The Fast and the Dead - Day 11

They lucked out about as much as you can when every street around you is flooded with an ever-increasing number of hungry zombies. The roofs were linked and the block was fairly large, with only some narrow alleys between a few of the buildings. They were able to remain safely out of reach while scouting the area and had made it just over halfway around the block when Claire’s eyes widened in recognition.

“What is it?” Ben asked.

“Bikes. I saw that shop across the street a few weeks ago, I recognize the sign. A … ‘contestant’ like us was trying to get into this building we’re standing on.”

“What good are bikes going to do us? The streets are thick with the dead, if we try to ride through them we’re toast, no matter how fast we’re going.”

“Not if they have some of the latest enclosed models.”

Enclosed motorcycles had been one of the last innovations in bike technology before the fall. They were self-balancing, fully enclosed and almost like 2-wheeled car in most respects.

Ben frowned, but more out of thoughtfulness than disapproval. “There’s no guarantee there will be any in there.”

“No, but I’m fresh out of other ideas. Besides, even if there aren’t, all the commotion is on the other side of the block. The crowd isn’t as heavy here.”

Ben was about to object on the basis of gaining access to the building when he stopped, the objection cut short by the sight of a door leading inward. “At least getting back indoors will be easier than it was to get out.” He nodded toward the door; Claire visibly brightened with the relief that brought her.

He checked the door; unlocked. “Let’s find our way down quick. I’d like to get out again as quick as possible.”

“No argument here.”

They moved quietly down the stairs to the interior of the building, tense and alert. Ben wished they knew if the building had been closed off or not. If it had, there was little chance they’d be bothered by the things in the street, but there could be some risen inside and trapped. He’d seen that played out just enough times on the shows over the years to make him jumpy.

The Fast and the Dead - Day 10

They were out of immediate danger, but it didn’t feel as reassuring as he’d expected. The streets in all directions were crawling with more and more of them as slower ones caught up to the mass, and faster ones from farther out began arriving.

“I’ve never seen so many at once, not even on TV,” he said with a shiver. “I don’t know where we’re going to be going from here.”

“Clarissa Backhus.”

“What?” He blinked his confusion.

“My name. Call me Claire.” She was studiously avoiding looking at the sea of figures below.

“Oh. Right. I’m Ben. Ben Neales.” She was a bit younger than him, and he was in his early 30s. She looked older. Everyone who got tossed in here did; there’s nothing like the stress of being hunted by a city’s worth of zombies to add a few years. He wondered how he looked now; he must be a sorry sight for anyone watching on TV.

Cameras were scattered around most of the city, though it was hard to tell where they were most of the time. Before the fall, cameras had gotten really tiny so you never really knew these days. Once in a while you’d see larger, older models, but just cause they weren’t there didn’t mean there weren’t newer, smaller ones.

Watching people who’d been thrown in was a guilty secret for most people in the region, at least those who had the power to run a TV or knew someone who did. Nobody liked to admit they watched, but they did it anyway.

“Nice to meet you, Ben.” She laughed. “Nice to meet anyone who’s not dead on his feet.”

“I’m not sure I’d go that far. I am pretty wiped out.” He smiled; today of all days it was good to have something to smile about. “So Claire, any ideas on where to go from here?”

“Look around, I guess. Get our bearings. This place looks familiar, or it did from the ground. The Winchester, it’s called. I think I’ve seen … others … other survivors make it to this area before.”

He nodded. He was tempted to ask what she’d done to get thrown in here, but he didn’t really have to. It didn’t really matter. After governments had collapsed, everything fell to chaos, and unless you knew the right people in the right positions these days, there was pretty much just one punishment for any conceivable crime, real or imaginary. Exile into the wastes, entertainment for the remaining masses.

He’d never seen anyone get away, but there were stories that came and went of people thrown out who made it to other cities. He supposed it was possible. If you could make it out far enough from the cities, there were fewer zombies, but also fewer people who could help you out. It’d be difficult. Extremely difficult. He had to believe it was possible though.

“I was thinking of heading down to the water. Find a boat. Get away that way. It’ll be tough, but maybe it’ll be a bit easier together.”

Claire nodded. “You had me at ‘away.’”

The Fast and the Dead - Day 9

The roof had a bit of an overhang, and they’d just reached it. This was the part he’d been dreading. He closed his eyes, gritted his teeth, held on desperately to a handhold no deeper than a fingertip with his left hand and reached up and back with his right, hooking the overhang.

She watched this, mouth hanging open, eyes wide. “You’re crazy. I can’t do that. I’ll fall off.”

“You’ll fall off eventually if you stay there, too.” Speaking was an effort; his teeth were still clenched as he tried to work up the strength to force his fingers off the handhold and onto the overhang. His arms were losing strength fast.

He saw her glance down where the ravening horde awaited, their moans filling the air. She somehow managed to turn paler. She closed her eyes, just as he had, dug in with one hand and snagged the overhang with the other. Rather than stopping there though, she let go and had the roof with both hands, and was up before he could say a word.

He was about to try to duplicate her feat when her hand clamped around his wrist. “C’mon!” she called. His fingers let go his handhold almost without his conscious control and he grabbed for the overhang.

With her help, he managed to get himself topside. “That’s two times you’ve saved me,” he panted.

“And you’ve saved me once. Let’s not bother counting, huh? Our competition is against those things, not each other.”

The Fast and the Dead - Day 8

He bit off a curse and ran to the least-blocked window he could see. “Well, that’s great. Looks like the whole ex-population of the city is out there. They’re spilling past the door, they’ll have this place surrounded in no time.”

The woman stood, breathing heavily, eyes closed. “No chance of a service tunnel out the basement huh?”

“What? Do they have stuff like that?” He was distracted by the pounding, ripping and clawing sounds of the zombies as they beat at the windows.

“Just something I saw in a movie once,” she said. “We’ll have to look upstairs, see if we can get to the roof.”

“More climbing. Better and better,” he groused, but followed her to the stairs. He was a lot slower than she was. “How’d you know there was a gun here?”

“Didn’t,” she said. “Saw it hanging above the bar when I ran in.” She led the way upstairs. The upper floor was set up for finer dining, but not for roof access that he could see.

“Check the back rooms,” she suggested, racing for the rear of the establishment. The staccato beating from downstairs was changing subtly as the door and windows weakened under the relentless pounding.

Kitchen, office, change room, washrooms, but no other stairs. They met up back at the dining room. “Nothing! We’re stuck.” Her focused resolve seemed on the verge of crumbling. He was eyeing the second floor windows anxiously. “What is it?” she asked.

“Maybe we can’t get up to the roof from in here,” he started.

“You can’t be seri—”

“What’s the worst that can happen? We climb out, fall down, and get torn to shreds and eaten. Our other choice is to stay here and get torn to shreds and eaten.”

She stared at him, mouth agape, face pale. For the first time since he’d seen her, it was obvious that she had just been thrown into this situation a short time before. “I … Okay.” And with that the windows were open and they were clawing for handholds above.

It took a few moments for the zombies below to recognize they were there, and when they did the racket was incredible. He didn’t dare turn his head to look as he climbed, but with that much noise they had to be pulling every zombie for miles around to this spot.

He couldn’t look, but he focused his mind on visualizing what that must look like. The effort took his mind off his hands and arms, which were fighting a desperate battle to keep him against the wall, and they weren’t equipped to win it easily. Finally he got himself high enough from the window to brace himself with his good leg against the window frame, and he risked a glance at his fellow survivor.

He’d only thought she was pale before. Now she was a sheet, and sweat-soaked to boot. Not good with heights, he thought, though it wasn’t the best time to ask.

She was slow-going but making it. He found her watching his every move, duplicating his handholds one window over.

The Fast and the Dead - Day 7

The moan seemed to well up behind him as she vanished into the building. He risked a quick glance back and immediately wished he hadn’t; he hadn’t pulled as far ahead as he’d thought. He whipped his head back around to face front and pumped his legs as fast as he could go, teeth clenched, ankle on a slow burn.

He was halfway to the building the woman had vanished into. His eyes were fixed on the doors, which she’d left open. Foolish, he thought. And deadly. He was no more than 30 seconds from making the doors when she reappeared suddenly, shotgun in hand. His eyes widened as she raised the barrel, but then she grimaced and lowered it, gesturing him in. “C’mon, get in!” He didn’t have to be told twice.

The roar of the gun as she fired past him was deafening, but he didn’t let that stop him. She slammed the doors and was still jamming the barrel of the shotgun through the handles when the pounding began.

He kept moving into the room; it was a tavern of some sort, or a bar, or pub. His eyes moved automatically to the windows; most were broken, but were covered with makeshift bars, nailed up table tops and other altogether too flimsy-looking barricades. “We can’t stay here, this place won’t last the hour.”

“Help me find something better to brace the door with.” Her voice was tight with strain but not out of breath, he noticed.

He opened his mouth to argue but shut it with a snap; an hour was better than a minute. His eyes scanned the room. Dining tables and chairs, none much better than what were already in use. Then several large pool tables caught his eye. “Think one of these will do it?”

Her footsteps announced her joining him. “Yeah, let’s move, get it into position. Your leg okay?”

“Let’s just get this thing in place, then I’ll worry about my leg.”

She cast an askance glance at him, what he imagined must usually be a skewering experience, but the glassy-eyed shock on her face robbed it of its power. That must be how I’ve looked all day.

They wrestled the table as quickly as possible across the floor, knocking aside chairs and bar stools that got in the way. They tipped it up on a narrow end, blocking the doors to their full height, and then for good measure secured it with a second pool table jammed behind it lengthwise.

“That’ll hold ‘em until they start bashing in the windows, anyway,” he said.

That was when the banging on the windows began, naturally.