Chapter 48: The Hotel
14 HOURS UNTIL FAILSAFE
Unlike the pitch-black stairwell, the boardroom-converted safe-room was lit up in various places by lamps, rigged to a car-battery which sat in the far corner of the room. The lights showed the scene of a massacre. A host of slumped bodies lay throughout the room, some riddled with bullets, others horrifically mauled and missing limbs.
Zoey's eyes widened in horror. She bowed her head in a sign of respect and silently offered a prayer to the countless dead of Newburg. Even with the military making a stand for the city, the signs of death and carnage were everywhere. Was there no limit to the destruction of the Green Flu?
The stench was overpowering, and she crinkled her nose inadvertently. "We can't stay here."
Francis scowled as he threw down his weapons and holster, stretching his arms over his head until he felt the joints pop. "We've been haulin' ass for the past few hours, and this is the first real shelter we've found in a while. Suck it up, princess."
"…Excuse me?"
He made to reply, but was reduced to a surprised grunt when Louis elbowed him in the gut. Zoey's normally-cool green eyes were alight with fire.
The tension in the group was waylaid by Bill's voice. "Found somethin'."
On the long, polished-wood table, next to the slumped body of a first lieutenant (judging from the shoulder stripes), sat an inert radio, the static of dead air hissing from its speakers. It started to make funny and unnatural noises as Bill tuned it, trying to find an active frequency. Everyone looked on eagerly, but their hopes gradually waned after a good ten minutes of nothing but static. Francis and Louis gradually found the food in the Hello Kitty backpack far more interesting.
"Son of a bitch," Bill growled. "No one's pickin' up. We saw the planes. So why isn't anyone on the air?"
"Maybe they just aren't broadcasting constantly," Louis said in a quiet hopefulness.
"Or they're all fuckin' dead," Francis added oh-so-cheerfully.
"Don't be like that, man."
"I'm sorry, are you blind, or have you not been seein' the fatigues on half the corpses and Infected around here?"
There was a sombre silence, broken only by the crinkling of energy-bar wrappers and the clinking of camping spoons against tin-cans.
"What's the plan, Bill?" Zoey finally asked, coming to sit down on the table next to radio.
"Hasn't changed – we're still heading for the airport," he replied stubbornly as he searched the lieutenant's body, humming in satisfaction when he found a grenade in the soldier's webbing. Seeing the appalled looks of the others in his group, he grunted, "What? We might need this. He certainly won't anymore." With that, he stowed the grenade in his belt, along with his pistol and pipe-bomb.
Francis snorted as he shrugged off his leather vest, revealing his muscle-bound shoulders and a once-white undershirt. It was not so white anymore. "I gotta wash all this Boomer crap off me."
"Not yet, you don't," the war veteran said.
"Sorry to tell you, Gramps, but you ain't my old man. I don't need your permission for shit."
Bill got up, getting right in the younger man's face. "In case you've forgotten about all that growling we heard further down the stairwell, let me remind you that there are Infected all over this hotel. You aren't going anywhere without someone accompanying you."
Tension sparked in the air, and no one spoke for a moment.
"We need a game-plan," Louis finally said, in an effort to defuse the situation. "Are we just going to keep going over the rooftops or what?"
"Zoey, you said that you used to visit your aunt here when you were younger," Bill said, directing his steely gaze onto her. "How much further have we got to go to the airport?"
She was momentarily taken aback by the spotlight being thrown onto her. "Um, I'm not too sure. I remember there was some sort of power-plant right near the terminal."
The old man nodded. "Alright. We'll take the ground route then. It's impossible to go any further along the rooftops anyway. That route was only set up for safe passage to the safe-room." He checked his watch, making note of the time: ten minutes past four. "If the army is still making broadcasts, they'll most likely make them every hour, or every couple of hours. We'll see if we can pick up anything on the radio then. Enjoy the downtime in the meantime. God knows I need some after that shit-storm of a run."
While the others took to cleaning their weapons, checking the safe-room for supplies, or just plain kicking back, Zoey found herself drawn to the walls like usual. Like all of the other safe-rooms they had been in, they were covered in hastily-scrawled messages.
This is our punishment, one person had written.
It's just Dead Air, another replied.
With the hiss of static from the radio in the background, the former college student could not help but see the appropriateness pertaining to their current situation.
NO ZOMBIE IS SAFE FROM CHICAGO TED
Some enthusiasm this guy has, Zoey thought, smirking to herself. Maybe he managed to clear a path all the way to the airport for them. Wishful thinking.
WHERE IS CEDA?
This message in particular stood out to her, and it was a question she had been asking herself ever since they had escaped from Fairfield –
"Oof!" she squeaked, walking right into the biker. She'd been too absorbed in her head-game to notice he was standing right in her path. God, he was built like a brick shithouse.
"Didn't know you liked it rough," he teased.
"Knock it off, Francis."
"There something wrong?" When Zoey did not answer him, he smirked. "Aw, is someone still mad at me because of a little name-calling?"
"Maybe," she replied, trying to pout indignantly as playfulness crept into her tone. She could not stay mad at him for long, even if he was a jerk. They had saved each other's lives so many times now, and been through so much together, she almost saw him as the annoying brother she never had.
"Tell you what, I'm sorry for calling you princess," the biker said coyly. "But for the record, I never saw you as a prissy dress-wearing princess. Hell naw, you'd be one of those feisty, spunky gun-princesses, who rebels against her royal ass of a father and joins the band of heroes on their world-saving quest."
The young woman stifled a laugh. "I never had you pegged as an RPG nerd."
He shrugged nonchalantly. "I might have played a couple back in the day."
She nudged him playfully, and he gently bumped her back ('gentle' by his standards, although she was still nearly sent flying across the room). Zoey paused when she noticed Bill giving her another one of those looks – one which she knew meant he thought she was up to no good. She raised her eyebrows questioningly, but the older man instead turned to address Francis.
"Come on, let's see if we can find a change of clothes, or at least somewhere to wash this bile off."
"About fucking time, oh fearless leader," he muttered sarcastically, brusqueness immediately seeping into his tone. "Where to?"
"Nearest hotel room," Bill said, marching over to the far side of the room, where a second steel door was set into the wall. "Let's go."
"Aye', captain," the biker spat.
The veteran practically threw the door open, Francis directly on his heels. The others stared as the two stalked out into the dark hallway, before silence fell over the safe-room.
"…What did I miss?" Louis finally asked.
Zoey just shrugged and shook her head in annoyance at them, before rummaging through the backpack for a slightly healthier option than granola bars. The pickings were slim.
Aside from the occasional "All clear" and "No Infected", Francis and Bill said not a word to each other at first. While he aimed his rifle and light down the dark carpeted corridor, the stocky biker picked the door into the nearest hotel room.
Dead silence. A quick sweep of the pitch-black suite revealed that it was empty of any would-be attackers. The pair of men made sure the entry door was closed and locked behind them to prevent anyone from sneaking in, and they then took to searching the bedroom for a bile-free change of clothes.
Apparently a couple had been staying in this room before the Green Flu struck Newburg, and the two survivors found a pair of suitcases, filled with men and women's clothing.
Bill discarded his entire set of army fatigues, on account of them being completely covered in Boomer guts and bile. Nothing was going to get that out. Thankfully, his green beret had been spared. He was able to replace the rest of the clothes with a ransacked pair of jeans, a clean blue shirt and a dark jacket.
Apparently Francis loved his biker vest a little too much, although he did change his undershirt and jeans.
Neither of them noticed – or expected, for that matter – the window in the living room of the hotel suite sliding up – slowly, carefully, silently.
13.5 HOURS UNTIL FAILSAFE
"They sure are taking a while," Louis commented as he ran a wire-brush through the barrel of his Glock machine pistol. "How long does it take to find some new clothes?"
Zoey smirked. "Maybe those 'manly' men are really just a pair of frustrated fashion models? All the signs are there."
The young man snorted back some laughter. There was a moment of silence, before Zoey picked up her SIG-Sauer pistol and headed for the far safe-room door.
"I'm gonna go check on them."
"Whoa – wait. Is that a good idea?" Louis piped up.
"Relax, they're not far – only across the hallway. Besides, we need you to stay here and unlock the door for us when we want to get back inside."
He finally nodded in agreement, and the steel door groaned as Zoey pulled it open. The light coming from inside the safe-room faded as the door closed behind her, leaving the hallway in darkness. Zoey switched on her flashlight and looked around briefly to see that there was no one nearby. The power was out, but she had an inkling that the two oldest members of the group were in the hotel suite just across the hall.
Her suspicions were confirmed when she saw periodic blinks of flashlights through the crack under the door. She was making her way toward it, but then paused when she heard voices.
"…What the hell's your problem, Bill?" Francis' voice could be heard through the door.
"Stop eyein' the girl's ass like that. We've talked about this before."
"Kiss my ass, Bill. I can do whatever the hell I want, and I sure as hell don't need your permission."
"Don't. Test me. Boy."
Bill's tone of voice caused Zoey to stiffen, and the hairs on the back of her neck to stand on end. He must have cowed Francis some too. The biker's next words were filled with decidedly less aggression.
"…Look, Bill, it's not like that, alright?"
Zoey face flushed red with humiliation, and she was taken aback at just what the hell they were talking about. They were having an argument – about her. Her, of all things. Zoey was no stranger to embarrassment – there were countless incidents throughout high-school and college that she cared not to remember. But this just about took the cake.
She thought back on the way Francis had been acting toward her recently – a huge improvement over the way he had treated her when they first met, that was for sure. She figured he was just gradually warming up to her. Zoey then recalled his crack about getting her into a skirt back at the gun store. At the time, she had chalked it up to him just being a smartass.
But had he actually started developing feelings toward her?
If so, it would hardly be an ideal situation. From what Bill implied, the biker was mostly physically attracted to her. Although maybe her personality was appealing to him as well – she was, after all, a sassy, confident young woman, who called him nicknames and did not put up with his bullshit.
But it was definitely not a relationship Zoey could see happening.
Ugh, what the hell is wrong with me? I'm thinking about this sort of crap in the middle of the apocalypse?
She shook her head in disbelief. They could not afford this… distraction. Not now.
Her train of thought was interrupted by the soft sound of pattering feet coming from somewhere down the hallway. Her flashlight immediately snapped toward the sound, but there was nothing to be seen.
Absolutely nothing.
The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end.
Oh, this is so not good.
The group could deal with all this unnecessary drama later. Right now, all that mattered was getting back to the safe-room. She quickly covered the distance between her and the room, only to find that the door was locked. She hesitantly raised a hand and quietly knocked.
That was when all hell broke loose.
AUTHOR'S NOTES:
Thank you all for your support of this story. I don't think you all know how much I appreciate the feedback, but I really do. It's one of the reasons why I've been able to improve in my writing, and it also keeps me motivated. So thanks again.