Zombie Exodus Novel, Chapter 8 - Abigail (Patreon)

Abigail reached the ground floor and heard the muffled sounds of yelling, stomping, blaring sirens, and cries of pain. Only a few rays of light peeked through the small window on the stairwell door, and she glanced through to a riot of activity. Corpses lie just beyond the stairwell, a man and a woman lying foot to head so their bodies made a V. As the lobby opened up, more dead bodies were scattered about, their throats ripped and entrails spilled, faces frozen in expressions of terror. 

Abigail drew a deep breath and clutched the Glock she took from Mike’s office, turned the stairwell door handle, and entered the dimly lit lobby. She heard running—the squeak’s of sneakers on the marble floor and two women shouting back and forth over the excited growls of a zombie.

“I got him, Candace,” a voice called out, deep and intense but confident.

“He’s coming your way,” another voice said, this one higher-pitched and flowing like a song.

Abigail stepped over the corpse of the man near the door. Tall and slender in a tailored, brown business suit, his head had been torn apart, and the blood had seeped into the floor and darkened the natural pattern of the marble. In the space past the man, sections of raw meat, or what looked like raw meat, were dispersed in an almost perfect line toward the opening of the lobby as if someone laid a trail. As Abigail maneuvered around, she felt something lock on her ankle like she was caught in a bear trap. A yellow hand latched on, fingers curled and the nails slicing into her skin, and Abigail saw a woman in a green-and-tan dress pulling her down. The woman’s face, angelic in life, was corrupted in death, with large brown eyes now surrounded by brown fluid, and once plump lips curled back to reveal an assortment of jagged yellow teeth spotted by black. She yanked Abigail toward her snapping jaw and used the motion to pull her own body across the floor. Her legs were broken and twisted, though she tried to stand, but the tendons and muscles could not pull up the shattered bones. She did not grunt or snarl but panted, as if she waited too long for the taste of what she craved.

Abigail jerked back her foot, but it drew the zombie with her. She pointed the pistol toward the infected woman’s head and flipped off the safety. She paused. Though she wanted to fire, something held her back. In that moment, an instinct sparked—be calm and think this through. She stared down at the woman’s broken body and felt the grip of the skeletal hand giving way. She lifted her hammer and brought the flat head onto the top of the wrist, and it split in two with half the bone flattening from the impact. The fingers released. Abigail pulled her foot away and almost lost balance from the sudden loss of tension on her ankle. As she steadied herself, she stared down at the arm which flailed out like a snake and tried to reattach to her leg. The whole thing sickened Abigail—the way they moved, the way they smelled, their persistence. How can humanity win against something with such undying devotion to one thing?

As the infected woman squirmed on the ground, her legs crackling as they tried to stand, her broken hand fumbling to grab, Abigail brought the hammer down on her skull. The claw bore a hole through the base of the skull, and the woman in the green-and-tan dress went still.

“Stop running for a second, dammit.”

Abigail heard the woman’s voice—the deeper voice—yell from around a corner. The howls of the zombie intensified, echoing through the lobby. Abigail ran forward. Near the front desk, a tall redhead held off a zombie with a broken broom. She poked at him like she was brushing away dust, not defending her life. The zombie wore a bike messenger’s outfit, and a helmet hung off the back of his neck. On top of his skull was a missing portion of scalp and bone down to the brain, which pulsated like a beating heart. 

Another woman ran from behind the infected man—she was shorter and had short black hair in a pixie cut and held her broom like it was a baseball bat. Both women were dressed in jogging outfits, and a scene popped into Abigail’s head of the two women jogging down the street and the biker stopping to flirt with them, only to progress to the current situation. 

“Candace, keep him there. NO!”

The redhead named Candace shrieked and ran clockwise around the desk, the zombie chasing her, and the dark-haired woman chasing him. The three ran like a merry-go-round—a horrific and somewhat comical one.

The dark-haired woman stopped following the zombie and held the broom up, ready to swing. Candace and the zombie made half a revolution around the circular desk.

"Mindy, he's coming to your left!" Candace screamed, her ponytail flailing around like the blades of a windmill.

As the infected bike messenger closed around the loop, Mindy swung and cracked the end of the broom against his chin. The broom split in two and shattered, showering splinters over the zombie. His jaw shifted to the right and dropped, exposing his bottom row of teeth which chattered and clicked as he drew closer to Mindy. She broke her stance and backtracked away, and the chase resumed.

Abigail watched from the sidelines and reached for her pistol. She heard a noise—a faint murmur that ran under the clamor of the zombie’s growls. Further down the lobby, a man in a business suit sat with his back propped against an office door, and he moaned and uttered words too low to hear. Abigail’s attention shot back to the action at the reception counter. Candace stumbled as she ran, her ponytail now limp and stuck to the back of her neck, and she leaned on the desk for a split second and took a deep breath. The zombie saw this and lunged, causing her to run again.

Abigail tucked the pistol in her pants and squatted low like a runner waiting for the start of the run. She watched and waited, eying her target, and as the zombie circled the desk, she dashed forward to slam her forearm into his head. At the last step before impact, her boot slipped, and her body angled, so he shoulder slammed into his hip. She felt a pop, and the zombie folded under the impact and hit the floor face first. Abigail bounced away and landed on her side next to him, and she felt an intense, stabbing pain in her shoulder. That will have to wait, she thought, and as she started to stand, the broken end of a broom handle stabbed down into the zombie’s head.  His body sprawled out and went still.

“Need a hand?” the one named Mindy said and held her arm out.

Abigail grabbed it and stood. “I may need a shoulder.” She looked down and saw her left arm hanging lower than normal, the whole arm throbbed, and her hand and fingers tingled. 

"Thanks so much for your help," says Mindy. She leans and holds her stomach, breathing in short bursts, and then shakes out her legs and arms.

"Yeah, that was amazing," said Candace from around the other side of the reception desk. "I can't believe no one else helped us."

Mindy glances around the lobby. “All of the dead people didn't lift a finger."

“Those cops outside could have helped,” Candace said and stumbled beside Abigail. Her face turned sour, and she grimaced and looked away. “Oh my god, your…”

“Yeah, it’s dislocated,” Abigail said. “Hasn’t happened in years.” She held her elbow and tried to support the arm from flopping. She found it hard to breath and the pins and needles spreading up her arm.

Mindy’s eyes went wide, and she grinned. “I have never seen that before.”

“I’m going to need some help,” Abigail said. “Let’s move over, away from the blood.”

All three looked down at the pooling brown liquid made by the hole in the zombie’s head and stepped up to the raised area of the reception desk, the last pristine portion of ground in the whole lobby. A red light blinked on the desk phone at the same rate Abigail’s arm throbbed.

“What can we do to help?” Mindy said.

“I need you to hold my wrist and pull as hard as you can, so we can pop it back in place.”

“I’m gonna be sick,” Candace said and faced away.

“Seriously, you can hold it together for a second to help this woman who just saved your life,” Mindy said in a short, snapping voice.

“My name’s Abigail, and it’s fine if this is too much for her. The two of us can do it. We just need to do it now before I pass out from the pain.” Abigail lifted her limp arm and placed her wrist in Mindy’s hand. “On the count of three, fall back and yank my arm with all you’ve got. Brace yourself and get ready.”

Mindy tightened her grip and lifted her foot up to the top of the desk. Her sneaker squeaked as she dug in her sole. Abigail saw her smiling in that strange, creepy way pyromaniacs do when staring at fire.

Candace paced outside the desk, eyes diverted. “We have to help Brad.” She collected up menus left on the counter and straightened them out in a neat pile.

“One thing at a time,” Mindy said.

“On three…one…two…three,” Abigail said. 

Mindy yanked back and Abigail yelled and threw her body in the opposite direction. The limp arm extended and the tendons strained as the bone shifted over the socket. The three women heard the loud pop as the shoulder relocated, and Abigail slumped against the counter and flexed her left arm to get the feeling back. Her eyes watered, and her heart raced, but all the pain in her shoulder disappeared.

“Thank you,” she said. “I’m okay now.”

“That was a-maz-ing,” Mindy said, mouth open and staring at Abigail.

“That was unreal,” Candace said and held her stomach. “I’m happy you feel better but I don’t do well with stuff like that.”

“It’s the apocalypse. There are corpses everywhere. Time to get over your sensitivities,” Mindy said.”

From outside the office, Brad coughed and gurgled, which startled the three women. Candace started toward him, and Abigail and Mindy followed. He sat on the ground, back to the wall, legs out straight—the left one with three long lacerations along the thigh. He looked up through an expression of pain. "Please help me. My leg."

Abigail knelt down and placed a hand on his knee. Though the pain in her shoulder had dulled, she felt dizzy and wished she could take a break for even a moment. I’ll sleep when I’m dead, her father always used to say. Then again, he died young.

“Brad, right? I’m going to check your leg to see how bad it is.”

“Are you a doctor?” Mindy asked, peering over her back.

“No. My sister’s a nurse, and I guess she rubbed off on me.” Abigail ripped open Brad’s pant leg and saw a bruised thigh under the three even, serrated cuts. She pressed her fingers near the wounded area, and Brad yelled out and shoved her away. Brown liquid seeped from the cuts, and it smelled the same rotten odor as Mike’s neck.

“There’s a first aid kit in my office. Bottom drawer. Please. The pain.”

Candace turned the handle on the office door and when it would not turn, she kicked the wall.

“Do you have a key on you?” Abigail asked, and though he shook his head, she checked him anyway and found none. She knew he was gone, but whatever supplies he had in the office may help in the future. Maybe he could take antibiotics to reverse the infection’s course, or maybe it was too late and they would have to cut his leg off. Her mind raced, but her intuition told her to search the office, and she respected her inner voice. 

“He’s not looking good,” Mindy said. “If he’s gonna turn…”

“We have to do something for him.” Candace shook the door and slammed her hand against as if her anger would somehow cause it to spring open.

Abigail swung her backpack around and handed it to Mindy. “There are aspirins in there and bottles of water. Take what you need and try to get him to take the pain killers. I’ll get in the office.”