“Fucking hell,” he hisses and pulls away. “She almost scratched me … Get away!” He hits the zombie across the hand, hard. It only makes her grope more vigorously.
“Thomas,” Dan says, his voice is weirdly dreamlike. “I think the heater is coming loose.”
Thomas turns his head. The cord around Jennie’s leg still looks in pretty fine shape. But the electric heater, which he tied it to, has come off the wall at one end. Now it’s dangling crookedly off the wall, threatening to come off entirely with every tug from Jennie’s leg.
Fuck, fuck, fuck! Why didn’t I think to check the stupid thing was securely attached to the wall?
Desperately, he turns to the hatch again, hitting it three time in a row, the woodwork rustling with every blow. The zombie girl grabs at the pipe, but catches Thomas’s wrist instead.
He shrieks and pulls his hand away, staring at it. No scratch marks. But it was a really close call.
Jennie lets out a moan behind him. She pulls more eagerly now. As though she can sense she’s almost free. The heater is hanging by one stubborn hinge now.
There is only one thing to do.
Thomas jumps down from the ladder and steps towards Jennie. “Turn away, Dan.”
“What are you gonna do?” Dan croaks.
“Turn away!”
Dan turns away.
Thomas tightens his grip on the pipe. He looks down, not wanting to face Jennie. Come on. You can do it. It’s not Jennie anymore. Don’t look at it. It’s not Jennie.
He counts to three. Then he steps forward and raises the pipe. Just as he swings it, his eyes lock with Jennie. It takes off some of the force of the blow. But he still hits his target with an audible slam.
Jennie stumbles sideways and falls to her knees. It doesn’t seem to bother her, though. She simply gets back up and resumes her tireless effort to get to him.
Don’t look at it!
But he can’t help it. He stares at Jennie’s face. It looks all wrong. Like her skull has been bent out of shape. Her cheekbone is pressed inwards, the skin under her eye is bulging, causing the eye to squeeze shut. Her mouth is contorted into a crooked snarl.
Holy shit … what did I do?
Thomas feels the nausea come rolling up into his throat. He drops the pipe with a loud clanging. He can’t hit her again. No way.
He squeezes his fingers into his temples. What do we do? What the fuck do we do?
He looks up at the hatch again, and an idea comes to mind. It’s crazy. But it just might work. And he’s pretty sure he can do it. After all, he didn’t know the zombie girl like he knew Jennie. He hasn’t even seen her face. It wouldn’t feel personal. He hopes.
“Dan,” he mutters. “Hand me the knife.”
As Dan goes to the table to get the knife, Thomas uses the pipe to reach the towel that Jennie had been using as a pillow before she died. She reaches for him hungrily, but he makes sure to keep a safe distance.
“I need your help,” he tells Dan. “I’ll catch her arm with this towel, so she can’t scratch us. Then you hold it while I cut.”
“Cut?” Dan asks, looking puzzled for a moment, but then he catches on, and his expression turns to horror. Still, he nods bravely.
Thomas goes to the hatch and uses the towel to catch the flailing arm. The zombie child starts struggling, but Thomas manages to wrap the hand tightly.
“Here,” he says over his shoulder. “Take it!”
Dan comes closer, reaches out hesitantly and grabs hold of the towel.
“Grip it firmly,” Thomas demands. When he feels sure Dan has a confident grip, he lets go, bends down and grabs the knife. Stepping back up on the ladder, he mutters: “Right. Right, here we go.”
He picks out a spot right below the elbow and puts the blade to the skin. He takes a breath. His stomach feels like it might turn itself inside out any moment. He tries not to think of the photos from the album.
Do it. Your own and Dan’s lives depend on it. Do it now!
Thomas closes his eyes and cuts. The blade sinks into the arm way too easily. It cuts through the dead meat like it is butter. He feels the cool liquid spurting out, drenching his hand and dripping onto his T-shirt. There is no audible reaction from the zombie child, and she doesn’t even try to pull back her arm. She just keeps struggling to get free of the towel so she can grab one of them.
Thomas cuts even deeper and feels the knife hit something hard. It’s the bone. He bites down hard and pushes with all his strength, wriggling the knife back and forth in a sawing motion. It doesn’t give, so he increases the pressure even further, grabbing the knife with both hands, leaning sideways, putting his whole body into the task.
“Come on, come on,” someone snarls, and Thomas realizes it’s him. His arms are shaking, his muscles are aching with the effort. The growling of the zombie child fills his ears.
Then, suddenly a loud crack as the bone gives. It’s more due to the pressure than the knife.
Thomas drops the knife and tumbles to the floor. Dan lets go of the towel and steps back. Thomas looks up, expecting to see a bloody stump where the arm used to be. But the arm is still there, still attached. Now it’s just dangling helplessly from the hole in the hatch. The fingers don’t seem able to open or close anymore. Dark red fluid is gushing from the cut and dripping to the floor.
“Right, that’s enough,” Thomas hears himself say, as he swallows several times in an effort to keep down the nausea. “Now she can’t scratch us.”
Thomas picks up the
