The First File
1. Outbreak
Jack's Bar-more commonly known to it's patronage as J's Bar- was quiet for once, something Cindy Lennox was profoundly grateful for. Her feet were aching in the stupid heeled shoes her boss Jack insisted she wear, and all she wanted was to go home and sleep for a week. Carrying what was hopefully the last tray back to the bar, she noticed that Will, the bartender, was watching the small TV intently, his profile bathed in the blue light.
A high-pitched chittering got her attention. Fearing the worst before she glanced down at the floor, her suspicion was confirmed when she spotted the dirty big rat run across her foot and disappear beneath one of the empty tables.
Shrieking, Cindy jumped and dropped the tray with a clatter, smashing two of the glasses she'd been carrying. The few patrons in the bar all stared at her-except Will, whose attention was fixated on the newscast. Gingerly picking up the two unharmed glasses while simultaneously attempting to find the now missing rat and avoid getting her fingers slashed apart by glass fragments, Cindy carried the tray back to the counter.
"You okay, Cindy?" one of the security guards sitting at the counter asked, finishing up a late dinner of reheated leftovers Will had scrambled together.
"I'm fine Mark," she answered, trying not to show how embarrassed she was. "I just hate rats is all. They gross me out," she explained, stacking the remaining dirty glasses beside the sink. She glanced over her shoulder, sneaking a quick look at Will.
He was cute, and had been nice to her ever since she'd first started working at the bar a year ago. Cindy had thought he was interested, maybe just to shy to ask her out, but lately…Cindy shook her head and started rinsing the glasses. Lately, Will was more interested in catching out the teenagers who were stealing from the loading area than showing any interest in her.
Cindy rinsed another glass and set it beside the others and reached for a dry cloth, catching one of the security guards staring at her. She smiled-habit after so long-but wasn't surprised that the old guy didn't return her gesture. He wasn't looking too great, with his skin all grey and translucent like that. Cindy could see blue veins beneath his skin's surface. His friend-Mark, a big black security guard she recognised as a regular-was busy watching the television too, finishing up his beer and setting the glass down without taking his eyes from the TV.
What's that noise? Cindy frowned, drying another glass absently as she tried to place what the sound was. It was faint, slightly distorted but she could hear it, slowly grating on her nerves. Probably the speaker system. Something's blown again and Jack's too stingy to fix it. I'll ask him about it tomorrow. She was staring at the dark windows as a small Asian girl wearing thick glasses entered the bar, the sound growing louder as the door swung open.
It's outside? Maybe it isn't the speakers after all.
"Can I help you?" she asked, giving the girl a smile.
"Is there a restroom I can use?" the girl asked, her voice quiet and low.
Cindy nodded and gestured towards the two doors off to the left. The Asian girl gave a curt nod before quietly heading toward the ladies'.
I wonder if she's okay? Cindy sighed and shook her head. I really should mind my own business. She'll be fine. She then returned her attention to the glittering mess on the floor.
Not long to go. Happy hour is almost done, she thought, trying to perk herself up, grabbing the dustpan and brush from beneath the counter. She swept up the glass with practiced experience and dumped the mess into the small trashcan sitting beneath the bar. Picking up another soapy glass, she began absently drying it, ignoring the dry commentary of the news and instead mimed along with the song playing on the jukebox in an effort to dull out the annoying hum of the broken speakers. Glancing back at the bathroom door, she noticed the quiet Asian girl hadn't come out yet.
Ugh. Please don't make a mess. I don't wanna stay back and clean up, she thought. The girl could be sick or something-she'd looked seriously pale. Beside her, Will was shaking his head and turning away from the TV.
"Can you believe this? People are still going missing!"
Cindy sighed and handed him another dishrag. "I thought those S.T.A.R.S people were the ones starting all the trouble. Haven't they been taken care of?" she asked, putting down her glass and picking up another.
"Irons claimed they were," Will answered, "but after this long, he's lost any credibility as far as I'm concerned. How many more people have to go missing, or be found butchered before that fat bastard finally gets the bright idea that ignoring the problem isn't working?"
"So he's not getting your vote next term?" Mark asked with an amused smirk, taking another bite of steak.
Cindy shrugged. She didn't think much on the terrible things that had happened lately. The horrible happenings around the city were disturbing, made her want to shut it all out. My conditioned response to most things, she thought wryly, and obviously Will thought so too. The expression on his face said it all.
"Cindy, aren't you worried? God, haven't you been watching the news lately? Girls-blonde girls-are going missing now, from around here. You should be concerned, not-"
"Will, come on," Cindy interrupted, taken aback by his outburst. "Some of those girls might have run away. With everything that's been going on, what would you think if your daughter or girlfriend genuinely ran away? Of course you'd think she was dead-especially with all that hysteria those S.T.A.R.S built up months ago."
"It's no bloody coincidence that they all have blonde hair, that they're all young-"
"Will, seriously, you're freaking me out," Cindy interrupted again, realising that Mark was starting to stare at their little confrontation with some concern. "Really, I'll be okay. Hey, if I can work here-"
"Don't make jokes about it Cindy," Will said, putting down the dishrag. "You shouldn't be walking home tonight. I'll give you a ride home. The streets aren't safe anymore."
Feeling awkward and annoyed but not sure how to act on it, Cindy nodded and set down her glass and rag. The one time he offers me a ride…"Hey, Mark, is Bob okay?" she asked in an attempt to change the subject, gesturing at the other security guard, who was now resting his head on the sticky counter. "He doesn't look too great."
"Don't have to tell me. He's been coughing all night, getting paler and paler. Told him no white boy should be that green. Won't listen though. Insists he's never needed to see a doctor for a flu before, and won't pay through the nose to do so now." Mark smiled fondly at his dozing friend. "Stubborn bastard."
Cindy smiled too, and was about to voice her own concerns when two things happened very quickly.
The first was Bob suddenly began to spasm violently, slipping from his stool to the wooden floor with a heavy thump, coughing thickly in a way Cindy hadn't heard before-but instinctively knew couldn't be good.
The second was the strange humming she'd noticed earlier was closer-like right at the bar's double doors close. Cindy barely noticed the man who threw the doors wide open and began to stagger in, dragging his feet in a manner she vaguely assumed meant he was drunk.
Not another wino. Not so close to closing and Bob about to die on the floor-
"Call 911," Will said, frowning, "I'll tell this guy the bar's closed for the night." He shook his head, taking in the man's grimy appearance. "What a weird customer…"
Cindy nodded, and reached for the phone. The distinct lack of a dial tone made her gut sink with confusion.
"Hey, does anyone know why the phones are dead?" she asked. No one answered. Determined to do something, Cindy was grabbing the small first-aid kit beneath the counter when her hand fell on a small, cold object. Pulling it out alongside the kit, she knew from its jangling that it was the spare key to the staff room. Tucking the key into her skirt absently, she walked out from behind the bar to help Mark shoulder Bob, half-aware that Will was asking the drunk to leave.
"Mark, hold his head up for me," she instructed with more authority than she felt, snapping open the clasp to retrieve the kit's multi-purpose first-aid spray. Cindy's eyes fell on the logo of an open Umbrella above the universal red cross. "I have to spray this into his mouth. It should ease the coughing 'til we can get him to the hospital." With a surprised expression, Mark did as he'd been told, tilting Bob's head back enough for Cindy to give a short spray of the antiseptic smelling compound.
"What? When are the paramedics arriving?" Mark demanded.
"The phone, it's-" Cindy's words were suddenly drowned out by a violent scream. Turning quickly, she screamed herself.
The drunk was trying to chew the bartender's throat out.
Cindy's scream was cut short when she realised that the drunken guy wasn't alone. He had a lot of friends. Beyond the open doors, in the street, she could see the shadows of other staggering figures, could suddenly smell sour rot, and wet, decaying things…Sickened, she hardly had the time to scream Will''s name when Mark abruptly released Bob, forcing her to totter and nearly lose her balance to keep the sick man on his feet.
Will struggled to throw off his assailant, the wound at his neck obviously severe. He succeeded in pushing the man away as Mark reached into his jacket and withdrew a black pistol. He shot once, hitting the guy directly in the chest. Cindy echoed his disbelief when the guy didn't go down, lurching back towards Will and continuing to chew on Will's neck with wet, tearing sounds that mixed horrifically with Will's gurgled screams. Mark approached Will's attacker with his expression set coldly, and shot at point-blank range.
The attacker was thrown across the room, knocking over tables and stools with a clatter. Will fell to his knees, one hand clutched around the horrific wound, blood rushing between his fingers and dripping on the floor. He met Cindy's gaze for one brief moment before slumping onto his back.
Cindy's eyes fell to Will's fallen figure, uncomprehending as he attempted to rise, but his palms slipped repeatedly in the spreading pool of blood.
"C-Cin…" Will slipped again. "C-Cindy…I-"
The sound of shuffling feet and that empty moaning forced Cindy to look at the doors.
"Mark, there's more!" Cindy cried. Mark turned and saw the first of the things on the street approach the patch of golden light that came from within the bar, illuminated in its disgusting glory. For a horrifying moment, Cindy realised that the person's face was covered in dried, blackened blood, one eye hanging from its socket in a black mess, its mouth wide open in a mindless moan.
Unlike Cindy, Mark didn't hesitate. He slammed the double doors shut with hardly a second to spare. The glass gave Cindy a chilling view of the torn, almost skeletal hands pressed against the pane. Mark didn't stop, pushing a barrel in front of one of the doors. He began to struggle with the second-one Cindy remembered to be full of sand for smokers.
"Bob, I have to help Mark and Will," she said, "lean against the bar-that's it. I'll be back in a second."
She didn't think he understood her, still moaning in pain himself, but he did cling to the bar's wooden support. Hurrying over to help Mark, she had to briefly close her eyes when she walked past what remained of Will and his murderer. There was so much blood…
Don't cry. Not until we call the cops and get the hell out of this. Resolved, Cindy did her best to help Mark push the second barrel in position, glad to have the barrier when another one of those-things-began to join the firsts' efforts and push against the doors with one rotting hand and one torn stump. She left Mark staring at the thing through the glass and ran to Will's prone body.
She had to clap a hand over her mouth when she passed what remained of the thing. The rancid smell of rot and infection was overpowering. Pausing to lean over the dead figure, she realised that Mark had shot the thing directly in the head, blowing apart most of its face, and it still had the bullet hole through its chest, exposing grey, rotten flesh.
Just like a zombie, through the head, not the heart. Destroy the brain… Will wasn't dead yet, but his gurgling, desperate attempts to breathe told Cindy that he didn't have long. She did her best to steel herself, but nothing could prepare her for the sight of his exposed throat glistening wetly in the dull light, the puddle of blood that was spreading rapidly across the bar's scuffed floor. His white work shirt was stained crimson with fresh blood, bone exposed through his flesh. Feeling guiltier than ever, Cindy struggled not to cry. Careful not to get any of the blood on her, she knelt slowly and reached a hand out to touch his blood smeared cheek.
"Don't touch him," Mark cautioned. "Some of those folks look infected."
Cindy fought to keep her composure, but it made her eyes and chest ache. Struggling to smile, even as her eyes began to shine with tears, she reluctantly withdrew her hand. "I'm sorry Will," she began, "I should have helped you. I-"
Will smiled back, a fragile smile tainted by his pain, then closed his eyes. Cindy stared at his blood stained face for what seemed like hours, but could have only have been mere moments. Her chest began to ache even more, as if something were tearing itself apart…
That's grief. That's guilt because you stood there and did nothing, you idiot. Cindy let out a brief sob. Hasn't it always been this way? Useless Cindy, absolutely useless…Aware that Mark was staring at her with a concerned expression on his grizzled face, she reminded herself that she had to help Mark and Bob. They were still alive, and if she could help them…. Taking a deliberate breath, steeling herself, she stood and faced Mark on trembling legs.
"We've got to get out of here," he said. "This door's not gonna hold forever." As if to prove his point, one of the windows smashed, the horrible monotonous moaning getting louder, the smell of decay growing pungent.
"The staff key," Cindy replied, taking out the key and tossing it to the guard. "Here, take it. The door over there leads upstairs-Jack always keeps it locked for some reason, I don't know, he's so paranoid now…." She trailed off, realising she was getting off subject. Calm down and try again, she told herself and took a breath.
Her eyes snapped open. Something she'd forgotten about during the earlier panic now came to mind. "There's something I've got to get from the bar." Glad to have an objective, she went straight to the bar, pulling out paperwork and random objects, strewing them all over the floor.
"We've got to get out of here," Mark insisted, crossing the room to support Bob, whose head slumped onto the larger man's shoulder. "We don't have time for your purse, hon."
"I know. There's something that can help us in here. Jack bought it after we got held up last year. I didn't want it around- I told him that having a weapon is begging for it to be used against us. That's what all the experts say on TV. Well, Kevin doesn't agree, but he's a nut for them. Of course, even if I do find it, I don't think I'm gonna be able to use it, I might have to give it to you or maybe Bob…" Cindy was painfully aware that she was starting to sound hysterical, but she didn't care.
Where is it where is it where is it…When her right hand brushed against a hard metallic object, she cried out with relief. Pulling out the handgun Jack had insisted keeping under the bar-just in case, of course-she showed it to Mark, the barrel glinting in the bar's low light.
"Good, lets go," Mark insisted, stopping at the door.
"I hope you have a plan other than running," a new voice broke in.
Her nerves already stretched thin, Cindy unsteadily aimed the handgun in the direction of the ladies bathroom. Standing in the illuminated doorframe was the Asian woman Cindy had forgotten about, carrying a firearm of her own in one hand. Mark hardly spared the newcomer a glance, his attention focused on the door's tricky lock.
Has she done something…? The Asian woman's hair was shorter, cut jaggedly in a way Cindy remembered from her childhood attempts to cut her own hair. She no longer wore the thick glasses, or wore the oversized denim jacket. Instead, she looked a lot younger, more alert as she stepped out of the shadows to approach the group.
"Jiggle it around a bit, that lock's always getting stuck" Cindy offered, lowering the handgun and stopping to stand behind Mark.
The newcomer's attention was on the barricaded door as she approached them. "You might want to hurry. They'll be through before long."
"Hon, tell me something I don't know," Mark retorted, jiggling the key about without any success. The first of the bar door's glass panes shattered, the sound making Cindy cringe instinctively, drawing her attention unwillingly to the source.
Arms, hands, faces…all rotten, torn apart like no human face had a right to be. Mouths wide open in that god-awful moaning, yellowed teeth bared… Mark gave a frustrated roar and gave up on the key and started ramming the door. The sound of splintering wood competed with the drone, but somehow Cindy heard the Asian girl's cry, and watched as she began to fire on the first rotten thing to crawl over the barrels. With a detached sense, Cindy noted the girl had shot the thing in the head, sending gore flying over the others that followed in its wake. She wasn't aware that she'd aimed her own gun until she realised how frantically she was pulling the trigger. Nothing was happening but a soft click.
"Safety!" the Asian girl called to her, a frown on her face. "Pull the safety!"
Cindy tore her eyes away from the shambling, stinking horde to find the small latch. Flicking it, she began firing randomly. The unexpected kick of the weapon sent her stumbling into Mark, who pushed her against the wall before throwing himself at the door again.
"Unless you want us dead, get that door down!" the Asian girl cried in a panicked voice, shooting another of the horrible things in the torso. They were getting closer, and to Cindy's despair, what ones they managed to knock down only made it easier for the rest to climb through…
The crawling, stinking mass had reached the bloodstained patch of floor in front of the bar, ignoring poor Will's splayed body to shamble towards them. The stench made Cindy want to puke-she'd smelled some bad compost heaps and manured gardens in her time, but this stench was far beyond a bit of natural decomposition.
That's because this isn't natural. This shouldn't be happening. People don't just start rotting in the streets and begin slaughtering everyone in sight. She bit back a hysterical laugh. And Will shouldn't be lying dead on the bar floor with his throat torn out. She shouldn't be struggling to fire a gun and kill people…
"Hurry up, I've got four bullets left," the girl shouted at Mark over her shoulder, lining up another shot and blowing a jaw off the closest of them-only four feet away now. Cindy tried to aim at the head too, but she couldn't get a decent shot. Her bullet went wide, hitting the ceiling and sending plaster falling into the mass.
"Stop wasting ammo," the Asian girl snapped, narrowing her eyes and shooting another of the zombies. Despite the hard tone of her voice, Cindy could see the fear shadowed on her features.
"Come on Mark," she whispered, edging closer to the door and the others. For the first time in her life, she saw her death play out before her eyes as the nearest zombie began to push past the closest table and advance on her. She could hear the thing's wheezing, dry moans, could see its outstretched hands reaching for her, and couldn't do anything but watch in disbelief. The smell of faeces and putrid infection was overpowering. The handgun suddenly felt very heavy in her hands, and incredibly impotent compared to the certainty that the rotting thing was going to get her, was going to eat her…and there wasn't a damn thing she could do about it. Not her, not when Will was dead and everyone else could be dead too for all anyone knew…
Cindy began to slide down the wall, cowering in terror as the zombie's hand reached out to grasp at her hair. She squeezed her eyes shut, clasping her hands over her ears, the cold metal of the handgun pressed against her cheek.
Go away go away go away…It was a prayer, so much more simple and to the point than any other she'd ever used in church. Cindy didn't want to die-far from it-but she was past her breaking point. When a cold hand reached to touch her forehead, she let out a bloodcurdling scream.
Bang!
Cindy's eyes flew open as another hand reached down to yank her to her feet. The other girl was standing in front of her, desperately shooting and clicking on empty. The handgun in Cindy's right hand was roughly taken away and being fired at the nearest zombies.
"Get that door open now!" she screamed shrilly, pushing Cindy next to Bob, whose face was impossibly getting paler, his eyes milkier. For the first time Cindy made the connection between Bob's strange illness and the rotting, fetid things trying to kill them.
Oh God. He's next. Will briefly came to mind, making her stomach churn painfully.
It's a disease…it's a disease that kills people and brings them back from the dead, just like zombies…
The door splintered in at last, caving under Mark's final kick. He pushed Bob through first, Cindy ducked quickly behind.
"Come on," he shouted at the other girl, who took one final shot before dashing through the door and directly up the darkened stairwell. Bob staggered up behind her, one heavy step at a time. Cindy paused to grab a box of nails from the end table, a plan already beginning to form in her mind. Unlike the others, she already knew of one flaw in their escape plan-the staff lounge door.
There wasn't one. But Cindy remembered a pile of wooden boards that Will had only brought in today to bar up the vent in the cellar. She intended to turn those boards to a more vital barricade.
"What are you doing?" Mark demanded, slamming the broken door shut. "Get the hell upstairs!"
Cindy opened her mouth to explain, but Mark was already grabbing her upper arm in a vice-like grip, dragging her up the wooden stairs and forcing her to slip up once or twice in her low heels. They reached the first landing when behind them, the door began to open, and an eager moaning started up. Urged on by her terror, Cindy stumbled toward the window inadvertently.
Smash!
She screamed as a pair of rotting hands sent the glass shattering around her. She could feel the tiny shards of glass cut into her cheek, the spongy softness of the dead man's hands as they brushed against her forehead, her neck and caught a hold of her blouse neck. The cold, pitted skin against hers sent Cindy's mind into a fear-fuelled panic, throwing terrible images of being dragged out of the window and down to her death before her eyes. With a sharp cry, she stumbled back a step, glass crunching beneath her shoes and almost sending her tumbling down the stairs and into the waiting horde's clutches.
"Come on!" Mark shouted as he caught her and pulled her up the next flight, his voice edged with raw fear. "This way!"
Cindy didn't argue, too frightened from her close call to even think clearly. But when they reached the second floor landing, she sprinted for the open doorway, heels clicking against the unpolished boards. Behind her, a beat of gunfire counted off an internal deadline.
"I can't hold 'em off!" Mark shouted down the hall.
The Asian girl was pushing at a door to Cindy's right. "It's locked. Where's the damn key?"
Cindy didn't answer, instead skidded to a stop at the end of the hall and grabbed the nail-gun sitting under a pool of lamplight on a desk. Her hands shook while she pried the tool open and began loading nails, some spilling across the inventory charts and mug-stained magazines, but she got them loaded at last.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
"I need your help! Both of you!" she cried, picking up one of the wooden boards stacked beside the doorway. "This room doesn't have a door, but we can nail these boards into place and stop those things from getting in here."
The Asian girl tucked the gun into her belt and picked up another board.
"Mark, get in!" Cindy shouted.
The security guard glanced back, took note of what the women were doing and began to retreat towards them, shooting any zombie that got too close. He reached the doorframe and helped the other girl hold up the first board into place.
Hands suddenly appeared and gripped the board from the opposite side, moaning, putrid breath making Cindy gag. The Asian girl cried out, and without thinking of how potentially dangerous such a move could be, Cindy squeezed on the trigger.
Ker-thunk! Ker-thunk!
The wriggling hands were nailed to the board.
"Nice one," Mark commented under his breath, giving Cindy a small smile.
She didn't reply, only tried not to meet the Asian girl's eyes as she attached the first board.
The heavy thunk of the nail gun was almost reassuring as Cindy pulled the tool's trigger and attached each board as the other two held them up. The zombies on the other side were insistent; fingers stuck through the gaps, hands swiped at floor level, trying to knock Cindy off her feet and drag her underneath. When it was over at last, Cindy and the other two stood panting and staring at each other with fear-brightened eyes.
"Where's Bob?" Mark asked at last, pushing himself off the stained wall and glancing down the corridor.
"Over on the couch," the Asian girl answered, gesturing limply. Now the immediate danger had passed, a lot of her fire seemed to have died. Her determined expression had melted into confused docility, and even as Cindy stared at her, she self-consciously began to brush at her badly-cut hair. "We need to get out of here. That barricade won't last long with all of those things pushing against it."
"We can use the liquor cellar," Cindy offered. "There's a door in there that leads to the roof."
"Not much help if we get trapped up there," Mark added.
Cindy managed a slightly bitter chuckle that she belatedly realised came from her own mouth. "I wouldn't worry about that," she replied, thinking of Will and his vendetta against the kids who'd made a sport of breaking into the cellar. "There's an apartment building not a foot away. We can use it to get down to the street."
"That's not exactly a secure plan," the Asian girl commented. "What if the apartments are infested too? What if the streets are filled with them? What if-"
"Enough of that," Mark said. "It's a plan, and that's better than being eaten alive in here by those things." He gestured at the hands and fingers poking out through the makeshift barricade with the barrel of his handgun. "Making it down to the street means we can find ourselves some transportation."
"Will's van is parked outside," Cindy suggested.
"See?" He raised his eyebrows at the smaller woman. "A start at least. Now, we'll need more ammo. I'm almost out and so is Chun-Li over here."
Cindy managed a smile, but the Asian girl merely looked more self-conscious.
"Who's Chun-Li?" she asked hesitantly.
"Some kick-ass woman from my son's video games," Mark replied. "You reminded me of her back there while you were barkin off orders. What, you never heard of Street Fighter before?"
The girl shook her head apologetically.
"Check Jack's office and the drawing room. He keeps ammunition for that handgun scattered all over the place," Cindy said. "There might be some more upstairs in the wine cellar." She caught Mark's quizzical expression and shrugged slightly. "Jack hides things. I don't know why. Will used to say he was more paranoid than-" She stopped, remembering poor Will slipping about in his own blood.
"It'll be okay," the security guard reassured her before heading down to check on Bob and check the owner's office for ammunition.
"What about a key to get out of here?" the Asian girl pressed. "That door won't unlock and I don't think we've got ammunition to spare by shooting at it."
"Try the coffee table. Will left it under today's newspaper for Jack when he came back tomorrow morning. It should still be there." Cindy touched her scratched cheek and frowned when she noticed the blood on her fingertips. "I've gotta go get something."
"Wait!" the Asian girl's cry startled Cindy, and it seemed to shock herself as well. "Don't-please don't leave me out here alone."
"I'm just going into the locker room," Cindy told her as she wiped her fingers against her skirt. "I've been cut, and if whatever it is those things have, it could be contagious. I need to get my kit. I won't be long. Go check the drawing room-second door on the right." She forced a smile in a miserable attempt to reassure the other girl. Returning Cindy's gesture with a flavourless smile, the girl started down the hall, but stopped and turned.
"I don't even know your names," she said.
"I'm Cindy, the big guy's Mark, and the sick one is Bob. Introductions aside, I'm glad you came out of the ladies' when you did. I-I would've died if you hadn't saved me."
"I'm Yoko. Honestly, don't mention it. I really didn't understand what I did myself, let alone take any credit. Besides, we're a team now, right?" The smile now on her pale face was genuine. In spite of the situation, Cindy vaguely wondered why she didn't smile more often. Unlike her own easy-fake smile, this girl's entire face was touched by the warm transformation.
"Right," Cindy agreed.
"Here." Yoko offered Cindy the handgun she'd taken earlier.
"You should keep it. I can't use it." She held up the nail-gun. "Working this is difficult enough."
"It was yours," Yoko insisted.
"I'll take it later, if we get more ammo" Cindy delayed, and before Yoko could continue, she pushed the closest door open and slipped inside.
She closed the staff room door cautiously, preparing herself for some unexpected visitor, the nail-gun held tightly in her scratched hands. She needn't have worried; the tiny locker room was empty. Only an old metal-frame bed-creepy enough, looking like it came from some mental institution auction-and a row of lockers with the dull grey paint chipped and scratched, plastered with old posters and peeling stickers. The tiny window overlooked the dark and shadow-strewn alley below. Cindy pushed the ratty lace curtain aside to peer down. She squinted at the moving figures-but couldn't tell whether or not they were alive and not more of those rotting things, so pulled away before one of the figures glanced up, attracted by the movement. A bar of golden light illuminated the skin stripped from the man's face in a sickening parody of a tiger's pattern.
The locker with the cartoon figure taped over the vents was hers. After tossing the nail-gun onto the bed, she spun the dial on the lock and pulled the locker open, letting the lock drop onto the floor at her feet.
There. She pulled out a pile of clothes, dumping them on the unmade bed too. At the bottom of her locker sat a plain satchel bag, made of waterproof canvas. Beside it was a packet of fresh bandages and another first-aid spray, still in the drug store's distinctively coloured paper bag. Cindy picked up the satchel and threw it so its strap sat snugly across her chest. Unclipping the satchel's clasp, she stuffed the bandages and spray in next. She was about to slam the locker shut when the edge of a book caught her eye.
She pulled it free of the rest of the debris in her locker. The book's dust-cover was torn, but the title was clear-The Natural Solution. So was the author's name, printed beneath a photo of a distinctive red-leafed herb. Arthur Lennox.
Cindy tore off the dust cover and shoved the hard-cover volume into her satchel, jamming it in between her wooden herb case and the bandages. She snapped the satchel shut and took a final look around.
This small room had been the scene of so much over the last year. She'd been in here when Jack had come to tell her that the hospital had called about her father; she and Yvonne, the other waitress, had planned countless Friday nights while getting prepared for another day of serving winos; crying in here after her father had died, Will coming in and offering her the sympathy she'd been trying to hide from; decorating the stained wallpaper with the brightly coloured cartoon posters she, Will and Yvonne had collected during the Raccoon Centennary, laughing and joking over Cindy's infatuation with the cartoon Mr. Raccoon…
She blinked back tears. Cry later. When there's nobody around to chew your throat out.
Resolved, she wiped her eyes and exhaled deeply. Her calm was broken by a thump on the far wall. Reminded of the zombies on the other side, Cindy left the locker room with one thought on her mind.
Time to go.
When she stepped back into the hallway, Yoko was already pushing open the opposite door, revealing another short flight of stairs. Mark was helping Bob off the couch, shouldering him so easily that an onlooker might have though Bob weighed virtually nothing. Cindy hurried over to help, but Mark shook his head.
"Get moving," he ordered.
So she did. Following Yoko up the stairs which she'd trodden up countless times to find a rare wine or new bottle of spirits, she tried to push back the thought that she might never see the place again. The finality of such a thought made her feel all the more nervous and frightened. The bar had been like a home, providing her with a sense of family she'd lacked since her father died.
Yoko threw open the door at the top of the stairs and ran ahead. Cindy paused uncertainly as she entered the cellar, the smell of liquor and mould comforting refreshment from the cloying scent of rot and decay downstairs.
I'm forgetting something...the shutter to the roof stairs…what about it? Cindy's blue eyes widened when the realisation hit her. Jack locked it before he left, remember, that was why Will was so annoyed…he couldn't fix the vent until Jack got back tomorrow 'cos he wouldn't have been able to get back in… She heard Yoko curse loudly up ahead and a thick metallic clang rang through the still cellar. Guessing Yoko must have kicked the metal shutter in frustration, Cindy turned, hoping that Jack might have hidden the shutter key in the adjoining wine cellar.
Mark and Bob entered as she was turning the handle, Mark slamming the door shut behind him.
"They're almost through the barricade," he warned.
"Find Yoko, she's near the loading bay. I've got to check in here for the shutter key." Without further explanation, Cindy entered the wine cellar.
Not liking the claustrophobic room and its distinct lack of lighting, Cindy began a wild search, knocking over unopened burgundy and grange in her desperation to find the key. An old typewriter was sent into a locked glass case, sending wine and glass all over the floor, a potted herb Cindy had given Jack last Christmas was flung off the desk, its terracotta pot shattering on the concrete-but no key was revealed amid the dark soil. Wanting to cry or maybe yell in frustration, Cindy almost gave up when a twinkle of silver light caught the corner of her eye.
Sitting innocently beneath a flickering lamp and beside an old ledger was a key with a yellow tag. Cindy picked it up, squinting to read her boss' tiny writing.
Forklift Key.
Cindy frowned. What was she going to do with the forklift key? She doubted it would open the shutter-
-but I could use the forklift to bridge that gap in the shelves and crawl through the vent and unlock it from the other side! The idea had been Will's, set out earlier that day over a hasty lunch in the staff lounge. The shutter lock was broken, and Jack hadn't realised it when he'd left. Those inside couldn't get out-
-but those outside can get in. Having solved her immediate dilemma, Cindy pulled open the wine cellar door and ran past the door that led downstairs. Low murmuring wafted beneath the illuminated yellow crack, and Cindy was certain the zombies had broken through the barricade.
She picked up her pace as much as she dared to in her heels, the hollow clicking against the concrete floor matching the heavy thumping of her heart in her chest.
She rounded the corner, saw Mark standing beside Bob, who had collapsed on the concrete steps leading to the shutter, saw Yoko standing beside the yellow forklift and threw the key at her.
Yoko caught it, but by the tag. "Is this for-"
"The forklift, get it going and raise the crates," Cindy instructed, climbing the metal rungs that led up the shelves. "Jack hid the shutter key, but I can unlock it from the other side."
"What?" Mark shouted.
Cindy had to pause at the edge of the shelf while Yoko got the forklift started and the crates slowly raised up towards her. She started to crawl along the crates, the buttons of her vest digging uncomfortably into her abdomen, when a low moan echoed off the concrete cellar walls.
"They're in here," Mark said, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Huunh?" Bob groaned.
"Hurry," Yoko urged, reloading the handgun with ammo Cindy assumed she'd found downstairs.
Cindy tried, but came dangerously close to falling off when she negotiated the shelf corner. Knowing that her knees and elbows had to be grazed, feeling her sheer stockings tear and wondering how those teenagers were capable of this feat every weekend, she pulled herself through the exposed vent.
"Cindy, hurry up, they're in here!" Mark shouted.
Gunfire started up, urging Cindy to scramble as fast as she could.
Wriggling through and now covered in fine concrete dust, Cindy went down the stairs and pulled the shutters up with a single shoulder-wrenching action. She found Bob being shoved unceremoniously into her arms and struggled up the stairs with him, Yoko and Mark close behind, the constant roar of their weapons deafening them all. Cindy was grateful-at least she wouldn't hear that guttural moaning if the end finally caught up to her.
"Go! Go!" Yoko was shouting, her soft voice hoarse. "I'll hold them off!"
"No! We have to stick together!" Mark argued. "Strength in numbers. Just keep shooting!"
Fear must have lent Cindy a foreign strength, because she found herself at the top and was pulling open the rooftop's access, stumbling and crying out into the cool night. Yoko and Mark weren't far behind, Mark slamming the metal door shut on broken, flayed fingers and hands. Although Cindy's ears were still ringing, she heard an organic snap, not unlike twigs. It was only as she stared at the still twitching stumps of meat that she realised it had been the sound of human fingers snapping.
"Keep moving," Mark insisted, taking over the duty of shouldering Bob. "I don't know how long it'll take them to work a handle-"
"Caw! Caw!"
Flapping wings rushed toward them. Cindy caught sight of a black sleek figure before Yoko fired her gun.
"Caw!" The shape dropped to the ground abruptly, still moving weakly.
Cindy turned to Yoko, whose expression was almost blank. When Yoko realised that Cindy was staring at her, she nodded in the lump's direction.
"Infected crow," she explained. "They'll take your eye out."
Even Mark appeared surprised. "This stuff must infect animals too," he added unnecessarily. "What the hell kind of sickness is this?"
Yoko went to speak, but stopped. "I don't know. I think I might have known…but I forget so many things now…" She literally squirmed, her discomfort making Cindy feel a little self-conscious herself. "It's not a natural virus, I remember that much."
"How do you know about what's happened here?" Mark wanted to know, trying to get Bob into a more comfortable position. The other security guard wasn't looking any better than the zombies behind the door; his skin was paler, his eyes drooped shut and his breathing more laboured.
Yoko didn't-or maybe couldn't-answer. She held her hands up helplessly and grimaced. Mark wasn't mollified by this response, and opened his mouth to demand answers when Cindy intervened.
"Come on, let's get him into the light so I can dose him with some herbs." Cindy gestured to Bob. "He's not looking any better."
Mark nodded. Yoko didn't make a gesture, but followed mutely when the group continued on to where the rooftop opened up to an open space.
Cindy pulled out her herb case, deftly picking the right herbs through a combination of experience and intuition. She was mixing the powder in one palm, not concerned with the lack of sterilisation considering the circumstances, when Bob gave a choked cry and pulled out of Mark's grip.
"Bob-what are you doing?" At the tremor in Mark's voice, Cindy glanced up and with an awful sinking in her belly, saw the worried expression on Mark's face. When her gaze fell on Bob, it took her a moment to realise that he was holding his handgun to his temple.
"I can't…I can't…" Bob was hitching on his words, gasping for air in a terrible way that Cindy recognised from months of experience. Her father had sounded like that during his last days, when the emphysema had destroyed his lungs and was tearing away at his will to exist. His gasping and clawing for breath haunted Cindy's nightmares…and here it was again.
"Bob, come one, put that away, don't be an idiot," Mark admonished, using the same tone Cindy had heard him use countless times, when joking over football games, golf scores, family troubles…Her herb-dusted finger fell to her side, an icy feeling sluicing through her limbs. Dread settled and robbed her of any capable movement.
"I can't…do it, buddy…" The metallic click of the revolver's hammer was frighteningly loud in the sudden silence. "Not-not one of them. Die…die with dignity…" He coughed, a churning, phlegmy hack that made him teeter and slump forward.
"No, Bob, don't do this, we'll get you out. I'll get you out of here, we'll find the hospital and-"
BANG.
Cindy jerked as if she'd been shot, not merely watching the suicide of a well-liked customer. Her other hand fell to her side, the mixed dust sprinkling onto her stockings. Yoko clasped one hand over her mouth, her dark eyes wide and horrified. Mark keened and dropped to his knees, the primal sound raging through the night.
"Mark," Cindy began, taking a step towards him.
"Don't," Yoko warned, but Cindy ignored her and went to the older man's side, kneeling beside him, close enough to feel the silent sobs that shuddered through his bulk.
"Mark, we should go," Cindy said quietly, doing her best to keep her voice reasonable and calm. "He-he wouldn't want to you to be hurt after…" She couldn't keep it up, her voice failing and cracking.
"She's right," Yoko added. She approached Bob's sprawled body, and when she bent over it, Mark's bald head snapped up, his eyes full of outrage.
"Stay away from his body," he growled furiously. "Don't disrespect him like that."
"I'm not," Yoko replied in a small voice. "I was retrieving that gun. We'll need the ammo."
"Can't leave anything to waste huh?" Mark stood abruptly, sending Cindy sprawling onto the ground. She fell awkwardly on her satchel, the edge of the book digging into her hip. She cried out, interrupting Mark's sudden anger.
He looked down at her, realised what he'd done and relented. He bent down to offer her one dark hand. Cindy accepted it and found herself swung dizzyingly back onto her feet.
Yoko didn't take the revolver, but she took the ammunition from it, loading the gun she'd had in the bar. Mark turned away, wiping at his face and eyes. Cindy watched her numbly, her traumatised mind focusing on the diversion rather than Bob's dead body. When Yoko was finished with that gun, she started on Jack's. Once finished, she handed it to Cindy.
Cindy stared down at the dark gun held in such a small pale hand.
"It's later," Yoko said soberly.
Cindy reached for the gun, but stopped short when a repetitive metallic sound caught her attention. Thinking it was another zombie, she was relieved to see it was only Mark knocking down the fencing Will had only repaired last week.
Will'll be heartbroken to see that, she thought. It took a moment to realise that Will wouldn't be heartbroken about anything anymore. He was probably among the zombies banging at the roof access, determined to tear them apart.
Yoko pressed the handgun into Cindy's hand, and she was surprised to find the grip warm, not cold like she'd expected. Yoko clicked off the safety and beckoned for Cindy to follow. Both stood and watched as Mark gave a last shoulder barge.
The grill fell to the metal catwalk behind the neon sign with a loud clatter, and Mark pulled himself up. Yoko was next and she turned to help Cindy up.
"You'll have to lose those shoes eventually," she said. "Pretty impractical."
For the first time that night, Cindy laughed. "If I'd known there was going to be running from zombies involved in tonight's shift, I would have worn sneakers or something," she joked, standing.
Mark, who had already climbed the catwalk's partition, said something that was lost in the sudden sound of an electric megaphone being used.
"Attention, all citizens! We are evacuating this part of the city! All citizens who wish to be evacuated must be down here immediately!"
"We're saved!" Cindy cried.
"Did you hear that?" Yoko asked.
"Let's go," Mark said, and led the race along the catwalk, past the neon sign that flickered and sparked dangerously in some places. Cindy struggled to keep up with the other two, and when Mark made the jump across the gap between the bar and the apartment's roof, her heart leapt into her throat. Yoko went next, taking a bigger run-off but landing with far more agility and grace than Cindy would have guessed.
"Cindy, come on!" Mark shouted at her.
She clicked the safety back on the gun and put it into her satchel. She peered over the edge-and immediately wished she hadn't. It was a long drop-three storeys straight down into a paved alley. She thought she could see a shambling figure down below. Her suspicion was confirmed when a ragged groan floated up to her.
Gripping the catwalk's railing, Cindy shook her head and took a few steps back.
"I can't," she insisted miserably. "I'm not wearing the right shoes, I'll die if I fall, I won't make it, I've always been terrible at running and things, Mark I can't-"
"Cindy, you have to try," Yoko cried.
"I'll catch you," Mark promsied.
Cindy took a deep breath and started to run, but even as she leapt, she knew she'd come up short. Hands wildly scrabbling, she grabbed the edge before that terrible moment when her legs swung free in empty space.
Another hungry moan echoed in the alley below her.
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A/N- Just so you know, the first scenario is Cindy's. This fict will only have the following characters; Cindy, Mark, Yoko and George. Alyssa, Kevin, Jim and David will feature in another fic based on File 2. If I've made any errors, please tell me about them.