The Coalition: Part 1 The State of Extinction (Zombie Series) (4 page)

Then
Cutter put his eyes forward and suddenly he found that he really was running. He was running faster than he should have been. He was racing off far more quickly than a man with a bum knee should ever have thought about moving.

The
alleyway was suddenly an
echo chamber
where the angry noise of the dead was magnified. He risked a look back, and was horrified to see that the enormous, numberless mob that
he had
seen marching down the street had turned into the alley, and was moving faster than he’d thought.

Each
of them was after a single thing
,
Ron Cutter.

Cursing
Linden
, his employer, Ms. Penland
who had
opened the door for him,
and
cursing the President for telling him to go shopping,
and mostly
hating himself for falling for the damned lies, Ron threw himself down the alley. He knew that if he did not make it to the other side of that alley before the throngs detected him, then he was as good as dead. So once more
,
he pushed himself a little bit harder than he should have, feeling the pain in that right knee, knowing exactly where the surgeons had cut and stitched,
he cursed
them, too.

Quickly
he was out of the alley
and
out on the street. He looked left, and saw a hundred dead faces snarling at him, trying to head him off. Cutter looked right, and realized that the way toward the condo units was mainly deserted. The dead had not filled that street
yet,
and he might still have a chance. Stifling a scream, he turned in that direction and made himself stop running. He kept saying to himself
,
trot, do not run, he could jog, skip or a
nything
else,
but
just don’t
run. Save yourself
, he commanded.
Save it for when you’re going to need it
.

Once
again,
he was aware of the stench of the dead. It was not so much
from
rot, but of something else. It was the mixture of excrement
,
urine and blood. Someone had said that after they rose
,
they didn’t rot so fast, and that they might all last for years
,
before time and nature broke them apart. “They’re like people with leprosy,” a talking head had informed everyone on the television. “It’s as if they’re suffering from a combination of leprosy and rabies,” the now-famous epidemiologist had told everyone. “As such, these…these people might last for ten years. Or more.”
He had
paused before adding those last two words.
Now that Ron thought about it, after
that,
the
guy had ceased to appear on the TV news shows.
He had
probably pissed off the people
who were
trying to keep the shops open, gas stations pumping,
and
power stations generating.
He had
probably threatened someone’s bottom line.

Cutter almost broke into laughter, but he saw that the condo tower was before him, less than a block away. All he had to do was go in
,
and
then
close the door behind him.

On the street in front of
him,
there was another group of the dead.
They had
been crouched on the pavement,
clawing
at what was obviously a mass of flesh that had been two or three people shortly before. As Cutter came trotting toward them, though, they stopped what they were doing and looked his way.
When they did,
the things that
they had
been eating also began to stir.
Sitting up and looking his way was one of the things that still
had
enough
body left to get up
. The othe
r just began to twitch in place. They had Cutter dead to rights. A score of dead faces snarled at him, mouths opened, dropping gobs of red stuff that had been their food a few seconds before. Now they were interested in fresher meat
, meaning it
was Ron Cutter’s turn.

“Fuck you,” Cutter muttered. He would be in the building before they could get to him, and once there
,
he was sure he could find doors that could be locked and barricaded. Once there, he could hide and find enough time to plan a real escape. He even paused briefly, hands on his knees, and caught his breath. The sun burned down on his bare head. He breathed in, trying to ignore the hovering stench from the dead all around him. “Fuck the lot of you,” he repeated, and marched up to the big glass door and tugged on it.

“Oh, fuck me,” he whispered. It was locked.

Behind him, the hundreds that had pursued him from
Briggs
were hauling their unfeeling bodies down the street. To his right
,
the scores that had risen from their grisly meal were staggering
relentlessly
toward him.

Even though he knew the door was securely locked,
Ron pulled on
it
again. Why had he thought otherwise?
He
didn’t even have to turn around to see the progress of his pursuers. He could see their bright and hideous images in the reflection of the polished glass doors. Cutter shook the door and screamed. He could run again, but he could already feel the shooting pain firing up from his knee, knowing that he wouldn’t get far before he’d be reduced to a painful limp, no matter what was chasing him. Casting around, he searched for something to use as a weapon, or for something to try to use to smash his way
in, but then
he recalled the sales pitch from the realtor
,

“These doors are shatterproof acrylic,” he boasted. “You can’t break them unless you use a battering ram or a pickup truck,”
he had
added.
He had to
run,
he knew. After that…well, he
just
had to hope he could find refuge.

Moving quickly, one
of the shamblers was only a dozen feet away when he turned. Ron drew back his fist and prepared to punch the damned thing, when suddenly he felt hands grabbing him from behind, pulling him by his sweat-stained shirt so that he toppled backward. Cutter screamed, waiting to feel the bite of dead jaws on his flesh.

As he fell back, he realized that he was inside the condo tower. The door that had opened silently behind him was pushed solidly back into place, and a man was tugging on him, all but dragging him by his right arm into a shadowed hallway.

“At least get up and move, goddamn it!” The voice came from a young man of lean build and some height. His grip was very powerful and Ron figured he must be an athlete of some kind. Gathering what remained of his wits, Ron pulled himself upright and followed the man into a hallway and then to a door that opened into yet another stairwell. Ron hesitated at the door, but the man insisted.

“Fucking get in here
,
or shatterproof or not, they’ll push that glass in and follow us wherever we try to run.”

Cutter did as he was told and followed the guy into the darkness. As he closed the door behind them, the fellow produced a flashlight. A beam of white light pierced the shadows, and Ron saw that his rescuer was showing him the way up the stairs. “Come on,” he said. “I’ll lock the door here,” He heard keys, jangling one against others, and a lock
slid
shut. “But I’ve noticed that they calm down pretty quick if they don’t see anyone to eat. They’ll probably just mill around the building for a while and then wander off. They’ve been doing variations on that theme all day.”

Already
,
the younger man was moving briskly up the stairs. “Come on, damn it,” the youth repeated, shining the light just briefly in Ron’s face.

“Okay,” he answered. “I…well, thanks,” he said. “I thought they had me.”

“That’s okay,” the man replied. “I was watching you heading this way. I think I watched you all the way from that warehouse
; that
office supply place. What were you doing there? They got any guns there?” he asked, hope in his voice.

“No,” Ron said. “I
…
uh
…
I work there. They made us
go into
work today. They made us…” he trailed off.

For a second
,
his savior said nothing, and then he spoke up. “I understand,” he said. “They were trying to dick us all.”

In a few
moments,
they were on the third floor of the tower. “I’m Ted Siskey, by the way. You can call me Ted.”

Ron nodded as they moved out into
the light of
a hallway. “Ron,” he answered, extending his right hand. “Cutter.” For the first time
,
he had a good look at the Siskey. As
he had
figured, the guy was only about twenty-one or so. He was taller than Ron, probably six-feet-four or so, and very lean. His hair was blond, his eyes green. Siskey looked like he belonged on a recruitment poster for the German Army.

“You live here?” Ron asked. He had to pause then, his knee was all but screaming at him.

“No,” Siskey said, shrugging. “I was visiting a pal of mine who works security here.” He sighed. “Used to work security. They…uh…they got him about two hours ago. He went out front to check some doors…goddamn it.”

Ron didn’t say anything. He couldn’t say anything to that
, but
that explained the keys, at least. When Ted moved on, Ron followed him, limping slightly, hoping that they could find some
painkillers
. He would like to chew a few aspirin
at least
.

“Who else is in the tower?” Ron finally asked. “I know they only sold about a hundred units here. Out of three hundred, for Pete’s sake.” He laughed. “I came to a sales pitch about two months back,” he added. “Hell…maybe I met your pal when I was here.”

“Jake,” Siskey said. “His name was Jake Sears. Played baseball with me my senior year.”

“Baseball?” They stopped at the end of the hallway where there was a window and they both peered down at the
street, which
was packed with the dead.

“UNCC,” Siskey added. “I went there on a baseball scholarship. Graduated this past year,” he said. “Jake was a junior
, so he only had
one more year. He worked here to earn his spending cash.” The shamblers were still agitated and
they
were obviously trying to push their ways into the building. “Poor bastard,” Ted whispered. Ron heard it.

“If they get in, are we safe?” he asked.

“Fuck if I know,” Ted admitted. “What I suspect, though, is if we don’t find some guns
,
we’re screwed. My suspicion is that Uncle Sam ain’t going to arrive with the cavalry to rescue us or anyone else. So we might have to shoot our way out of here.”

Ron nodded. “I think you’re telling the truth,” he said. “You talk to any of the tenants? Ask them if they have any firearms?”

“Couple of people peeked out
, but
they shut their doors really quick and I haven’t spoken to anyone,” he said. “Can’t say as I can blame anyone for being bashful.” He pointed toward the ceiling, indicating the next few floors. “I’ve only gone up to the fifth floor. No higher. Seems Jake said nobody lives on floors seven through ten. So they should be all vacant. I knocked at a few doors
,
but if there was anyone
home,
they didn’t say anything. I think we can go on the assumption that at least some people aren’t home.”

Ron thought about it for a while. “You have a master key for these units?” he finally asked. “If there’s nobody likely to come home, we might as well see if there’s anything around that can help the rest of us. I know I’d feel a lot better if I had a good pistol or rifle.” Cutter thought of his old 22.220 back at home in
Virginia
at his parent’s place. It was his favorite hunting rifle and his dad kept it in good order for him. He wondered if his dad was using it right then.

“Matter of fact,” Ted replied, “I do.” He held the key up. “Jake said this key will get us into any unit.” He shook it so that it jangled, briefly. “However, I don’t want to get shot down like a thief, so I want to make damn sure nobody’s home before we go into any of these places. After all, they’re somebody’s homes. I don’t want to get my head shot off for no good reason.”

“I agree,” Ron said, nodding. “Hell with it. Let’s just go door to door and knock.”

And that was how they found Tim Edmundsen’s condo.

**

“Jake said it was on the third floor,” Ted informed Ron as they went up the darkened stairway. The air was cool in the well and Ron knew that the shaft was acting like a natural air conditioner, pulling warm air out and leaving cooler air inside. At the bottom of the
stairs,
it was probably pretty comfortable even then.