They hustled into the lobby, their boots and sneakerssqueaking on the marble floors. To Joan it was as if they had travelled back intime. The lobby was pristine, the floors polished to a shine, the woodenreception desk gleaming with varnish. Sunlight filtered through the windows.The only clues that anyone would have that something wasn't right in thebuilding was the extreme heat and the smell. An image of a rotten squirrelcarcass popped into her mind, just a twist of bundled up gray fur, blood, andanimal guts covered in crawling maggots. The smell was the same as that of therotting squirrel she had discovered in her backyard all those years ago... onlymagnified by a power of ten.
"We got dead in here." Lou said. "Watchyour corners."
"Keep your eyes peeled," Blake added, nothaving heard Lou's previous warning.
They ran past the elevators, not even bothering to givethem a try with the power out. As they approached the door to the stairwell,the smell became even stronger.
"Wait!" Joan yelled, but it was too late. Louthrew open the door to the stairwell, and there they were, the cause of thesmell. The smell intensified to the point that Joan's eyes began to water. Itwas almost the worst thing that she had ever smelled, but you tend to encountera lot of nasty shit in the E.R. Still, the smell was easily in the top ten, andshe had to fight her gag reflex.
Clara and Rudy were not so lucky. They doubled overimmediately, vomiting up partially digested candy bars and water, even as thefirst of the dead poured through the doorway to the stairwell. It wasimpossible to count how many there might be, and Joan brought her handgun upand began firing away, careful to make sure that no one living was between herand her targets. A quick glance over her shoulder showed her that they didn'thave much time. The dead were pouring in through the broken doorway, catchingon the frame and each other in their attempt to reach the survivors inside.
"We have to kill these things or we're going todie," Clara yelled. They all knew it though. Nothing needed to be said.Death was bearing down on them, like an avalanche descending upon a climberhalfway up a mountain. A convergence of three random collections of the dead.It was the new order of things. One minute you were safe, rooting through anabandoned car for supplies, and the next, the dead appeared out of nowhere,pursuing you relentlessly wherever you went. They had come six blocks, andalready their plan had been shot to shit. Joan had no idea how they were evergoing to make it out of the city.
"We got your backs! Clear those things," Mortyelled, gripping his hammer in one hand and a handgun in the other.
Joan would like to think that she was being helpful, butshe missed more often than not. Her hands were jittery, and panic was wellingup inside of her. She wanted to scream and bolt, dodging her way through thedead. Her breathing was hectic and intense, and she felt as if her vision haddialed in, her peripheral vision turning black and indistinct. She knew whatwas going on. She was panicking, and just like that she was back into being afirst-year med student, looking down at her first emergency patient, a13-year-old boy who had been crumpled up in a car accident thanks to some drunkdriver. She did as she had done then, and pushed her emotions to the back ofher mind. She was not holding a gun. She was holding a scalpel. She was notkilling the dead. She was performing surgery.
Just as she started finding her rhythm, her gun clickedempty. She stepped backwards and leaned against the wall, fumbling for theextra magazine she had in the pocket of her jeans. She watched as Lou firedinto the mass at the stairwell. Chloe stood to his right, her own gun in herhands. Smoke stung her eyes as the smell of cordite filled the hallway. Amanda,Andy, and Rudy stood just behind the survivors with firearms, their weapons intheir hands, boobing up and down like a prizefighter before the bell rings. Alot of good a night club, a sword, and a sharpened mop handle would do them,Joan thought. Katie fired away as well, her face a complete blank as shedropped the dead. She hadn't said two words since Little Jane had died. As Joanslid the magazine into her handgun, she wondered if Katie truly felt anythingor if she had just given up on feeling completely.
She cocked her handgun, and, as she was about to fireanother round, the flow of the dead from the stairwell ceased.
"Come on!" Lou yelled.
He hopped over the sprawled bodies on the ground,stepping on backs, arms, and torsos in order to climb the stairwell. The deadwere nothing now. There was no more reverence in being dead. Corpses were nolonger honored and treated with respect. Now they were treated like what theyalways were... just bags of meat waiting to return to the earth.
Chloe, Amanda, and Rudy were the next ones through. ThenClara and Joan climbed into the stairwell, a utilitarian structure filled withpipes and electrical conduits. The cold gray stairs rose into the air, turnedand then disappeared upward.
Joan called over her shoulder to Mort and Blake,"Move your asses."
Lou and Rudy began dragging bodies out of the doorway,but the corpses were too tangled to get the door shut. Joan cringed as they puttheir hands on the dead. Who knew what types of diseases they held in additionto the one that would turn a dead person into a mockery of a living one.
Lou and Rudy moved aside as Mort and Blake squelchedtheir way through the rotting mass on the floor.
"Forget it, man," Blake said to Lou."We'll just go up a flight and barricade the door up there."
Lou and Rudy dropped the corpse they were dragging, justas the
