She stood at the edge of the darkness, racking her memory. The bright circle of her flashlight hung, poised on the cracked door, but she couldn't for the life of her remember if she had left it open or closed. This was a brain that had maintained a 3.97 GPA in biomedical engineering, scored a 1560 on her SAT's, and earned a National Merit scholarship. A lack of sleep was no excuse; sleep deprivation experiments showed that adequate emotional duress could sustain high-end cerebral activity in subjects with less than two hours sleep over a five-day period. And she had barely gone three days. She decided that standing around there wasn't going to accomplish anything; the hallway was creepy enough.
The door swung in silently, and she breathed a sigh of relief when she found the room as she had left it. Alyssa's lock pick kit was still by the cabinet, undisturbed. The young girl had been thinking about the lock heads, and something had occurred to her; the brandof the lock probably dictated the style of the lock's layout. This one was newer, and was the same brand as the front door's design. Matching Alyssa's selection, Yoko found the fit snugger, easier. The lock snapped open with a soft click, and her face lit up with a joy beyond anything she had experienced in the past week.
"Yes yes yes," she breathed to herself, pumping her fist in quiet celebration. The lock came off easily, and she pulled the old doors of the cabinet open.
The space was deceptively large, big enough to probably fit her body if she tucked into a ball. Had there been open space; the entire cabinet was filled, end to end, with bottles upon bottles of liquor and booze. She took the nearest one, turning it over in her hands; some sort of southern whiskey, by the look of it. The next one was an expensive gin, a group of vodkas, and so on. The owner certainly had a wide array of tastes. Yoko wondered if she should tell the others about this. Alyssa would certainly appreciate it, but then again, a drunk Alyssa might not be the best idea.
Just then, she heard a shuffling outside the door, and looked up to see the light of a flashlight in her face. Covering her eyes, she reached for her shotgun.
"Well, what do you have there," said Jim, aiming the light away, a goofy grin on his face.
"The owner's secret stash, I guess," she said. Apparently the choice was out of her hands now.
"Holy shit, that's the fucking mother load," whistled Jim as he knelt beside her. "Damn, dude had some sweet fucking taste…"
"I didn't take you for a drinker, Jim," she said, setting the bottles down.
"I don't drink for the taste," he said, hefting a bottle of Bacardi. "These would burn the fuck out of some zombies, though."
Yoko laughed. "I was afraid you'd insist on us drinking them," she said, relieved. Maybe Jim had some sense after all…
"Well, wouldn't mind sparing one or two to drink, right," he said, winking. He really could change a positive opinion about himself in a few words.
"Jim…" she began.
"Yeah, yeah…I'm just playin'," he replied. "With the bag of rags the doc and I found, and these, we could make enough bombs to waste that entire army out front…"
"That almost sounds like a plan," said Yoko curiously.
"More like a barbeque," he grinned. "Hey, what's that, there in the back?"
"What do you mean," she said, leaning down to follow his light. And then she saw it. Had he not pointed it out, she would never have seen it, tucked into the recess of the cabinet. She pushed the bottles out of the way, shoving her arm to the back to grasp the soft material and pull it out. But for all her effort, she couldn't quite remove it from the tight corner. Shooing her aside, Jim leaned in, grunting with strain, finally falling back with it in his hand. He brought his wrist to his mouth after handing it to her.
"Did you hurt yourself?"
"Just cut my wrist on that hinge," he replied. "No biggie. Is that what I think it is," he asked, watching her dust the object off. Yoko couldn't help but tear up when she saw that it was.
"It is," she answered, clutching the canvas backpack to her chest like it was the Christmas present she'd been waiting all year for.
--
Finding the mystery occupant in the building proved far more anticlimactic than they were accustomed to. Her body was floating, face down, in the pool, the once bright blue water now a paler shade. The once strong smell of chlorine was faded, explaining the weakened color of the water. There was no sign of a lifeguard having been on duty.
"So what now," asked Alyssa, who knelt down to examine the water. "Christ, that water looks worse than the piss-water they have in Tijuana…"
"I guess we don't drink the water then," suggested Cindy.
"We better find something to drink, and soon," mumbled Alyssa.
"If we looked at your typewriter, is it nothing but 'All work and no play makes Alyssa a dull girl?' written over and over," joked Cindy.
"Not yet, but maybe soon," grumbled the reporter.
"We might have the solution to that problem," offered Jim, who stepped through the door with Yoko.
"Jim…" she said quietly, put off by his attitude. Didn't he say earlier that every bottle was a potential weapon?
"No worries, Yokes," he whispered. "This Schnapps won't burn well anyways. May as well enjoy the taste, right?"
"I guess…"
"Besides," he confided. "We have nearly 30 firebombs up there for the making. It's not like we can take them all with us."
The girl nodded solemnly, deciding she could let one bottle go, especially in light of Jim finding her a new backpack. The bag was stronger than her last one, newer, and with more pockets. It'd probably hold a little bit more, but its added durability would be the biggest difference.
"Hot shit, who's the zombie bikini model," asked Jim as he handed Alyssa the bottle. Her eyes widened to nearly dish saucers, a wide grin spreading across her suddenly ecstatic face. It clearly took a conscious effort on her part to not tear the bottle open then and there and start chugging away.
"Nice choice, Jimbo," she said, carefully setting the bottle aside. But Jim was too busy playing with the lifeguard's long pole, poking the floating zombie with its tip.
"Be careful, Jim," urged Cindy nervously.
"Why are you even doing that," asked George, a bit annoyed by Jim's playful nature.
"Like you don't want to see the front side, doc," joked Jim, when he nearly slipped on the wet tiles and lost his balance. He righted himself quickly, much to everyone's relief, but before he could comment on his near spill, the floating corpse in the water rolled over and grabbed the cylinder in its teeth. It yanked viciously at the pole like a hungry wolf, pulling him into the musty water.
"Jim!" cried Cindy. The other women gasped in horror, seeing the water bound zombie actually begin to swim towards their fallen friend. The strokes were sloppy, like a pitiful doggie paddle, but it was swimming nonetheless. As if it had retained some distant memory of the technique; or maybe it was just hungry.
This observation registered in George's brain in just a few moments, and he tore off his jacket, getting ready to jump in after Jim. He stopped when he felt Yoko's hand on his arm.
"What are you doing," he asked, resisting the urge to brush her hand aside.
She shook her head. Her eyes were torn; he could tell she wanted as badly as him to jump in, but something was stopping her.
"But Jim…!"
"I know," she said wistfully, leaning over the edge to reach for Jim's hand. He was thrashing wildly, the weight of his wet clothes heavy on his limbs. In just a few seconds, he was beginning to tire, and the zombie could somehow sense this, swimming faster.
"Over here, Jim," yelled Cindy, kneeling beside Yoko. Sighing, George went over to help them pull Jim up out of the tainted water.
The young man coughed out water, spitting to the side. Grabbing quickly for his handgun, he crouched down to where the zombie was approaching.
"Kiss my ass, bitch," he said mockingly before firing a round cleanly through its brain. Cloudy red muck leaked from the exit wound, forming misty swirls in the water.
Pulling George aside, Yoko voiced her concerns.
"That water…it was contaminated," she confided convincingly. "Just a little bit of it, in your mouth, in your eyes, in a cut…you'd be done," she added quietly. "Maybe we should…check him?"
"He'd never let us check just him," George replied. "I could offer to check everyone…"
"Then do it," she said curtly, going back over to hand Jim a towel.
"This might be a good time to get cleaned up," Yoko suggested to everyone, flashing George a look.
"Yes, and I can check everyone out for injuries," offered George. "We can lick our wounds, so to speak."
"Is that what they call 'playing doctor' these days," asked Alyssa coyly. George was stuttering through a reply when Cindy interrupted him.
"I can check the girls and save you some time," she offered.
"So how about it, Jim," George asked.
"You want to check me out? Hells no," answered Jim. "I'm healthy as shit," he said, coughing out a last bit of grayish water.
--
"It's not a bad idea," she said later. "Maybe you should give him a chance. Or even have Cindy check you."
"Why bother, I'm fine," argued Jim, turning away. He had changed out of his subway uniform, into the basketball clothes he had found earlier. He kept his ratty blue jacket close at hand, though, which offered a bit more protection.
Yoko struggled to find a point for her argument, but Jim was as stubborn as they came. Having someone check him meant there was something wrong with him, and he would never accept that.
"They're trained professionals," insisted Yoko, following him down the hallway with a box of the owner's liquor in her hands. "They know what they're doing and just want to help."
"You mean like how they helped Mark," Jim asked bitterly.
"You don't really blame them for…what happened to Mark, do you," she asked doubtfully, setting down the box.
He stopped, and shook his head. "No, it wasn't anyone's fault," he answered slowly. "But they sure as hell didn't help him, either, trained professional or not."
Something in his words softened her expression. "You miss him, don't you?"
"We all do. We've been running round like chickens with they heads cut off since he…you know."
She nodded. "I know. But it seems like we're finally putting together a plan to get out of here. This facility…we can make it—"
"Then what? You don't even know what's there and what's not!"
"It's a high end research facility, Jim. Built to withstand these kind of disasters…"
"How the fuck does a company build something to withstand the dead rising from they graves? Zombies and monsters? How do they know that's a possibility to even consider?"
"Doesn't sound like a bad idea now, though…does it?"
Jim regarded her suspiciously. "What do you really know about what's goin' on?"
It was Yoko's turn to clam up. "If I remember something of use, you'll be the first to know," she answered carefully before moving ahead. As she walked away, Jim checked the cut on his hand again, the small wound seemingly none the worse. A grayish film circled the edge, as if the skin was already healing over. Touching it tentatively, Jim shivered without knowing why. He grabbed the box and hurried to catch up to Yoko.
--
Later, in the front room, the men pushed most of the weight equipment against the doors while Cindy unrolled some yoga mats she had found, covering them with clean towels. Everyone had taken the time to wash up, recognizing that the zombie sense of smell was far more acute than they had previously thought. Smelling, or stanking (as Jim had put it), was putting them at significant risk.
The women were dressed as they were earlier, with Yoko being the only exception. She was dressed in gym shorts and a t-shirt, her other clothes hung to dry after her rigorous hand washing. Cindy had dug up an all weather poncho for George, which he thought would be of great use. By the logo on its back, it had obviously belonged to some survivalist volunteer, but George tried not to think about what had happened to the previous owner. There was enough on his mind.
"You should get some rest," Cindy said to him, guiding him to a soft mat. "I'll take the first watch," she offered kindly.
"I don't know if I can sleep now," he muttered as he sat down. A bottle was suddenly thrust in his face.
"Have a swig with me then," slurred Alyssa. She had already finished a good quarter of its contents, her cheeks rosy with alcohol. "This is good Schnapps," she said, taking another long pull.
George took the bottle from her hands, shooting Cindy a nervous glance. If they didn't help her finish the bottle, Alyssa would no doubt polish off every drop in it. He took a deep gulp from the booze, its syrupy thick sweetness dribbling down his throat, and handed it to Cindy. She took the bottle meekly, taking a timid first sip.
"Wow, that is good," she marveled, taking another mouthful of the tasty booze. "I didn't know liquor could taste this good," she added.
"What do you mean, you worked at a bar," said Alyssa.
"Yeah, but that doesn't mean I was constantly drinking," replied Cindy, blushing. "In fact…"
"Don't tell me…you've never had a drink…?"
"No, of course not," Cindy said, averting her eyes. Alyssa laughed heartily.
"Well, you're hooked now, I can tell," she chuckled. "Have another," she urged.
Cindy complied, finishing most of the bottle in her next gulp, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand in a sloppy flourish.
"Jesus, you're a natural, Cindy…you could probably drink most of the sailors I know underthe table," laughed Alyssa.
"Why don't you take the rest of this to Jim and Yoko," suggested Cindy. A giggling Alyssa agreed that was a good idea, disappearing down the hallway.
"Was that really your first drink," asked George, incredulous.
"You kidding, I was in a sorority for three semesters," Cindy answered with a sly grin. "I figure it's better if we all lend Alyssa a hand…it'll probably make everyone feel a bit better to have a few drinks, too."
"You certainly sound like you were in a sorority," laughed George, yawning as he lay down on the mat. "Why don't you get a rest? You haven't slept since the tenement building…"
"And you haven't slept at all, George," she said, worried. "Take a load off; I'll take this watch," she added, leaning against one of the universal weight machines.
"Wake me in a few hours," he said, but he was fast asleep before he even heard her reply.
--
The remaining three soon joined her by the front, Jim and Yoko setting down the last boxes. Alyssa eyed the bottles longingly, but she decided sleep was more important at that point. She took the mat beside George, and Yoko took the one next to her. Jim had the last spot to himself, but seemed content to sit in the corner with a large blanket draped around his shoulders. He shivered every so often, and seemed to be plagued by nightmares. Cindy would rouse him every so often, quieting his whimpers with some delicate soothing.
The hours passed slowly. Cindy deciding to take her mind off the shifting shadows by tearing strips of cloth to tie around the necks of the liquor bottles. Once lit, the bottles could be thrown as flaming missiles, exploding in a burst of fire. Ghetto napalm, Jim had called it, but he seemed more anxious than the others to use it. He had confessed to Cindy that he hated being cooped up, but the rest of Alyssa's bottle seemed to calm him some.
She counted thirty-three Molotov cocktails by the time she finished, separating them by size, then proof. Her brain was rebelling, wanting nothing more than to settle down and sleep. Organizing and prioritizing was the only way to keep it from winning. Then again, Cindy never considered herself the type of person to lose to her brain.
Moving a set of the bottles by Yoko's head, Cindy was surprised to see her still awake, but pretending to sleep. The young girl rolled over, hoping Cindy didn't notice, and Cindy wondered if it not a better idea to have Yoko keep watch if she had trouble sleeping. Cindy decided to take another lap around the windows before checking again on Yoko. If conditions remained the same, she would ask to switch. Even just a few minutes of sleep would be heavenly.
The streets were oddly quiet, most of the fires long dead. The undead still milled about restlessly, but fewer moans and howls escaped their cracked, blood-caked lips. She heard neither screams nor gunshots; she couldn't decide whether or not that was a good thing. Either people were safe for the moment, like them, or there was no one left alive to fight or die. Something else that was odd struck her; standing by the window closest to the front door, she saw the number of zombies dwindling. Hadn't there been nearly twice as many before? Or was it her own pounding fear that had increased the numbers in her head? One thing was certain; three or four well-placed Molotov cocktails, and that group would be done for good.
Returning to the others, Cindy was pleased to see Yoko still awake, busy examining the bottles.
"Having trouble sleeping," asked Cindy, being careful to whisper.
"Something like that," replied the girl quietly, nervously eyeing the others. "Can we find somewhere to talk?"
Cindy nodded, leading the girl to the stairway. From there, they could still see the whole room, but they could speak freely, the noise kept to the staircase.
"It's Jim," confided Yoko.
"I knew it," squealed Cindy joyfully. "So you do care for each other!"
"Cindy," Yoko said sternly. "I think he's infected."
"Infected…? But how," asked Cindy, her stomach sinking. Not another one…
"The pool," replied the young girl. "He cut his wrist earlier, and that water was no doubt contaminated. He's since shown signs of fatigue, sensitivity to temperature changes, and blurred vision."
"How do you know this? Did he tell you?"
"No, but he was winded from a short walk, I saw him trip over something right in front of him, and you saw how he's huddled under that blanket…something's wrong. These symptoms…they all match what we've seen before."
"Oh no," sobbed Cindy quietly. "We have to help him…!"
Yoko nodded silently, her eyes never leaving Jim. "Go get some rest," she ordered. "I'll take over watch."
"God, I don't think I can sleep now," Cindy said, wiping away tears.
"It'll all be ok, Cindy," Yoko reassured her. But in her heart, the young girl wondered if either of them truly believed that.
Note: I kind of didn't want to end the chapter right here, but the next few segments take quite the turn, making the transition seem a bit jolting. I'm starting to get a feel back for the characters, and with the ending long in my mind, I have a feeling this journey is heading for a close, and soon.
One bit I might have to explain (though I hope I don't have to): that scene about 'All work and no play makes Alyssa a dull girl' is from, of course, The Shining. Originally, it says 'Jack', and I first used the name 'Jill', but it probably makes more sense to use Alyssa, since she is a writer, and she is going a bit stir crazy without booze. Any excuse to mention Jill, I suppose…also, took the title for this chapter from an episode of Full Metal Alchemist, which I've been enjoying lately. Good little show.
Anyways, it might not seem like much happened in this chapter, but it will have repercussions down the road. Plus, I was really happy to make use of Jim's 'item spotting' ability from the game. Man, I wish Capcom would give Outbreak the budget and programming it deserves. Could be such a fantastic online game franchise.