Marching Through the Apocalypse Read online

  “Zombies!” was starting to be shouted, barely audible over the screaming.

  Jack opened his mouth, then stopped himself before he said the kind of thing he usually threw things at the movie screen when the characters in the story said. Instead, he looked around. “Where’s hotel security? What about that cop I saw wandering around earlier?” Convention security weren’t cops, and for something like . . . this . . . a cop, someone trained for a physical confrontation, who had a gun, seemed called for.

  He heard more running, and turned back to the exhibition hall in time to see a serious stampede of people starting to flood through the doors. Maybe one in four had blood on them, or some sort of obvious injury. He saw one man carrying a little boy in his arms, struggling to control the child as the kid squirmed and tried to bite. There was already blood on the boy’s face, and a woman right behind the man was dragging a girl maybe a couple of years older than the boy by one arm. Both the girl and the woman had blood streaming from bites on their arms.

  “Jesus, you’re fucking kidding me, right?”

  Jack turned to look at O’Riley and saw a fat man stumbling towards them. He was only a step away, and his hands were reaching towards Sherry.

  “Move!” he blurted, grabbing his wife and yanking her roughly away. The fat man’s hands closed on empty air, and he almost fell as he tried to turn in mid step to follow. Jack shoved Sherry behind him and swung the helmet in his hands without thinking. The hard plastic slammed into the man’s face, and his head snapped back from the impact.

  Jack stepped back, expecting the man to fall over or back away, but the head came back to level with a blank stare he recognized only too well from just about any zombie movie he might decide to name. The hands came up next, and the fat man staggered toward him.

  “Behind us!” he heard Sherry yell, and he turned just in time to see another zombie lurching toward them from through the exhibition hall doors.

  “I got this one.” O’Riley said abruptly, interposing himself between Sherry and the doors.

  Jack turned back just in time to see the zombie was almost in reach to get its fingers on him. He kicked out instinctively, aiming for the fat man’s knee, and was rewarded when the zombie fell over. Jack realized he still had the helmet in his hands, started to drop it, then stopped himself.

  “Hell, what can it hurt?” he muttered, jamming it back onto his head. He wanted his hands free, but he had a strange notion that the helmet might actually be of use to him if he wore it.

  Stepping back, he saw O’Riley struggling with the other zombie. It was a woman wearing a spangled red, white and blue outfit exactly like the ones from the chorus girls in the Captain America movie. There was a lot more red in the costume now, dribbling down her chin and across her top. Jack noticed almost absently that there was a deep cut on the side of the female zombie’s cheek that went right down to bone, and it didn’t seem to bother her in the slightest.

  He circled around the two and grabbed the zombie around the waist with both arms. “Try to step back when I pull on her.” he said, his voice again modulated by the little microphone and speaker setup in the helmet.

  “Got it.” O’Riley said, holding his head canted back from the woman as she tried to lean in and bite his neck. His voice was strained as he tried to hold her back, which struck Jack as odd. O’Riley was getting older, well into his forties now, but the woman didn’t look near strong enough to be a problem.

  “Now.” Jack said, dismissing the speculation in favor of action. He heaved, pulled, and turned to his right, trying to spin and sling her away. He almost fell as she moved, surprisingly separating from O’Riley , but he managed to complete the turn and throw her. She stumbled away before falling flat on her face to the carpet.

  “Look out!” Jack shouted, his voice still modulated just like a real stormtrooper’s. He hadn’t meant to, hadn’t even seen them, but he had thrown the Captain America USO girl directly at a man and a woman dressed like musketeers – both were in velvet doublets of rich blue and creamy white lace, with feathered, broad brimmed hats on their heads.

  Rather than moving away, the man drew a long rapier from the sheath on his hip and flicked it against the carpet. Something that was bright orange tumbled away from the end of the metal blade, then, before Jack could say anything, he stabbed down into the woman’s leg.

  Jack flinched automatically, but there was hardly any blood, which surprised him. Especially when, as his mind caught up with his startled eyes, he saw the musketeer roughly wiggle the rapier out of the woman’s leg. That opened a rather large wound right in the meaty portion of her leg, but other than a sort of red seepage, that was it. There was none of the flow or gush of blood he instinctively expected should be present in such a serious wound.

  “Jack!”

  He spun and saw Sherry had scooped up the chair that had been positioned next to the doors for the use of the convention security staff who were normally stationed there. Jack idly wondered where that person was right now, he hadn’t noticed him leaving, but dismissed it. His wife was using the chair to fend off the fat zombie, who was trying to reach her around the obstacle.

  O’Riley stepped in from the side and swung his leg like he was kicking a ball. The toe of his plastic stormtrooper’s boot connected with the side of the zombie’s head with a resounding crack. The zombie rolled, flopped really, over on its back, but didn’t stop moving.

  “Allow me.” a woman said from behind Jack. He barely had time to turn his head before the female musketeer stepped past him with a blade in her hands as well. She thrust with a smooth and economical motion, leaning forward and down with her body weight behind the weapon. The blade entered the side of the man’s neck as easily as if it were cheese, and she grunted as she twisted wrist and weapon before yanking it out.

  “You stabbed him.” O’Riley said, sounding shocked.

  “Yeah, but he’s a zombie so it’s okay.” the female musketeer said.

  “How can you be sure.”

  “Seriously?” the male musketeer said, stepping up to stand beside the woman as she flicked a bit of something red and wet off the end of her rapier. Jack saw the fat zombie’s head still sort of wobbling around on its neck, but its body was motionless.

  “Shut up O’Riley.” Jack said abruptly. His last flicker of doubt vanished. No one got stabbed in the neck without there being a freaking huge puddle of blood on the floor, and they sure as hell didn’t keep moving around when their spine was severed. The fat zombie’s mouth was making chewing motions, and the eyes were rolling toward them.

  “Perhaps we should consider an escape plan?” the male musketeer said in a calm voice, as if he were discussing the weather.

  “Good idea.” Jack nodded. “Want to work together?”

  “Sounds good to me.” the female musketeer said, glancing behind herself. “You’ve got the armor.”

  “These are costumes.” O’Riley said, still sounding shocked. Before he could do more than blink, the woman reached out with her rapier and rapped its flat sharply against the white plastic of O’Riley’s breastplate.

  “Sounds like armor to me.” she said. “Or do you think teeth can chew through that?”

  “Shut up O’Riley.” Jack said again. “Jack, Sherry.” he said, pointing to himself and his wife, who was hovering very close to him.

  “Ike.” the male musketeer said.

  “Nikki. We’re married.”

  Sherry giggled nervously. “So are we.”

  “Right then, so, up or down?” Ike asked briskly.

  Jack considered briefly, looking around. The floor was sort of emptying out, but there were still a lot of people. Unfortunately almost a third of those he could see seemed to be zombies, and almost everyone else left was struggling or fighting with one of these. The Marriott lobby was right above them, but if they went around to the left they’d be able to go down to the bottom level. That was where the dealer’s room was, and it opened out onto Courtland Street
.

  Right as he opened his mouth, he heard a fresh bout of screaming, and saw, from the left, a bow wave of people running from the escalators that led down. Many of them were bloody, injured, or both.

  “Up it is.” Nikki said with a shrug.

  “Some of our friends might be up there.” Jack nodded. “If they’re still okay I mean.”

  “More stormtroopers?” Ike asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Good. Well then, for the now, you lead, you follow, and we’ll hold the middle with Slave Leia here. You guys use your armor, we’ll do the stabbing. Try to keep moving, and let’s get the hell out of here. Questions? No? Great, let’s go.”

  Jack blinked at the note of command in Nikki’s tone as she pointed at O’Riley and himself, but he moved to take the lead position. “O’Riley, you got that? Bring up the rear, keep anything from hitting us from behind.”

  O’Riley was staring at the fat zombie, whose head was still wobbling around on its half severed neck.

  “Dude!” Jack snapped, shoving at his friend.

  O’Riley blinked, then looked up and nodded. “Right, cover the rear. Got it.”

  “Good, put your helmet back on.”

  Chapter Three – Someone has to save our skins!

  Jack could feel Ike hovering right behind him as he headed for the lobby escalators. There were about a dozen zombies between where they’d been and those mobile stairs, but all of them were busy trying to eat someone else.

  He felt a surge of gilt as he kept walking, not running, but walking with a brisk quickness that covered ground rapidly. Three of the zombies had their victim down and dead and were contentedly settling down to start feasting. What they were doing with teeth alone was . . .as impressive as it was disgusting. Blood was everywhere.

  He circled around a man in a Spider-man t-shirt who was bleeding from both arms and trying to pry another zombie, this one a man wearing a convention shirt, off himself. Jack wondered why he was avoiding all the zombies, even the ones they could probably deal with pretty easily. Weren’t they supposed to be helping people? Or trying to help people? Or doing something?

  But he thought of Sherry. He had next to no peripheral vision in the helmet, but she was supposed to be right behind Ike, just ahead of Nikki. If Jack stopped, if he delayed, he was risking her life. If he sent her out with the musketeers, she was still in greater danger. He wouldn’t be there to help, and it would lessen her chances.

  Whatever the cost, he knew he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he tried to play hero and got his wife killed. Or worse. With zombies on the board there was definitely ‘worse’ that could come into play.

  He kept walking.

  They didn’t have any problems until they were almost to the base of the escalators. As he approached them, which were still industriously rising toward the lobby above, a older woman staggered around from the opposite side of the moving railing. Her hands came up in the classic zombie reach, and she lurched toward him.

  Jack stepped forward and grabbed both of her hands. The zombie leaned in toward him, and he dropped his chin to better cover his neck. He heard her teeth scraping against his breastplate, then a sort of slicing sound, like a watermelon being cut, arose as Ike put the tip of his rapier against her temple and pushed.

  As the blade entered her skull, she went limp within a second, and fell away. Jack released his hold on her hands and let her fall, stepping around her and getting on the escalator.

  “I thought costume weapons were never sharpened?”

  “They usually aren’t.” Ike said. “And neither are these, not really. We just maintain them to look good, which leaves them a little less blunted than is normal. But there’s not much to rapiers. Even blunted, the tip’s enough to stab with.”

  “Good to know.” Jack said, taking advantage of the escalator to turn and look at Sherry. She was standing between Ike and Nikki, looking scared and faintly ridiculous in the Slave Leia costume. Jack smiled, but didn’t laugh. Nothing about zombies and people dying was all that funny. Maybe if they got out it might be.

  Maybe.

  “Heads up.” Ike said.

  Jack turned back to face front and groaned. The escalator was about five seconds from dumping him off at the top, and the lobby was a bloodbath. The normally immaculate white tile of the floor was splattered with red and strewn with debris of people who were either dead or had already fled.

  There were pieces of costumes, hats, more than a few shoes and sandals, and a lot of papers. No, not papers, he realized as he looked again. Most of them were convention programs and newsprint schedules of convention events. The schedules’ rough and cheap paper was especially good at soaking up the blood on the floor, almost as good as sponges would have been.

  And there were zombies. He risked two looks to either side, then focused on the area directly ahead. There were more people who were down, dead or immobilized as zombies began dismembering and eating them. There were another two dozen zombies between the escalators and the doors that led outside, all struggling with someone. There were two sets of doors, ahead and to the left, or ahead and to the right, but neither was really less blocked than the other.

  “Head right.” Ike said.

  Jack glanced to the left again, and nodded. There was a corridor that stretched off past the concierge desk there, and there were more zombies fighting against people that way. That made right a better choice. Any victim might fall at any time, or turn and flee toward Jack and his little group. That would bring zombies, and that was dangerous.

  “There’s Bill and Stacy!” Sherry said suddenly.

  Jack stepped off the escalator and moved forward, knowing if he didn’t the others would ram up against him from behind. The lobby floor was a little slick with blood, but he’d soled his stormtrooper boots with a pair of old sneaker soles. The rubber gave pretty good traction. Or maybe blood just wasn’t as frictionless as water might have been.

  He got three steps from the escalator and turned to look around more thoroughly. The Marriott lobby was sort of multi-tiered. The level below was encircled with railing and open, so you could look down or up through the area that wasn’t floored over. And the level above was similarly left open with more railings.

  Every year the best ‘people watching’ at the convention happened in the Marriott, and this area was always quite crowded with costumes, picture takers, and people watchers. Now the open design sufficed for him to spot a pair of stormtroopers who were backed up against the line of ‘front desks’ on the north side of the lobby.

  They were trying to beat off five zombies with their hands. Stacy was shoving at them, but Bill was using kicks and the plastic guards armoring his forearms to hammer at the encroaching undead. The zombies were ignoring the blows, which probably would have been enough to at least annoy humans, as they got in each others way and tried to latch onto the warm humans in the strange white costumes.

  Both troopers were wearing helmets, but he’d know Bill and Stacy anywhere. It wasn’t that female fans with stormtrooper costumes were exactly rare, but there weren’t really a whole lot of them either. And most of those there were didn’t form their breastplates with actual breasts. But that wasn’t made Jack sure he knew it was Bill and Stacy.

  Bill was known as the Hawaiian trooper, because he almost invariably threw on a red shirt with a festive tropical pattern on over his armor. And Stacy was invariably with Bill, or nearby, at a convention. Jack didn’t see the straw hat Bill usually topped the ensemble off with, normally perching it at a jaunty angle right atop his helmet, but the important thing was both were in their trooper armor and had their helmets on. Their armor was blood splattered, but it looked like splatters, not bleeding.

  “We can’t just leave them.” Sherry said.

  “I guess they’re your friends, but are they worth dying for?” Ike demanded.

  “Jack!” Sherry demanded.

  Jack looked at the right hand doors again, which were also the n
orthern most doors. The distance between those doors and the pair of besieged stormtroopers was maybe fifty feet. That wasn’t so far, was it?

  “Bill! Stacy!” Sherry yelled. “Hey, over here! Bill! Bill! Hey! Stacy! This way!”

  “One’s getting too close.” Ike said, stepping past Jack.

  He looked further to his left in time to see Ike thrust the rapier through the open mouth of a teenager wearing a black and gray jumpsuit. As the zombie crumpled to the floor, Jack realized abruptly it was the Cloud Strife from earlier that morning. He wondered where the kid’s enormous sword had gotten to.

  There was a heavy thud that was sickeningly audible, and he heard O’Riley yell, get cut off, then yell some more. Jack turned to see O’Riley on the floor right in front of the escalator with a man atop him. A man who wasn’t trying to get up, but who was instead attempting to grab hold of the stormtrooper beneath him. A man whose right leg was clearly broken right in the middle of his shin and who didn’t seem to mind.

  “Get it off! Get it off!” O’Riley was shouting. The zombie was gnawing on O’Riley’s forearm, trying to bite through the ABS plastic.

  Jack stepped forward, but Nikki was faster. She squatted down, laid the tip of her sword against the zombie’s head, then just pushed. It went through the skull and came out the other side, and the zombie stopped moving. O’Riley shoved and rolled, dumping the body off himself.

  “You okay there?” Nikki asked calmly as she stepped back.

  “My shoulder.” O’Riley said in a thick voice as he scrambled back to his feet. “He landed on my shoulder. I think it’s broken.”

  Jack looked up. The railing above them showed a number of people, some struggling with the others. There was no way to tell who was who from down here, and it didn’t matter. “We should get under the edge so more don’t fall over on us.”

  “Or get thrown over.” Ike said with a shrug.