved forward to meet the patient halfway, then hauled back with his broomstick like a batter at the plate before swinging it around with all his might.

In his hurry and vehemence, his aim faltered. Rather than slamming the broomstick across the side of her head, it skipped off the knuckles of one of her outstretched hands. He still struck her in the face hard enough to break the broomstick in half — and to send a number of broken teeth flying through the air — but it didn’t even knock her unconscious, let alone kill her.

The patient stumbled back, her jaw askew. But she made no sound, never took her eyes off the janitor. Ben was also surprised by how little blood flowed from her ruined mouth.

When a raspy moan did float through the air, it did not come from the patient. Another person — a man this time — had appeared from around the same corner. He was dressed as neither a nurse nor a patient, just plain street clothes, and he was not dirty. But it took all of two seconds for his gait, expression, and the dark circles under his eyes to reveal that he was just like the others.

"Come on," Ben urged again, "we need to get inside."

The janitor threw down his broken weapon. His failure with the patient had rattled him, and when he repeated, "To hell with that," he said it with less bluster and more dread. He backed away from the two while fishing into the pockets of his overalls. "I’m gettin’ out of here." He produced a set of keys and turned toward the Chevy pickup truck parked in front of the diner.

"Wait," Ben said. "I’ll get everyone else. We’ll leave together."

"Fuck off. I’m goin’ now."

"Just wait a second, they can climb into the back of—"

"I said fuck off! I’m not wait—
Ah
!"

The janitor had almost reached his truck, was stepping over the old man, Joe, in his rush to the driver’s door. He cried out because old Joe had grab his ankle.

"Jesus Christ, Joe! I thought you were
dead
! You scared the ..."

Joe sat up, looked around ... then down at the ankle he was holding, and the leg attached to it.

"Joe?"

The old man leaned forward, just as casual as you please, and sank his teeth into the janitor’s calf. Blood soaked through the pants and gushed into his mouth, some of it squirting out through the gaping hole in his cheek.

Ben’s chest tightened, and he tried to reject everything that was happening, reject the whole mess. None of this made sense, so none of this could be happening — none of it!

The janitor was screaming and trying to pull away, but old Joe had his teeth sunk in deep. The janitor punched at the old man, but he did not let go.

The terrible yet engrossing scene vied for Ben’s full attention, but he became conscious of a thumping to his right. He glanced over to see Clara the waitress and the male bus traveler through the front window of Beekman’s, each of them pounding on the glass with one hand while pointing with the other. His wits were intact enough for him to follow the direction they indicated, but by then it was too late.

The patient with the ruined mouth and the normal-looking man both seized the janitor from behind. The patient could do little more than gnaw her ragged lips against him — she lacked her front teeth, and her jaw was no longer in alignment — but the man bit the janitor’s right ear off.

All four of them — one of them struggling; three of them feeding,
feeding!
— tumbled to the ground and rolled into an atrocious jumble. The afflicted three focused all of their attention on their latest quarry.

Ben, for the moment, was forgotten.

He crept away, back toward the diner. He hated to leave the janitor to such a fate, but the actions of old Joe told him one indisputable fact.

Whatever was happening, it was
contagious.

Ben was mere steps from the front door when he spotted the janitor’s dropped keys. All in an instant, he knew what he had to do.

The woman who had traveled on the bus with him opened the door to greet him, to let him back inside as quickly and quietly as possible, but he shook his head.

"No," he whispered.

"What?" she gasped, then covered her own mouth with a frightened look at the three feeders. For now, they remained focused on the janitor.

"Get the waitress or the cook to lock this door, then shut off all the lights. Try to keep quiet."

"What about
you
?"

Ben swallowed. "I’m going for help."

The woman opened her mouth to say something, then hesitated. She stole one more peek at the three lunatics, then nodded. "Good luck," she said, and closed the door without trying to change his mind. A second later, without any help from the staff, she locked it.

He was committed now. Turning around, Ben took just a moment to build his nerve.