Early Morning of the Living Dead Page 5

  Abstract art. Absolute horror. Alliterative situation.

  Blake dropped the baton. "I never want to touch another one of those things again."

  Charlotte was afraid he was going to have to.

  chapter four

  Charlotte stood slumped against Margo’s desk, arms wrapped around herself. Blake was a few feet away, whispering on a phone. Charlotte tried to keep her attention on Blake, on his quiet, certain voice. She didn’t want to look outside. She...

  She looked outside. Past the streaks of blood. Out at the parking lot.

  At the things that crouched near an open car.

  Feeding.

  It seemed someone else had gotten caught up in that morning's traffic. That traffic then killed them.

  Charlotte felt ill. She hadn't noticed when they arrived. One moment she was watching Weatherby take Chaucer's body away and the next someone else was screaming. She didn’t know if she could’ve saved that person. She hadn’t been able to save Chaucer. She didn’t know if Faith was even alive now or if she was a pedestrian too and...

  A pedestrian.

  Fuck it: the people outside were zombies.

  Zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies, zombies.

  And, lest anyone ever thing she was hiding from reality: zombies. There were zombies out there. They wanted to come inside and eat everyone. Faith...

  Was probably dead. Ish.

  Charlotte needed to get to Derek. Now.

  “Shit.” Blake slapped his cell onto Margo’s desk.

  “Problem?” Charlotte asked. Her voice was surprisingly pleasant, as if she was asking Blake if something had happened to his dinner reservation.

  Which, considering that the things outside saw them as dinner, Charlotte wouldn’t mind.

  “I have a friend in the Sunnyvale PD,” Blake said. He looked out the window. “I had a friend. The place has been overrun.”

  Crap.

  “I’m sorry,” Charlotte said. Blake was a lot of things. Calculating, yes. Practical, certainly. He was also human and he had people he cared about. Losing someone hurt.

  “It gets worse,” Blake said. “The San Jose and Cupertino stations didn’t believe what was happening at first. They lost time and now aren’t doing that much better.”

  Blake’s words were like a punch, slamming into Charlotte and stealing her breath. The situation was new and while she could see one police station being overrun because people didn’t know what they were dealing with, she’d hoped the others would learn from it and do better. They weren’t.

  “Shit,” Charlotte said.

  Blake turned towards the window. “I want to keep everyone here and wait this out. I’m aware some of my people have families they’re going to want to get to.”

  “Don’t you have someone you’re climbing the walls about?”

  “No. My world is here.”

  How lonely. And dedicated.

  Charlotte understood, though. She wished she was at the Spectator office. Faith might be dead but–

  She might not be. Charlotte didn’t know. Maybe whoever bit her was just a jerk.

  Maybe whoever bit her had been a zombie.

  “Can I borrow your phone?” Charlotte asked.

  Blake picked up the receptionist’s cordless phone and offered it to her. “Dial nine to call out.”

  “Thanks.” Charlotte keyed in Faith’s number.

  One ring.

  She would call Derek next.

  Two.

  Derek would be okay for just a few moments.

  Three.

  Charlotte hoped. She desperately, desperately hoped.

  Click.

  ... click?

  Faith had picked up.

  Relief flooded Charlotte. She was alive. Maybe one of the dead hadn’t bit her. Or she was immune. That was possible, wasn’t it? If a rare few could be immune to AIDs or the Bubonic Plague, someone had to be immune to this.

  “Faith?” Charlotte said.

  On the other line, someone moaned.

  The sound was soft and hungry sounding. It stabbed Charlotte, stealing her breath. Faith...

  That was Faith’s voice. She’d heard that sound before, when she was exhausted or had had really excellent chocolate. Usually from Dilettante’s. She loved that company. She...

  Oh God. Her friend.

  Faith moaned again.

  “Faith...”

  She moaned louder.

  Charlotte clenched her eyes shut. Faith was dead. She was dead and she was still carrying her phone, because dead or not, she was a reporter and her phone was her life, and even in death, when it rang, she’d reached for it, just as she would reach for Charlotte now because she was talking.

  If Faith had been there, she would’ve wanted to kill her.

  Charlotte still loved her. She was her best friend.

  “I’m sorry,” Charlotte said.

  Faith moaned again. There was an edge of annoyance to her hunger now. She heard Charlotte but couldn’t bite her. The phone was simply teasing her.

  Charlotte hung up. Her eyes stung.

  She ran a hand through her hair, sending the auburn strands about her face. She’d suspected–feared–Faith was dead. She knew for certain now.

  Derek might still be alive.

  Charlotte dialed the Spectator number.

  And waited.

  Derek had to be okay.

  He might not be. Just as the various police departments hadn’t known how to react to the zombie thing, Derek would likely approach this as just another story.

  This story would kill him.

  On the phone, something clicked.

  “Hello?” Derek said. He sounded harried but okay.

  “Derek, it’s Charlotte.”

  “Hey, Charlotte. How was the inter–”

  “You need to lock the office down. Turn off the lights–”

  “What?”

  “–barricade the windows, and find things that can be used as weapons. By any chance do you have a gun in your safe?”

  “Slow down, Charlotte. What’s going on?”

  “There are–” Derek had seen Faith that morning. He’d seen the guy who’d bitten her, had called the police on him. He had seen the guy and not thought zombie.

  “Rioters,” Charlotte said. “There are rioters out there. They’re attacking people and tearing them to pieces.”

  Blake raised an eyebrow at her.

  Charlotte turned away.

  “What?” Derek asked.

  “Rioters. They've overtaken the Sunnyvale PD and are now going after Cupertino and San Jose.” Which made her think that ground zero was likely in Sunnyvale and, judging by the timing, the jerk who'd bitten Faith had come from there.

  It was an interesting theory. Right now, it wouldn't keep anyone safe. Worse; if De
rek knew, he'd want to look into it. Hell, Charlotte did too. She just had to get past all the zombies waiting outside.

  “Shit,” Derek said. "I'd heard that the Sunnyvale PD was having some kind of difficulty but I hadn't heard anything else. I sent Sophie and Javier out to investigate and get photos. I’ll text them and tell them to be extra careful.”

  “Tell them to get out of there. If the rioters bite them–the human mouth has a ton of bacteria. Anyone who’s bitten should be tied down and quarantined.”

  “Tied down?” Derek laughed. “What are we dealing with, Charlotte, zombies?”

  "No." Yes. "I think they've got something, though. Something that makes them aggressive."

  "So; zombie-like."

  "Yes." Very, very zombie-like.

  Distantly, Charlotte heard a thump.

  “Someone’s banging on the backdoor,” Derek said. “I’m going to go see who it is.”

  “Take a weapon,” Charlotte said.

  “You’ve got to be kidding–okay, if the rioters are attacking people, maybe you’re not.”

  “If they try to bite you, bash them on the head. I think they’re on something. Treat them like... treat them like zombies.”

  Silence.

  The thumping sound grew louder.

  “Derek?”

  “I’m here. I’m just... what aren’t you telling me?”

  If Charlotte told him, Derek might not believe her. He might lose time.

  If she didn’t tell Derek, she risked Derek taking a chance he might’ve otherwise avoided.

  “Charlotte?”

  “They aren’t rioters. They’re–”

  The thumping grew loud, and then twisted into a snarl.

  “Faith?” Derek said.

  Faith.

  “She’s a zombie, Derek. She’s–”

  Click.

  Dead. The line was...

  Cut. The line had been cut. Derek...

  Charlotte set the phone back onto its cradle gently. “I need to go.”

  “With all due respect,” Blake said, “you’d never make it.”

  “With all due respect, you can go to hell.”

  Blake raised his hands in surrender. “Hear me out. Please.”

  Please.

  “Okay,” Charlotte said.

  “I said that I’d let anyone leave,” Blake said, “and I will. I just want you–and them–to know what you’re in for. You walk out that door, they’ll swarm you. You’d never make it to your car. Even if you did, you’d stop and help every person you heard screaming for help. And even if your conscious could let you ignore them, there are likely more accidents out there, blocking the roads.”

  “Derek–my editor–is dealing with something he doesn’t understand. Faith–” She wasn’t Faith anymore. “–will kill him.”

  “She might," Blake said. "I’m sorry but it’s happening right now. While we’re talking. Your editor hired you, which tells me he’s very bright. He might survive. By the time you’d get there, though, if you got there, it’d be over.”

  No. Charlotte could help him. She had to. She...

  She might not.

  Blake touched Charlotte’s shoulder. Heat from Blake’s hand seeped into her.

  “I’m sorry Charlotte,” Blake said. “Risking yourself isn’t going to help him. If I thought it would, I’d give you a baton and wish you the best. If you want to go, I'll still give you a baton but I have to be honest with you about your odds. Right now, they’re not–”

  “Stop.”

  Silence.

  ... fuck.

  Charlotte drew away from Blake. She wanted to argue. She could but it’d be more to get her frustration out than to do anything valuable. Whatever she said would be said in the full knowledge that Blake...

  Had a point.

  Charlotte returned to her slump against the desk. Things were chaotic out there. She wanted to open the door now and help whatever people wandered by. She would do likewise in her car.

  For as long as she had it; the moment she hit an accident she couldn’t go around, she would try to finish the trek on foot. The dead were slow but there were a lot of them. They would eventually overwhelm her.

  And any of her attempts to reach Derek wouldn’t make Derek safe.

  Charlotte looked back at Blake. “If our places were reversed, you’d fight to get here.”

  The words were an epitaph. An apology that Derek would never hear. She wanted to do something. She couldn’t. She was sorry.

  “Yes,” Blake said. “And if our places were reversed, you’d be saying this to me.”

  Likely. Possibly without the part about Blake stopping to help people. From the little Charlotte had seen, Blake was so practical in his aid it bordered on draconic.

  “We need to give the authorities a chance to settle things,” Blake said. “Not all of them are going to be overwhelmed.”

  “How do you know that?” Charlotte asked.

  “Because we weren’t overwhelmed. They’ll study the situation and adapt, just as we will. Eventually they’ll begin retaking the area. I don’t know if that’ll happen in a few hours or days but I believe it’ll happen. And when we have a chance to get through, I’ll personally take you to the Spectator.”

  “You. Not Mr. Weatherby?”

  “Oh, I didn’t say he wouldn’t be there. He’ll likely be driving.”

  Of course.

  Except; “Doesn’t he have people he’s worried about?”

  “He has family on the east coast and some local college friends. I imagine he’s already called them after making sure the building was locked down.”

  Ah yes. About the building...

  Charlotte studied Blake. She would grant, however reluctantly, that one of the benefits of staying there was that she had a chance to learn more about Blake. What happened with Cooper, for example. How far Blake’s contacts to the various police departments in the area went.

  How Blake knew to lock the building down when all Charlotte or Chaucer knew was that a crowd of people were attacking someone. Neither of them had known what they were dealing with. They couldn’t have.

  And yet, in the time it took Charlotte to get Chaucer into the building, Blake had arranged for people to not only lock the doors but also turn the lights off in the entryway.

  Zombies, apparently, looked at a dark building and thought no one was home. Anyone else would’ve thrown something through a window and tried to get all the laptops and office equipment they could get their hands on.

  “How did you know to lock the building down?” Charlotte asked.

  “The things ate the person they’d attacked. That gave me something of a clue.”

  “That’s just it. I didn’t know they were going to do that until I saw it happen in front of me. I couldn’t see that from your terrace. You couldn’t have.”

  Blake reached over to Margo’s computer and turned the flat screen toward Charlotte. Four different boxes showed the parking lot outside from various angles.

  One: the zombies were bringing someone down behind the building.

  Two: the dead shuffled across the lot.

  Three: they pawed at a car, trying to get in.

  Four: the area in front of the main doors.

  Charlotte would’ve locked the doors over any of those shots. One of them made her want to open them.

  “Someone’s trapped in their car,” Charlotte said.

  “That’s Natalie’s car, from accounting. Her engine needed a jump yesterday.” Blake touched the edge of the box on the screen. “It looks like she could’ve used one today.”

  “If we get their attention, we might buy her time to get away.”

  “If we get their attention, they might get us.”

  “But–”

  On the screen, one of the dead was suddenly half in the car.

  It’d broken a window, Charlotte realized. God. It’d broken the window and–

  Blake turned the screen away.

  Charlot
te stared at the back of the screen. That woman was dead. She didn’t have to see it happen to know it was happening. They were killing her. She was probably terrified. It likely hurt.

  God. Charlotte wished...

  She wished whatever happened, it was quick.

  “What about the lights?” she asked. She wanted to know. She wanted to think about something else, to wrap herself in information and live in this moment.

  Blake glanced at her. “Pardon?”

  “The lights. What made you think they’d have trouble seeing us if the lights were off?”

  Blake frowned thoughtfully.

  “It wasn’t a guess,” Charlotte said. “Everything you’ve done or argued for has been practical.”

  “One could say I was being practical here. Even at a distance, it’s obvious the things out there aren’t very coordinated.”

  “There’s a world of difference between coordination and being short sighted. You acted so quickly. I understand why you locked the building down so quickly but–” Wait. That movie that Blake and Cooper had seen. It’d made them debate disasters and how people acted.

  Which made locking up make even more sense, but the lights? What had Blake and Cooper done, debated various disaster scenarios and how they’d handle them?

  “Did you and Cooper discuss how to handle different disasters?” Charlotte asked.

  Blake raised an eyebrow. “Quite the leap of logic there.”

  Yeah, it was. When said aloud, it sounded goofy.

  Intro to investigative journalism 102: always ask the goofy questions. Sometimes you learned something interesting. Sometimes not.

  “I’m afraid I don’t really have an answer for the lights,” Blake said. “None that would make sense outside of a gut feeling.”

  Charlotte slept with a stuffed bear. She understood gut feelings. And the fear that no one else would.

  Right now, her gut feeling twisted.

  "I have to tell Kiera about her brother," Charlotte said.

  Blake glanced at her. "I can do that."

  "I couldn't save him. I have to let her know..." God. Poor Kiera.

  "You tried," Blake said. "Not many would've done that. I wouldn't have and–"

  "Are you going to mention that part too?"

  "Yes."

  Asshole. If Charlotte worked for him, she'd quit right then.

  "I have to protect more than just Chaucer," Blake said. "I'm sorry but I have to be careful with the risks I take. Kiera and Chaucer both know that."