Chapter Eleven— The Newcomer
"Let's see how many of you bastards I can take to hell with me!" Those were the last words of Josh's brother. It was his final act, his outro, his final performance. Josh heard his brother give this valiant war cry from on the other side of the metal door. The boundary between him and his brother distorted the words, but he could hear them all too well. Thinking about all of this, he began to cry.
He pounded on the metal door, sobbing as he did so. "No, no, no, no, no!" he yelled hysterically. He wanted nothing more than to tear this door down, kill every Goddamned creature out there (with his bare hands if he had to), and save his brother.
The others stood behind him, watching him with curious and saddened eyes. If Josh were to turn around, he would see that he wasn't the only one crying. Drew and Terry were silently shedding their tears, and even Michael's eyes were starting to water up.
He fell to his knees, giving up on the door. He knew it was too late. It was too late for him to save his brother, too late to even say a goodbye. This realization that his brother was now gone forever brought on more tears. They were hot tears that stung his eyes. He collapsed, sobbing into the floor.
It's not fair! Josh thought. It's not fair! I was supposed to die to protect the others. I was supposed to make the sacrifice! Why can he just choose to die like that! He had never done anything wrong!
His heaving chest started to calm down, but the tears didn't seem to stop. It was like a dam had busted in his eyes, letting loose waterfalls of the salty liquid. He collapsed completely, lying on the dirty kitchen linoleum. His sobs slowed down to a ragged breathing, yet he just lay there.
"Josh?" Drew asked, his voice far away and distant.
Never again, Josh thought. Never again will I see his smiling face. Never again will I hear his dumb jokes. I will never write music with him again, nor will I stand on stage with him. I won't even be able to fucking fight him anymore! There were so many things he would never do with his brother again, and the recognition of this fact hit Josh like a freight train.
"Josh!" Drew said, his voice much louder this time.
Slowly, Josh stood back up. Never had it taken him so much effort to stand like that. It took all of his willpower to force himself up because most of his mind wanted to just lay down and die, die so he could reunite with Zack. He turned, looking at Drew, but saying nothing. Drew said nothing either; they just continued to stare at each other. Finally, it was Josh who broke the silence.
"He's gone."
"Yeah, yeah he is," Drew said, tears welling up in his eyes again. "But we're not, and you have to realize that. We have to keep going. We have to live for Zack's sake."
Josh nodded. As he did, he realized the tears had stopped. He wasn't sure how, but they had stopped. It was like someone had just turned off the faucet. His eyes still stung, and he rubbed them. Drew and Josh stared at each other again, but it was Michael who broke their silence.
"Do you think there is anyone else alive here?" the boy asked, looking around thoughtfully.
"We can hope," Drew said, smiling.
Josh looked at the smile and wondered how someone could smile like that after his brother had died. Josh actually hated Drew for that smile. The idea was absurd; that he could hate his best friend, but now, he did. He hated Drew for smiling, he hated him for not caring as much as he did about Zack's death, but most of all, he hated the bassist because Drew's brother was still alive.
How was that fair?
xXxXx
Christie awoke to the sounds of someone yelling. She couldn't completely understand the person, but it sounded like he/she was yelling "no!" over and over again.
She sat up, and her head connected with something above her, sending bright flashes across her vision. She silently swore as she rubbed her aching head. She had forgotten where she was for a moment.
She was in a pantry, one of many in the large kitchen. She had found it when those things had started attacking the hotel. The bottom of it had been a little dirty, but it had had just enough room for her to sit in the bottom. She hadn't even thought twice; she had crouched into the pantry and had shut the door safely behind her.
She had no idea how long she had sat there, tearstained face pressed against her knees, muffling her crying. In the darkness, she listened to the screams of those still in the hotel being slaughtered ruthlessly, and she waited. She waited for one of the cannibals to begin searching for the people hiding. She heard shuffling footsteps pass the pantry and through the small crack of light beneath the door she saw their feet. She saw the blood that dripped from them. She saw each and every drop hit the ground, and she remembered staring at it, wondering whom it belonged to.
Stop it! she nagged herself. It does no good to think like that.
Christie moved up to the door this time and pressed her face up at the crack at the bottom. She peered through the crack, trying to see if what she thought she was hearing was really there. The yelling had stopped, and now she had to wonder if she had been hearing the yelling in her dreams or if had been real. She couldn't see anything in the area of the pantry, but the pantry was all the way at the back of the kitchen. If there were people in there, they would more likely be up at the front, where she couldn't see them.
She paused, listening again. She couldn't hear anything.
You were just imaging things, her mind chastised her. No one is out there. There couldn't be anyone, unless they're those cannibals.
At the thought of those blood-covered people, Christie slid away from the crack and towards the back of the pantry.
What if they're not the cannibals though? she thought. What if they're normal people? People that can help?
This thought brought her back to the crack of the pantry. She pressed her ear against the door. She held her breath, listening very carefully. At first she heard nothing, then there was low talking.
She almost laughed happily, but as soon as even a chuckle came out, she pressed her hands to her mouth, hushing herself. The people out there could be the cannibals. Though they had only made moaning noises before, that didn't mean they were totally devoid of speech. This talk could only be a ruse to get her to leave the safety of her pantry.
Can't trick me so easily, she thought, scooting back from the crack.
She sat there listening and thinking. Moments later she was moving back towards the pantry door. They could be cannibals, or they could not be. The only way to know for sure is to open the door a little and peek out. Besides, how long are you going to stay in this pantry, forever? You know you can't do that, so you might as well find out who those people are.
She nodded to herself and began pushing the door lightly. She did it quickly so she couldn't let herself talk herself out of it. Courage didn't always last long. She knew this.
Thankfully, the door didn't creak at all. She opened it slowly, not taking it inch by inch, more like centimeter by centimeter. Eventually, it was open wide enough for her to stick her head out. She peered cautiously around the door but didn't see anyone.
She stopped and looked at her comfortable surroundings. She had been in the kitchen enough to know the general layout. The kitchen was shaped straight and wide. In the middle of the floor was the countertop. It stretched from one side of the kitchen to the other, splitting it into two halves. There were intervals in the countertops space that allowed one to travel from one side to the other with little hassle. This was where the cooks worked so laboriously on the hotels fine dishes. Christie peered down the side of the kitchen she was on, seeing no one.
She moved quickly and quietly. Still crouching she stumbled her way towards one of those intervals. She reached it quickly and placed her back against it so she would be completely hidden from view no matter what side the others were on. She sat there for a second, catching her breath and debating as to when she should peak around. She decided she would never know the best time to look, so now was as good as never.
She took a deep breath and peeked around the corner. She saw them.
She recognized two of them almost instantly. They had come in earlier, and she had found it nearly impossible to forget their faces all day. They had ordered their food and torn into it like animals. She had never gotten their names, but she had no trouble recognizing them. The others she had never seen before. There was a man dressed in a security guard's uniform who looked like he was severely hurt. The other man was dressed in a plain work shirt and jeans. His hair was dark black. She gasped in horror when she saw these men and quickly hid from their sight.
They're covered in blood! she thought. Nearly from head to toe! Just like the cannibals. Now she wanted nothing more than to run back to her pantry and hide. It didn't matter how long she'd be there, she just didn't want to be out here with those cannibals.
Wait, her reason told her. You recognize two of them. They had come here earlier. They seemed like nice guys.
They could have just been scouting the place out for the rest of their buddies, she argued back.
That's insane.
She sighed again and decided one more peek couldn't hurt. She peered around the corner and saw another person she had missed.
It was a young boy who appeared to just be in his teens. She stood next to the black haired man and it was easy for her to see he was the boy's father. They had the same face and hair.
Now would cannibals keep children around like that? her reason asked. Children aren't cannibals.
She decided that was true. When the hotel had been attacked she hadn't seen a single child kill anyone. The idea itself was just lunacy. This wasn't Children of the Corn, after all.
Go talk to them then, she thought. They might have come to help.
She looked down into her right hand. In it, she held a once-shiny meat cleaver that had been stained red with blood. She had no idea why she was still holding onto it, but she didn't care. It would serve nicely in defending herself (it had, after all, defended her earlier. She might be trusting enough to go talk to them, but she wasn't stupid enough to greet them without something to protect herself.
She switched it to her left hand behind her back and stood up.
"Hello," she called out, tentatively. They turned to her, eyes filled with surprise, and almost every one on of them turned on her with their guns drawn. Great job, she thought sarcastically. You didn't even think of them having guns, and now what's it gonna get you? Her fingers grew tighter on the cleaver's handle. She was no pushover, if they threatened her, she would hurl the cleaver at one of their faces.
Her mistrust proved to be false, for they all lowered their guns except the man with the black hair and the plain clothes.
"For Christ's sake, Steve," the brown-haired man said. "Put the gun down. She's not like them. Can't you see that?" He stuck his hand out politely towards her. "Name's Drew."
Christie moved closer, slowly, still keeping the cleaver behind her back. It never hurt to be safe. She calmly set out her right hand and they shook. "Christie."
The brown-haired man who had identified himself as Drew nodded towards the others. First, he gestured to the man who Drew had to yell at to put the gun down. "That is Steve. His son's name is Michael." Christie was surprised when the boy calmly stuck his hand out and shook her hand. "The security guard is Terry." Terry uttered a mumbling hello and a small wave before leaning back against the counter. She hadn't noticed it at first, but now that she was up much closer she saw how pale the man was. He looked as if he was deathly ill. Drew pointed to the last man, he wore a torn up sleeveless shirt and shorts. "That's Josh." Drew dropped his tone real low and spoke quietly to her. "We had another with us, Josh's brother, but he…he didn't make it."
She glanced over at Josh. "I'm sorry," she said to him.
He looked at her with red, tearstained eyes. "You don't have to be. I'm the one who should be sorry. It's my fault. Always my fault." His voice trailed off, and Christie couldn't help but wonder about the man's emotional stability.
She stood silent, contemplating what to say. She thought about it for a minute and said the first thing that came to mind. "You guys aren't like them then, are you?"
"No, we're not," Drew said. "We're normal."
The panic in her mind told her not to trust him, saying that was just what a cannibal would say, but she blocked it out easily. The things that gave her such confidence were the man's eyes. They were a deep brown and showed empathy in them. They were also a little red and tear-stained, but the most important thing was they weren't empty. Christie had looked right into the eyes of one of the cannibals had was horrified to see that it looked like he had no pupils. Their eyes were white and blank.
"Are there any others alive?" the little boy, Michael, asked with clear concern in his voice.
Christie only shook her head. "I don't know. I've been hiding in the pantry for the longest time. I have no idea if anyone is alive still."
"Maybe we should find out," Terry grunted.
xXxXx
Drew and Steve helped carry Terry, and he was grateful for that. He now realized how right Zack had been. He was infected; he knew that as easily as he knew his right hand from his left. It had started as nothing more than slight nausea, but now it had escalated quite a bit. His legs felt like they were made of rubber, his head pounded mercilessly, and the Goddamned itch just wouldn't quit! The itch was the worst. It was always there, a never-ending torment. It would get so bad so that he actually wanted to dig his fingernails deep into his skin and keep digging in an attempt to cease the itch. It wouldn't matter if he peeled of the flesh; he'd do anything to stop the itch. It was awful; it felt like there were millions of creatures crawling beneath his skin.
"Take me to one of the rooms," Terry said breathlessly. "I want to lie down."
"Anything you want, buddy," Drew said. Sweat was starting to trickle down the side of his face from the force he was using to keep Terry on his feet. Terry admired him for that.
They passed the fountain and moved towards the elevator. They didn't enter the elevator, but moved past it, heading to a hallway just behind them. Terry looked over at the elevator doors as they passed them. There was blood smeared all over the steel door in gigantic swoops. The sight of it— not to mention the smell— seemed to call to Terry, invoking some deep demon with him. The sight of the gore enticed him, making him hungrier than he had ever been before. As soon as this realization sunk in, he snapped himself back to his own world, appalled at what he had been thinking.
Was I really thinking about that stuff as delicious? Terry questioned. Had I really thought about…about… He couldn't even think about it; it disgusted him so much. It was so revolting he felt like he was going to…
"Hold on," he said. "I'm going to vomit." Drew and Steve were helpful enough to take him over to the side wall where he deposited his stomach's containing onto the pleasant shade of green wallpaper. Already, he was starting to feel better. The bitter taste of his vomit had managed to erase any thoughts of eating, especially thoughts about that blood. He muttered thanks and they continued towards the room.
He looked up at the dark wooden door. There was a golden bar at eye-level, naming the room, ROOM 118. Drew reached for it and opened it for him.
Terry was thankful the room is still in good condition. From the looks of it, someone had been preparing to check into it. It had been cleaned out thoroughly. Terry hadn't seen the room the band had been staying in before, so he couldn't compare the two. If he had seen the other room he would have seen that this room was not as large or elegant, yet it had its own charm. The primary of those being that it was clean.
There were two single beds, both dressed in soft looking cream covers. They were tucked in so neatly that he thought someone could bounce a quarter off them. The room had been dusted as well, leaving nearly everything with a clean shine. Though it was only a hotel room, Terry thought it was as close to Heaven as he'd ever seen.
They moved him over to the closest bed and placed him upon its soft mattress.
"Thanks," Terry muttered, already closing his eyes.
"Just take it easy," Drew said. He reached over and grabbed Terry's guns from him. He set the handgun on the nightstand next to him and placed the shotgun over on the dresser just opposite of Terry's bed. "I'm just gonna set these here so you don't shoot yourself in your sleep."
Terry nodded dreamily, but he wasn't really paying attention. Even with the pain and the itch (it never stopped!) he found himself slipping farther and farther into slumber.
xXxXx
Drew turned off the lights and shut the door quietly behind him, leaving Terry to his well-deserved rest. "Rest easy, pal," Drew said quietly to the door behind him. "Get better." Drew had no idea what was wrong with the security guard— he hadn't seen what Zack had seen– yet he couldn't help but wonder where Terry's sudden ailment had come from. His mind turned to the thought of the security guard turning into a zombie. After all, wasn't that what was shown in the movies. However, he turned the thoughts away as soon as they came. Terry wouldn't change into a zombie. That was only in the movies, only in Hollywood.
Yeah, and that's what you thought about zombies too, he thought bitterly.
"How's your friend doing?" a voice asked. Drew turned to see the young boy Michael standing there. He was talking to Drew, yet he kept his eyes fixed on the door. He saw that the boy's eyes were filled with sympathy and concern.
"He's just a little under the weather," Drew replied. "Give him an hour or two of rest and he'll be right as rain, ready to kick some zombie ass."
The remarks seemed to cheer the boy up a little, for he gave Drew a small smile. "That's good to hear."
Drew returned the young boy's smile before heading back to the lobby. The rest of the group sat on the plush sofas set out in the lobby's main area. Steve sat in one of the chairs flipping idly through the large TV's channels. Everything he found was just static. Christie sat on a different sofa, looking at nothing particular. Michael moved up and sat on the same couch as his father. Drew opted for the last remaining piece of furniture. Sitting down on it, he laid his whole frame out on the comfortable sofa. So the group rested here, all of them except for one.
"Where's Josh?" Drew asked, worry crossing his features. He sat back up and looked around.
Steve only shrugged. "He said he wanted to be alone right now.
Drew shot the man an angered look. "Why did you let him do that? We don't have any idea what's in here. There could be more of those zombies, or maybe even more of those clawed freaks that chased us here."
The thought of the reptilian creatures brought on thoughts of Zack. Though Drew wasn't wearing his emotions out on his sleeve like Josh, he was still very much hurt by the loss of the singer. Zack Hunter had been one of the few great guys Drew had ever met. He always managed to stay happy, and when someone was feeling down, the signer would never hesitate to try and cheer him or her up. He was a great guy that many found it impossible to hate. A guy like that didn't deserve to get torn apart by demons like those.
Steve gave a quick sneer. "The guy can take care of himself."
Drew found himself in a position Josh had been in earlier. Right now, with this man's snide comments and negative attitude, Drew wanted to break the guy's nose, but he managed to hold that in.
"Well, did you at least see where he went?"
Steve offered another shrug. "Beats me."
Drew sighed, leaning back in the chair with his arms crossed. You're a lot of help, he thought bitterly. The group sat there in silence. Finally, it was Michael who broke the tension.
"Can you tell us what happened here at the hotel, Christie," the boy asked, turning to the newcomer to the group.
"Umm, there really isn't much to tell— you guys seemed to have experienced much more than me— but I'll tell you everything I know." She paused, trying to collect her thoughts. "Well, it was just around ten o'clock. Things were pretty much going as planned. The restaurant was getting closing down like we normally do on days like these. I was in the kitchen washing dishes. Normally I don't have to do that, but since so many people have been sick lately, I had to fill in. There were only four of us left— Burt the chef, a busboy named Chad, and another waiter named Travis."
"Things were going alright until we heard a scream coming from the front lobby. Fearing the worse, all of us still working ran out to see what was going on. Luckily for us, I had kept the meat cleaver that I had been washing at that time."
"We got to the lobby, but we couldn't see a sign of the screamer anywhere."
"'That sounded like Andrea, didn't it?' Chad had asked, and I had nodded. Andrea was the desk manager. She had been working the desk, checking people in and out. The only problem was, we couldn't see her anywhere."
"I walked up to the front desk, hoping this was all some sort of joke on us. You know? Like she'd pop out from some sort of closet and laugh and say 'Got you!' But she never did."
"I kept calling her name out, but she wouldn't answer. I walked all the way up to the front desk. The closer I got, the more I noticed these strange noises. I could hear someone slurping on the other side of the desk. It kind of reminded me of a young boy slurping up a long string of pasta. Then there were some gnashing noises that followed the slurps. I got all the way to the desk, but I still couldn't see the other side. However, the noises were definitely louder and I could tell they were coming from the other side."
Christie paused in her story. "I guess you guys can figure out what I found on the other side, and you'd know nearly as soon as you heard the noises." Drew nodded grimly, but he didn't say anything. "I had no idea, so I was terrified. I didn't know what to expect on the other side. But I had a fairly good idea that whatever it was wasn't anything good."
"Eventually, I got the nerve to look over the desk. It was horrible. Andrea was lying on the floor, blood starting to puddle around her, and crouched over her was this man. Well, I guess he isn't really a man."
"That's right," Steve interjected. "They're zombies."
Christie nodded her head. "Zombies. Yeah, that does make more sense than just regular cannibals. Anyways, this…zombie was crouched over Andrea's dead form, pulling her intestines out of her stomach." At the mention of this horrible feat, Christie's face suddenly got much paler, and Drew wouldn't have been surprised if she apologized and went away to throw up. Hell, that's what he expected, but the girl surprised him by continuing her story.
"The guy would just stuff them in his mouth by the handfuls, and I kept thinking she had to be running out of guts sooner than later. She didn't though. It was like one of those magic tricks were the magician just keeps pulling strands and strands of multicolored silk from his sleeve, except this wasn't silk."
"For awhile I just stood there. I didn't even scream or anything; I just stood there. Finally, Burt came up to see what was going on. He didn't scream either, but he let loose an agonizingly slow moan that croaked in his throat. That seemed to get the attention of the guy…I mean zombie. He stood back up and turned to us, blood dribbling from his mouth and down his chin. That's when I saw the eyes."
"They were pale and empty, completely devoid of any emotion or feeling. That was what seemed to freak me out more than the blood and the fact that Andrea was dead. It was those damn eyes."
Drew nodded. He could relate to her tale easily. The eyes still managed to creep him out even after he had been exposed to so many of them in a manner of hours. Each time he saw them he tried to picture some sort of emotion— fear, pain, anger, sadness, anything— but he always came up short. The fact of the matter was, the zombies were completely empty themselves. It wasn't like a half-filled glass of water were one could imagine it being half-full or half-empty. There was only empty.
"What happened then?" Steve asked interestedly.
"The guy lunged for Burt. I was too stunned to do anything, but I was right there. I was right next to them. I was close enough to smell the guy. It was a horrid scent. The closest that I've experienced was a dead deer I found on the side of the road when I was a kid. I didn't realize how I hadn't smelled it before because after I caught the scent, it seemed to hang around me. Even now I can still get a whiff of it on my clothes."
"The guy sunk his teeth right into Burt's neck, and blood sprayed out in thick streams." She pointed to her face, which was clean now. "A lot of it landed right on me, right here. It was hot and sticky. That was what snapped me out of my trance. I realized I still had the cleaver in my hand, and I used it. I don't even remember swinging it. All I know was one minute I'm holding it my hand, thinking about the blood on my face, and the next I'm pulling the cleaver out of the man's skull. I just…lost control, I guess."
"Understandable," Drew said. "You did what was right. Your friend needed your help so you helped him. No reason to feel sorry for that."
Christie offered a weak smile, and Drew realized that some of her color was returning. It seemed that telling this story was making her feel better, and Drew knew it was true. It never did bode well to let things stay bottled up inside. All it would do was grow and destroy from the inside like a cancer, and the best cure for this cancer was simply sharing the experience with someone else.
"I guess you're right," she said, nodding along. "Anyways, the guy died, but Burt was getting worse and worse. I knew it wouldn't take long for him to die. The jugular vein had been cut wide open, and I knew that was fatal. And I was right, he didn't live long after. He lived just enough for the other two guys, Chad and Travis, to come over and try to help before his chest stopped rising. Travis started freaking out, and Chad wasn't doing much better. I myself didn't feel normal, but I had the sense to go for the phone and call 911."
"Let me guess," Drew interjected. "No answer."
"Exactly," Christie nodded. "Nothing but an answering machine. I got mad and threw the phone away. That was when I realized there were more coming."
"The automatic doors at the front slid open and all three of us turned in curiosity. A handful of people came in, but I knew they were like the guy I had just killed: that smell hung around them like a cloud of death, many had missing clumps of flesh, and most importantly, they had those white eyes."
"After this handful, more kept coming. Some were even coming from the back kitchen. Also, I hadn't realized at the time, but the scream that had attracted our attention had also attracted the attention of some of the guests. They had come downstairs to the lobby like cattle being drawn to the slaughter, and that's what took place, a slaughter."
"Some of the guests got attacked by these mysterious newcomers, or the zombies as you call them. After that, things kind of get fuzzy again. I remember one of the zombies getting too close to me, so I hacked into its neck with the cleaver, spraying more blood, and I remember running as fast as I could to the kitchen. That's when I hid in the pantry until you guys came. I have no idea how long I was in there because I blacked out awhile. You know, after all the screaming had stopped."
Drew could only shake his head. "That's awful. Everyone in the hotel?"
"I guess so," Christie said. "I don't know what happened to everyone else, but I'm sure someone must have survived long enough to turn the power off in an attempt to seal the creatures outside."
"Yeah," Steve grumbled. "We noticed that when we couldn't get through the doors when were being chased by the fucking lizard man."
"That's when you lost someone else in your group, right?"
"Yeah," Drew said sullenly. "Zack, Josh's brother. He was at the dinner with us. He was the one with the short hair and the goofy facial hair. Wore a combat jacket."
"I remember him," Christie said. "But what about the other guy, the one with the red hair?"
"He died at the show. One of the zombies got to him the same way they got your friend Burt."
"Oh," Christie said, her curiosity satisfied. The group sat there in awkward silence for a few minutes, until a loud scream pierced the air.
"NO!"
Drew sat up immediately, grabbing his gun from his belt as he did so. Terry! he thought. The voice certainly had sounded like the security guard's, and Drew could only hope that Terry was just experiencing a nightmare of sorts.
Without a word, he took off running towards Room 118, towards were he hoped Terry was. He didn't know it now, but when he would get there, Terry would be nowhere in sight.
A/N: There you go. As always, I'm sorry for the longer wait. Even with summer here I still find myself busy. Adda little bit of writer's block to it and you have yourself a potent mix.Other than that, not much to say here except the thank you's that go out to all my reviewers. In truth, I'm not sure what the fate of this fic would be without you people. I'm sure I'd still be writing it, but it just wouldn't be the same. Your words are what keeps me fueled, so don't forget to tell me what you think. As for the next chapter, expect it to be popping up in the next week or two. I already have most of it typed out, but I still need to do some redrafting. I'm going to try to go back to a deadline, because it seems to me the chapters end up turning out better if I don't rush them. That said, I'll see you guys around in the next installment.