CHAPTER SEVEN

-Russel-

Murdoc isn't exactly known for his safety-conscious driving habits, but to say he was driving recklessly on the way back to Kong would be an understatement. We were already screaming along at twice the speed limit before we even reached the studio grounds, and when we flew through the gates, he swerved off the winding road that meandered across the grounds to take the more direct route through the graveyard instead. The Geep clanked over anything in our path, leaving a trail of gnarled tree roots and broken tombstones behind us.

Usually, I try to discourage Murdoc from running over any gravestones if it can be helped. (It's not just out of respect for the people's graves that are desecrated—it's also terrible for the suspension on the Geep.) Sitting in the back of the Geep and speeding towards a horror-infested Kong, I was too keyed up to care.

The others looked to be as nervous as I felt. Murdoc was hunched low over the wheel and staring straight ahead with all the intensity of a bomber pilot. Beside me, Noodle was sitting with her eyes fixed on the back of Murdoc's seat, but I could tell her mind was miles away. Her hands were gripping the seatbelt so tight I could see all the muscles and sinews in her wrists standing out like thick cords. Looking at them, I couldn't help but think, What the hell are we doing? We've got no plan of attack, no weapons…we don't even know if D is still alive or if we're just looking for a body.

I shook my head. Once we'd decided to go back to Kong, the only thing that seemed to matter was getting there as quickly as possible. There had been no time for plans, no time for gathering up weapons. We all knew that the longer we waited the worse off 2D was bound to be. More importantly, I knew that in my case (and most likely, Murdoc's case, too), the longer we waited to go the more likely I was to lose my nerve. Even so, knowing we were running in blind made me feel twitchy. It felt like we were just asking for something to go wrong. Predictably, it didn't take long before something did.

It started when the Geep gave a sputtering cough. A few seconds later, there was another sputtering sound, louder than the first, and accompanied by a bone-jarring lurch that threw me into my seatbelt hard enough to hurt. While I regained my breath, I heard Murdoc snarling something under his breath as he beat the steering wheel with the flat of his palm.

"What's going on?" I asked.

"Nothing; we're fine!" he snapped. Then he gave the steering wheel another whack and yelled, "Come on! Move!"

The Geep juddered along for another couple hundred yards. Then it gave final sickly wheeze, another lurch, and rolled to an abrupt stop with the bumper pressed up against a half-toppled gravestone.

There was a very long, very uncomfortable silence. A hoarse crow call echoed through the dead air from somewhere off in the landfill. Grumbling under his breath, Murdoc reached for the keys that were still dangling in the ignition and gave them a vicious, desperate twist, but the Geep didn't even offer up one of its sickly little coughs in response. Murdoc groaned and seemed to deflate, slumping down over the wheel. Noodle and I shared a wide-eyed horrified look. Then I cleared my throat and said, "Murdoc, did you check the gas?"

His posture went rigid, as though somebody had jabbed him with a Taser gun. "Of course I checked the gas!" he snapped. "Who do you think I am? 2D? Some cheeky little bastard must have siphoned it while we were at that hotel just so they could say 'Oooh look at meee! I've got a big bucketful of petrol that used to belong to the Gorillaz, aren't I just so clever?' Mark my words; I am going to sue that damn hotel!"

"So now it's the hotel's fault you forgot to check to check the gas gauge."

With the veins in his neck bulging, he screamed, "I DIDN'T FORGET!"

"Hey, I'm just saying-" I trailed off when I noticed Noodle tugging at the sleeve of my shirt with one hand and making frantic chopping motions with her other that clearly indicated that she wanted us both to shut up. I lowered my voice down to a whisper and said, "What's up?"

She nodded at a point off to my left. I turned around to look. There was a horde of zombies creeping towards the Geep. Of course there was a horde of zombies creeping towards the Geep. Our day so far had been a textbook example of Murphy's Law, so it wasn't surprising that Murdoc's furious ranting had attracted the attention of a brainless, flesh-eating horde of the undead.

On the bright side, they weren't the abominations that were stalking the halls of Kong. These were the average, run-of-the-mill zombies that had been hanging around the studio grounds since long before any of us ever set foot in the place. Considering the gruesome alternative, I was almost relieved to see the big, dumb things that were shambling towards us. On a more worrisome note, there was a fair number of them—more than we were equipped to deal with—and they seemed to be more agitated than usual.

"Remind me again, how many times have I told you desecrating the zombie-infected graveyard would come back to bite us in the ass?" I muttered.

"Oh, sure, because you say that all the time," Murdoc hissed back. Noodle jabbed me in the ribs and kicked the back of Murdoc's seat, prompting him to say, "Right. Shall we run like hell, then?"

I didn't even bother with an answer. Instead, I stood up, climbed out of the Geep, and hit the ground running as fast as I could go. Murdoc was right behind me—I could hear him huffing for breath as we weaved between the crooked rows of gravestones. Noodle was ahead of both of us, and nimbly vaulting over any headstone in her way with the grace of a seasoned athlete.

We were near the edge of the graveyard when things got ugly. The headstones in that corner of the cemetery were so old they were worn down to crumbly little stubs of stone that were hard to see and even harder to avoid. I'd had to cut my already lagging pace down to a crawl to avoid breaking my ankle on one of those treacherous lumps of stone, and if the heavy, smoker's lungs wheeze behind me was any indication, Murdoc wasn't faring much better. Noodle was still moving fast, but even she seemed to be stepping more gingerly. She'd gotten so far ahead that I'd resorted to thinking, Just keep her in sight. That's all that matters; just keep her in sight.

I was still repeating that mantra to myself when I heard a scuff of leather Cuban-heeled shoe against stone, followed by a squawked swear that was clipped short by a sound that anybody who's lived in Kong would recognize in an instant: the thud of a body hitting the ground. Murdoc was down. With a horde of zombies hot on our heels, there was a good chance he'd be dead before he ever got a chance to get up.

I could have just kept running. That would have been the smart thing to do; let him keep the zombies occupied so I could make a clean getaway. He'd done the same to 2D back in the car park and part of me was itching to give him a taste of his own medicine. But even as the thought crossed my mind, I knew I couldn't do it; knew that I was better than that, even if Murdoc could do it without batting an eye.

I turned around—and found myself looking into two sets of beady red eyes: two zombies, close enough I could count the hairs on their rotting heads. They were both reaching for me. The less decomposed of the two was champing its teeth at me like an angry bear, revealing a mouthful of yellow, bloodstained teeth.

My arms came up in a knee-jerk reaction to put something between them and me. It was a useless gesture. Whether they got me in the arm or whether it was in the neck, all it would take was one bite and my flesh would putrefy, my internal organs would rot, and I would be shambling along beside them after the next unlucky idiot who came wandering through the cemetery. Of course, that was if they didn't just tear me apart. The think ropes of drool that were pouring down their chins suggested that there wasn't going to be enough of me left to shamble.

I took a step back. My foot came down on something rough that crumbled away when I put my weight on it—an overgrown grave. I knew I was a dead man if I fell, but my knee was buckling and I was going down with the zombies looming over me. I closed my eyes, but I could still smell their foul breath as they leaned in for that first lethal bite.

And that was when Noodle flew by me in a blur of kicking feet and jabbing fists. She hit the zombie nearest to me with a devastating blow to the chest that sent it staggering into its companion, and both of them tumbled to the ground. There were more coming, but she was already crouched into a deadly fighting stance. I knew that she would make short work of anything that got too close. There was only one thing I could do to help her, and that was to stay out of the way.

Murdoc was still on the ground, and skittering along on his hands and knees with a zombie right behind him. It was so close its outstretched arms were sweeping through the air above him, forcing him to stay down or risk being caught.

I saw it make a grab for him and yelled, "Look out, Muds!" I don't know whether he heard my warning or whether he'd noticed the threat on his own, but he threw himself to the left and aimed a kick at the zombie's leg. The zombie must have been especially decomposed because the leg tore away at the knee with a squealch of rotten tendon and muscle. Awkward with the sudden change in its center of gravity, the zombie fell to the ground right beside Murdoc, who was still struggling to get up.

I ran for them, picking up a big chunk of stone that had crumbled off of a nearby grave and yelling, "Hang on, Muds!" as I went. The zombie had him by the back of the shirt by the time I got there. Murdoc was writhing on the ground wild-eyed as he kicked at it and tried to twist free. Screaming, I brought the slab of stone down with everything I had. The zombie's head split open like a melon. Rotten, brown brain matter oozed from the wound like lumpy chocolate pudding. The smell was absolutely horrible. I tossed the rock aside to clamp my hands over my nose.

There was a disgusted groan from underneath the unmoving body, and then Murdoc wiggled out. "Damn it, Russel," he snapped. "I've got brains smeared all down the back of my shirt."

I frowned. "Gee, thanks for saving my life, Russ. Oh, no problem, Murdoc. After all, what kind of person would leave somebody behind to get torn apart by a horde of hungry undead?"

"Oh, if you even start about what happened in the car park with 2D…." He trailed off and plucked something off the back of his shirt. It was a severed, decomposing hand. Apparently, the zombie had held on so tight that its connective tissues had given out before its grip had. Murdoc went pale at the sight of that gray-skinned hand. He shuddered and threw it at the zombie that was lying dead on the ground. "Come on," he muttered. "Let's get out of here."

I turned around to find Noodle and said, "Come on, Noodle, we're—Jesus!"

I'd known that Noodle was more than capable of handling herself, but it was still a shock to see her sitting atop a pile of no less than seven unmoving zombies, swinging her legs back and forth and smiling sweetly. At my shout, she waved down to the two of us and said, "I think these are all of the zombies that were chasing us. We should be safe now."

She jumped to the ground, light as a cat and said, "Come on. We still need to help 2D."

-Murdoc-

Our dear little Noodle had dealt with the zombies so effectively that not even the dumbest, most brain-dead ones didn't bother us on our way to Kong after our little mishap in the cemetery. The girl weighs less than 100 pounds and has a face that's so cute it'll rot your teeth out, but she can be quite the little hell raiser when she puts her mind to it. (If you find the idea of a war machine with a deceptively cute button nose disturbing, then you, my friend, fail to recognize potential when it's staring you in the face. Just thinking about the level of destruction she's capable of gives me a warm, tingly feeling. Of course, she's still afflicted with that troublesome thing some people call a "moral compass." A few more years around good old Uncle Mudsy ought to sort that out. Until then, all that power is just a lot of wasted potential.)

Russel and Noodle seemed to think that it was cause for celebration when we made it to Kong safely. I tolerated their good cheer until Russel's solicitations for high fives started to grate on my nerves. Then I said, "Oh, yes. We've gotten away from the regular sort of zombie all safe and in one piece just so we can lock ourselves in here with a pack of even more disturbing monsters. What a relief."

"Buzzkill," Russel grumbled. "I bet you didn't even notice that the lights are back on."

I rolled my eyes at that. Of course I'd noticed that the lights were back in working order. I was sorely tempted to point out that the only good they would do us would be to give us a clearer look at the horrors that were currently stalking the halls of our humble abode. Before I could do that, Noodle said, "Where is 2D?"

I left off thinking about how to kill Russel's annoying optimism to give the fully-lit car park a good once-over. There was no sign of my empty-headed vocalist anywhere.

"Maybe he got away," Russel doubtfully said.

"Yeah," I muttered. "Or maybe this was just a big, suicidal waste of time."

Russel seemed to take offense at my highly sensible remark. (I have no idea why. Given the circumstances, which scenario would you have thought to be more likely?) "Look, man," he said. "All I'm saying is—"

"Ah!" exclaimed Noodle. "Taro-kun!"

That was enough to shut me and Russel right the hell up. We both snapped our attention to her. She was staring at a point several feet in front of us with the sort of smile you might see on somebody's face when they are greeting an old friend, but I didn't see anybody there. I glanced over at Russel to see if he was having the same problem. From the baffled expression on his face, I figured it was safe to assume that he was.

Noodle turned around to look at us, all cavity-inducing smiles. "Taro-kun is here! Can you see him now?"

Russel and I exchanged an uncomfortable look. I don't know about him, but I didn't particularly want to be the one to inform her that no, we couldn't see her imaginary friend and even though we believed he was there she still looked batshit crazy talking to an empty space.

Russel finally said, "Do you think he might know what happened to D?"

"I do not know. Let me ask him." She turned around to look at the same bit of empty space in front of us to say, "We are looking for our friend. He is a tall man with blue hair. Have you seen him?"

There was a bit of a pause, and then she said, "Can you take us to him?"

Another pause. Then she looked back at us with her eyes wide. "He knows where 2D is!" she shouted. "Come on!"

Russel and I scrambled to fall into step behind her. I wasn't about to get caught in front of her. With no way to see where that Taro kid was headed, chances were I'd end up walking straight through him. While I was doubtful that would do much to hurt me—or him, either, I suppose—the fact remained that it would still be awkward as hell.

Noodle led us across the car park, down the main hall corridor, and onto the lift. She gave Russel a funny look once the door shut and said, "Ah…Russel? You are stepping on Taro-kun's foot."

I watched Russel try (and fail) to create more space in the seriously overcrowded lift (honestly, the thing was built to hold two, maybe three people, and Russel counted for at least two and a half) and thought, Well I'll be damned. I always thought anybody who got crushed under Russ would be dead as a doornail. Ghost or not, that kid's a resilient one.

That lift ride could not have ended soon enough for me. I was shoved up against the back wall with Noodle's bony elbow jamming into my side and standing closer to Russel than I ever wanted. The fact that Russel was sweating buckets and the stench was making the air nigh unbreathable only made the situation that much more unpleasant. (He might try to claim that the nasty stench was coming off me, but I can tell you in good confidence that that is a dirty lie. Anybody who doesn't appreciate my uniquely dashing bodily musk has clearly never seen the effect it has on the ladies. Drives them wild!) When the doors opened and we all spilled out into the corridor, I was grateful to have survived.

Noodle started off down the corridor, moving fast enough that Russel and I had to jog to keep pace. She looked back at us over her shoulder to say, "I think we are getting close!"

Beside me, Russel shouted, "D! You up here? D!"

I glared at him. That's right, I thought. We were doing so well avoiding the monsters, so by all means, scream your head off and attract them all right to us.

Noodle decided to join Russel in doing everything humanly possible to get us killed. "2D!" she called. "Please answer, 2D!"

We reached the door to the kitchen, ran inside, and stopped in front of the door that led into the walk-in freezer. The tip of my shoe nudged something that made a rattling sound: a pocket-sized tin. It was all dented to shit and if it had ever had a label it had been worn away a long time ago, but I had more than a faint inkling of what was inside.

Noodle was talking to the empty space in front of her, saying, "In there?" as I knelt down to pick up the tin and opened it. Sure enough, the thing was loaded with green-and-white pill capsules.

I cleared my throat and held the open tin out for Noodle and Russel to take a gander at. They gaped at it with expressions that would have been funny if the whole situation hadn't been so damn grim. (Not that their distress was unfounded. Those pills were about the only thing 2D owned that he wasn't constantly losing, breaking, or hurting himself with. I swear he's worse than a toddler.)

Russel shook his head and said, "Shit."

There were a couple of seconds of very uncomfortable silence. Then Russel nudged me and Noodle out of the way and jerked the door wide open. A fog of chilled air rushed out. It was so cold it felt thick, like something you could choke on. Something fell out: a skinny body with blue hair lying face down on the floor.

"2D!" Noodle gasped. She and Russel dropped to the ground on either side of him, checking for a pulse and trying to revive him. I was convinced that they were wasting their time. 2D was lying completely still, and his skin had gone a pasty white. (Of course, even under the best of circumstances he's practically pale enough to glow in the dark—nothing like me with my fetching olive hue. This, however, was a sickish, waxy-looking color that just screamed not alive.)

"Come on, D. Say something," implored Russel.

There was a pause, long enough for me to think, yep, dead as a doornail before 2D let out a pathetic groan and slurred something that sounded like: "Wassit…whozzat…?"

"It is us, 2D," said Noodle. "Can you get up?"

There was another long pause. It was as if the cold had made his brain run even slower than usual. Finally, he mumbled, "Tired."

Russel and Noodle both seemed to be very concerned at that. (I, on the other hand, had half a mind to give him a kick in the arse.)

"We've got to get him out of the cold," Russel said. "Muds, get over here and help us move him."

Hmph, I thought. What am I, your servant? Still, with a new album in the works, I figured it would be prudent to do what I could to keep my singer alive long enough to get the singing bits taken care of, so I knelt down and grabbed one of his wrists. It was like grabbing hold of a half-frozen chicken leg.

Once we got him clear of the freezer, Russel went to close the door. He took one look inside, then jumped about three feet in the air (and believe me when I saw that is an accomplishment), screamed "Jesus Christ!" and slammed the door shut so hard the wall shook. When he turned around his eyes were practically bugging out of his head.

Noodle and I shared a What in the hell just happened look. Then, I cleared my throat and said, "So. Russel. Care to tell us what the fuck that was all about?"

"One of those…things…was in there. Christ, D must have been stuck in there with it."

It took me a moment to digest that little tidbit. Once I was sure that yes, Russel was still sane—or at least, as sane as he gets—and no, he wasn't trying to pull some sort of idiotic joke, I said, "2D was locked in a freezer with a flesh-hungry monster all day and he's still alive. What the hell is he, some sort of zombie charmer?"

"I think it was dead," Russel said.
"Ah. Well that makes it all peaches and cream then, doesn't it?"

Russel looked like he wanted to say something else, but another sad little groan from 2D spared me from having to hear it. I turned to see what he was whimpering about and saw Noodle trying to prop him into a sitting position with his back against the counter. Russel stepped in to help her, even as 2D slurred, "Ur…lemme sleep…" like some drunk tramp lying out in a gutter.

"Why is he not shivering?" Noodle whispered.

Russel shook his head. "I don't know. He has to be hypothermic. We should get him to a doctor. Help me pick him up."

"Why?" I scoffed. "Going to carry him there?"
"What?"

"Well it's not as if we can just load him up in the Geep and drive off on our merry way, is it?"

"Yeah, well we can't just leave him lying here on the floor," Russel shot back. He tried to stand up with 2D's arms looped over his shoulders piggy-back style and narrowly missed crushing 2D's head in when he crashed back down to the ground. (Not that having his head smashed in—again—could possibly make him any thicker than he already is.)

Noodle watched Russel trying to sit up without mashing 2D's limbs and said, "We have to get him warmed up or—"

I didn't hear what came after "or" because at that second, the kitchen door burst open and a big man in dark clothing came in. He was shouting at us; something about "It's not time yet" or something else that made equally little sense. None of us had to understand what he was talking about to know what he meant. The hunting knife he was waving around in front of him spoke for itself quite clearly.

Noodle, Russel, and I dove around the edge of the counter to avoid having our heads lopped off, Russel dragging 2D behind him like an oversized rag doll. The knife hit the counter, cutting deep into the wood with a hollow tok! (Bastard! I thought. There goes the resale value.)

None of us had to diddle with what to do next because there's only one thing to do when you've got a raving lunatic waving a knife in your face: run and hope to high hell you're faster than at least one of your friends. Noodle was first on her feet and sprinting for the door, presumably to hold it for Russel, who had somehow managed to get up before me, even with 2D draped over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. With Russel's bulk occupying the narrow space between the counter and the sink, I was stuck behind him.

Seconds later, I saw a flash of light against metal—the knife, slashing through the air straight at my face. With Russel blocking the way in front of me, the only thing I could do was dive back to the ground with my hands over my head. I bunged my elbow on the way down. Hurt like the dickens. Something stuck me just under the bony part of my shoulder and tore. That hurt a hell of a lot worse.

My face was still pressed up against the ground, so the bastard couldn't hear any of the choice names I called him as I made a blind kick. My foot connected with something solid. I couldn't see where I'd hit him, but I sincerely hoped that he'd got a faceful of high quality Cuban-heeled shoe. There was a loud thud behind me. I took it to mean that wherever I'd hit him it had hurt enough to knock him over, which was better than I'd been hoping for.

I had no idea how badly I'd been hurt, but I could feel hot, sticky blood all over my shoulder. When I tried to get up, the stab wound flared against the movement. I could feel my arm trembling, threatening to give out from under me. I bit my lip and willed it to hold long enough for me to get to my feet because there was no bleeding way I was about to let myself be stabbed to death in my own damn kitchen.

There was no sign of Noodle or Russel by the time I was up. I didn't know where they had run off to while I was busy thrashing about on the floor and getting myself stabbed, but it was clear that I wasn't going to be getting any help from them, the dirty hypocrites. I looked around for some sort of weapon I could use to defend myself. (A knife. Or a hacksaw. Or maybe even a blowtorch. You know; standard kitchen fare.) The only thing to be had was a rusty old can of cooking spray that was sitting in the sink.

There was no time to think about what a pathetic example of a weapon a half empty can of sprayable cooking oil made. I reached out with my good arm, scooped the can out of the sink, and made a break for the door.

I could hear the loony running after me. Loud footsteps that sounded just as heavy as Russel's, but faster than anything Russel could ever hope to manage. I knew right away that even under ideal circumstances I wouldn't have been able to outrun him. Bleeding from a stab wound that rendered my right arm next to useless, I didn't have a chance.

I was pushing open the door that led out into the corridor when I felt a couple of beefy fingers brush against the back of my shirt. I whipped around before he could get a grip and threw my free arm up to block the knife that was aimed for my neck. The knife bit into the fleshy part of my arm, but I was so pissed off barely I even felt the sting. I twisted my arm away from the blade, grabbed onto it with my bare hand, and put all of my weight into forcing his knife hand down with a snarl. (That bastard wanted me dead? Fine. Just dandy! But I wasn't about to sit there quietly as he set about hacking me to bits. Oh, no. If I was going to die, it was going to be kicking and screaming. He was going to feel my wrath! The wrath of Murdoc Niccals, the greatest badass bass player the world has ever seen!)

The man stepped back as though he hadn't expected his would-be victim to put up a decent fight. That was just the opening I was looking for. Try and kill me, will you, I thought, and with a furious scream, I brandished my can of cooking spray and jammed down the button on top. A fog of processed oil shot out of the can with a hiss and went straight into the man's eyes.

The man bellowed like a bull elephant and swiped at his eyes with his free hand. I gave him a kick in the shin for good measure and he wrenched the knife out of my grip and started swinging it out in front of him. I have to give him credit—even swinging blind his accuracy was alarming. I ducked a slash that would have taken out my eye, a swipe that would have opened up my chest…and took a stab to the side that knocked the wind out of me.

I cupped both hands over the wound and staggered back through the door and out into the corridor. I didn't need to look to know that it was bad. My whole side was already slick with blood, all the way down to the top of my jeans, and I could feel something pulling inside the wound every time I took a step. It felt like a slimy fish swimming around inside me. I took that as a sign it would hurt like a bitch the second my adrenaline high wore off.

The man was still stumbling around in the kitchen. I could hear him cussing, heard him knock against the wall. Worrisome as the stab wound was, I knew I'd practically be signing my own death certificate if I hung around out in the open long enough for his vision to clear. With my hands still clamped over the hole in my side, I wobbled down the hall in search of a suitable hiding place.

Author's notes: There you are; another chapter of The Underground, hot off the presses! I apologize for the slight delay—action scenes are always a challenge for me. Yet another big thank you to all the awesome people out there who are still reading, reviewing, and adding this story to your favorites and alerts—I really appreciate all of your encouragement!

Next chapter: Carnage (Oooh…ominous!)