“The air vents,” Kitten said, pointing to a grate in the ceiling. “We just have to climb that metal shelving there.”
Easy for him to say. He had two fully functioning legs, but he was right that it might be our best shot at escape.
A Rabid grabbed hold of my prosthesis–the bastard had snuck up on me–and attempted to chomp down on my ankle, but it got a bite of the hard carbon fiber instead. I brought the crowbar down on its head to dislodge it, then used my machete to slit its throat.
“You go first,” I said to Kitten. “I’ll cover you.”
Kitten frog-jumped onto a metal kiosk and shot another Rabid point-blank in the skull. He was good with the gun, but he’d run out of ammo soon enough. I wasn’t nearly as agile as him, so I had to climb down from the counter to reach the metal shelving unit where he was already scrambling to the top.
“Cipher, come on,” he shouted as I swung my machete in a wide arc, slicing through the neck of another approaching Rabid. Its head snapped back, spraying my cheek with blood, before it collapsed against the shelving unit opposite us. I wiped my face with the back of my arm and raised my kerchief. Fucking gross.
“Cipher, duck!” Kitten said, and when I did, he popped off another two rounds, nailing the two Rabids behind me. My breath caught at the sheer number flooding the aisle on both sides, hissing and groaning as they closed in.
“Hurry up.” Kitten motioned toward the air vent. “We need to go, now!”
I charged ahead, using the crowbar to push them off me and swinging wildly with my machete as I cut a path to Kitten. I sheathed my machete but kept hold of the crowbar as I climbed the shelving unit. Something yanked on my good leg, and I was thrown to the ground. I landed on my arm badly as a Rabid leapt on my chest, foaming at the mouth, preparing to take a bite of my face. I reached for the knife at my hip and stabbed the Rabidin the throat while turning my head to avoid the spray of blood. I shoved the body off me as it twitched and spasmed in its death throes.
“Cipher,” Kitten shouted with desperation. “Are you hurt?”
“I’m fine,” I said, though my arm definitely wasn’t. I picked up the crowbar I’d dropped in my fall. I was propelled by pure adrenaline as I scrambled to the top of the shelf, knocking a bunch of shit over in the process. Kitten had managed to unlatch the air vent and was hauling himself into the opening in the ceiling.
Another Rabid climbed the shelf opposite of where I stood and threw itself at me trying to knock me down. I stabbed at its face with my knife, burying the blade deep into one eye socket. The creature fell, its face a bloody mess, and took my knife with it.
“Damnit,” I muttered. That was my favorite knife.
“Grab hold of my arms,” Kitten called, reaching down with both hands. I handed him the crowbar which he threw somewhere inside the air shaft, then reached toward him with both hands, leaving the rest of my body open for an attack. He gripped my forearms and hauled me up with superhuman strength. Thank God he’d been working out because I was dead weight as he pulled me into the air vent. I ground my teeth to avoid screaming from the pain. My arm was definitely broken. I must have lost consciousness for a moment because when I came back, I was kneeling in the dusty aluminum enclosure and surveying the carnage below.
It was fucking chaos. Rabids were everywhere, the horde gathering underneath us, climbing on top of one another in an attempt to reach the ceiling, skeletal arms outstretched, bodies ravaged by the disease. They were a decayed and grotesque version of humanity, their bodies mottled with bruises and marked with necrosis, bits falling off. Several had bones juttingout where they shouldn’t, and a lot of them should be dead but miraculously weren’t. A few were on the smaller side too, which I tried not to think about.
Us vs. them. We’d be fucked if one of them managed to climb up here, so I replaced the air vent and jammed the crowbar between that and the steel bar above it. That should hold them off for a while. Kitten’s face was streaked with sweat and dirt as he panted for breath. I probably looked even worse.
“What now?” he asked, eyes wild.
“Let’s see if we can get to the roof.” This pathway must lead to an air handler, which likely vented to the building’s roof. I pulled out my new penlight and stuck the end of it in my mouth, then attempted to navigate the metal HVAC system in an army crawl with one good elbow while keeping weight off my injured arm. Kitten followed close behind while the shrieking and moaning of Rabids reverberated in our metal enclosure.
I fucking hated it.
“Why were they out in the daytime?” Kitten asked when we paused at a T-junction in the system. I had a fifty-fifty chance of choosing correctly. I couldn’t respond to his question because of the flashlight in my mouth, and I wasn’t sure what to say besides, so I only grunted.
I turned to the right and thankfully spotted what appeared to be a shaft of daylight towards the end of the tunnel. Closer, I noticed a grate that led to the outside. Thank fucking Christ. Enclosed spaces reminded me too much of the fire at The Admiral.
I no longer had my crowbar, but I still had my prosthesis, so I told Kitten to remove it for me, then clumsily used the curved metal end to jimmy open the grate. Like a worm I squirmed my way toward fresh air and daylight and collapsed onto the dirty concrete roof in utter exhaustion. Kitten followed behind and immediately took to replacing my leg while I sucked in deepgulps of air. Still, I couldn’t get enough of it. It felt like hands were clawing at my throat, saliva dripping in my face. My mind was reeling and my vision was turning dark. Was I dying? Was this death?
Kitten put his inhaler to my lips and instructed me to breathe. The steroid kick-started my system and allowed me to take in a full breath. My senses sharpened and I was able to see clearly again.
“Fuck me,” I muttered. I’d really lost my cool there. “I thought you said it was out of juice,” I remarked about the inhaler.
“I found a new one,” he said with a triumphant smile.
“Fuck yes.” I gave him a fist bump with my one good hand. All of that bullshit seemed worth it now. Kitten could breathe. Neither of us were going to die, at least not right now. Kitten untied my handkerchief and used the clean side of it to dab at the blood on my face and neck, tidying me up. I lay back and let him tend to me. I needed a goddamn minute.
“We made it,” Kitten said as he sat back on his heels to survey our surroundings.
“For now.” I raised myself to a sitting position, then stood slowly, testing out both my legs. Finding them satisfactory, I headed toward the edge of the roof to survey the madness below. Rabids were shuffling out of the building, shielding their faces from the late afternoon sun to dart back toward the woods where they must have emerged, but several would likely stay behind. There was no going back the way we came.
“What’s wrong with your arm?” Kitten asked as he grabbed hold of my shoulders and turned me around to face him. It was starting to swell and there was a definite crookedness to it that didn’t bode well.
“I landed on it badly when I fell off that shelf.”
