The crash sounded like a bookcase tumbling over and spilling everything from its shelves. Our first reflex was to freeze, not because we were scared, but because we were the only ones on that floor and we worried that we had somehow caused it to happen. Then we heard another crash, followed by shattering glass, and realized that we weren’t alone after all.
“Who is that?” I asked, in that way you whisper something you really want to scream.
Natalie considered it for a second before a look of realization came over her. She motioned to the empty drawers in front of us. “They’re not dead. . . .” She pointed toward the noise and finished her thought. “They’re undead.”
Suddenly, it seemed so obvious.
“I think you’re about to put your combat training to use,” she continued.
The first thing that came to mind was how frustrated I had been that morning because we hadn’t had any zombie action. I guess you should be careful what you wish for.
We each took a deep breath and nodded that we were ready. We moved silently from the freezer into the lab. The flickering security lights cast our shadows at odd angles across the examination tables.
The noise was coming from a small library, where Dr. H kept his medical books and journals. I remembered that the bookcases had locks on them, and it sounded as though someone without a key had decided to unlock them by smashing them to bits.
“There could be as many as three of them in there,” Natalie reminded me. “They’ve got us outnumbered, but we’ve got surprise on our side.”
“Surprise . . . and training,” I said, trying to ease the tension and to reassure myself at the same time.
“And training,” she agreed with a nod.
“Do we go in?” I asked, motioning toward the library door.
“No.” She pointed to where she wanted me to stand, a spot about five feet from the door. “We let the fight come to us. We’re going to wait for the door to open and then try to take control of the situation before they even know what hit them.”
“Got it.”
“You’re ready for this, I know it,” she reassured me. “But don’t be afraid to ask for help if you need it.”
“I won’t,” I promised.
From the sound of things, all the bookcases had now been pulled over, and someone (or up to three different someones) was digging through the rubble. After about thirty seconds the digging stopped, and we heard an inhuman laugh that sent chills down my spine.
“Brace yourself,” Natalie whispered. “Here it comes.”
My heart was racing so fast, I had to force myself to take short steady breaths to calm my nerves. A metallic taste filled my mouth as adrenaline rushed through my body.
The door flew open to reveal a giant man wearing one of the hospital gowns we drape over dead bodies while they await autopsy. The room was too dark to get a good look at him, but his eyes burned orange like coals in a fire, and he didn’t seem the least bit bothered by the large chunks of glass sticking out of his cheek and forearm.
The light in the library allowed me a full view of the destruction behind him. More important, I could see that no one else was in there. As he stepped through the doorway, he held a book above his head triumphantly and started to call out with some sort of guttural wail.
I thought back to the appel maneuver from fencing and decided to try a modified version.
“He’s alone!” I called out to Natalie as I jumped toward him and stomped my foot as loudly as I could.
He turned to look at me, and was too distracted to see her coming. Natalie ran right at him and delivered three rapid-fire kicks right into the side of his knee, crumpling him to the ground.
He bellowed and started yelling some sort of zombie gibberish. I didn’t understand it, but I could tell he wasn’t yelling at us.
He was calling for help.
His extreme height advantage was gone for as long as he writhed on the floor. It was the perfect chance for Natalie to finish him off with a solid kick to the face. But as she went to do it, she caught a glimmer of the green security light reflecting off the shards of glass in his cheek. She stopped herself midkick in order to keep from cutting up her leg and foot.
This hesitation bought him enough time to get his bearings and stand up straight. Or at least as straight as you can stand with one of your legs bent at a forty-five-degree angle to the side.
He swung a fist and with it an armful of broken glass; Natalie easily ducked it. She countered with a flurry of punches to his stomach that sent him staggering back toward the library.
Watching her, I was mesmerized. She was amazingly tough and brave. I wondered if her “disappointed” father had any idea of what she was truly capable of.
I snapped out of it when I heard a crash behind us. I spun around to see another zombie in a hospital gown coming our way. Apparently, this group of undead was all from the supersize side of the menu, because he too was massive. Adding to his intimidating effect was the fact that one half of his head had wild red hair that tentacled in every direction while the other half had been completely shaved in preparation for his autopsy.
“I’ll take care of this one,” I called out to Natalie.
“Just remember there’s another one around here somewhere,” she said. “Quick kills are vital.”
I could hear Natalie and Glass Face fighting behind me as I approached Big Red. I remembered the way Natalie had taunted the Level 3 in the subway station and how much it had frustrated him. I thought I’d give it a try.
“What’s up with your haircut?” I asked, trying to sound cool and tough like the stars in those action movies my dad watches. “Did the barber have a half-off sale?”
Okay, so the joke didn’t really work, but in my defense, it was my first day as an action hero. Being able to deliver cool lines in tense situations takes practice. Besides, I didn’t really need to do anything to get him worked up. Turns out he was more than mad enough just at my being there.
He charged right at me, and I probably should have been more scared than I was. But while he had the size, I had the home-court advantage. This was my lab, and I knew everything in it!
I calmly grabbed the corner of a gurney, popped the wheel brake with my foot, and spun it around so that it was in front of me like a shopping cart.
I rammed it right at him as he charged at me, and we collided like two trains coming at each other on the same track. The force of it knocked me back onto my butt and cut him off at the waist so hard, he slammed face-first into the gurney.
I jumped up and then grabbed a large metal bowl Dr. H uses to hold human organs when he weighs them (I know, gross, but you get used to it), and I slammed it into the clean-shaven side of Big Red’s head. I was hoping this would finish him off.
It didn’t.
Instead, he stood up and swiped at the gurney with the back of his hand, sending it skittering off to the side. I could hear his neck bones crack into place as he cocked his head, side to side. Then he looked at me and my bowl and laughed.
(Okay, if you’re ever looking for a scary Halloween costume, it turns out “giant laughing zombie with a half-shaved head in a hospital gown” is both inexpensive and effective.)
I held up my bowl like a weapon and refused to back down. As silly as it sounds, I thought if I could get another whack at his head with it, I might at least be able to daze him.
He charged at me again, and I instantly thought about fencing practice and the in quartata maneuver I had learned that day. This was the perfect situation: I’d turn out of his way, avoid him, and go from defense to offense with a lightning-quick blow to the back of his head.
At least, that’s how I imagined it.
Unfortunately, I still couldn’t get the footwork right, and I tripped over myself. Instead of the bowl against the back of his head, the only slamming was my nose and face against the concrete floor.
Big Red flipped me over, grabbed me by the shoulders, and picked me up like a doll. He lifted me all the way up, so that my eyes were even with his. Then he grossed me out by doing that thing where he sniffed me like a dog.
I cannot stress enough how much I hate that.
I squirmed and struggled but could not break loose. I had no idea what to do. Then I heard Natalie call out.
“What did I tell you about asking for help?” she said, frustrated.
“I know, but you looked kind of busy,” I said, short of breath and struggling. “And I wanted to prove to you that I could take care of things myself.”
“How’s that working out?”
I squirmed some more, but still had no luck getting free. “Not so good.”
“You might want to try a head butt,” she suggested.
It wasn’t exactly Jeet Kune Do, but it sounded like a plan. I smiled and snapped my head forward, right into his face. Upside: It worked and he let go. Downside: It really hurt.
I slammed against the floor (again), and this time I didn’t even bother getting up. I just used my small size to an advantage and started to scramble under the tables to get away from Big Red.
From my vantage point I could see Natalie was still going at it with Glass Face. His right leg was now barely attached below the knee, and it flopped around as he moved. Despite this, she hadn’t been able to finish him. The broken glass was working like a booby trap in his face. As to fighting, he seemed more concerned with protecting the book than hurting her.
Suddenly all the lights came on, and I looked over at the door where Zombie Number Three had just flipped the switch. He was not quite as big as the others but was still plenty horrifying. He had changed from his hospital gown into street clothes and was carrying clothes for them as well. If I had to put my money on it, I’d say he was the brains of the operation.
He barked something at them, obviously upset they were wasting time fighting a couple of girls. Then he saw the book and smiled. He went straight for it.
Everything was different with the lights on. Especially because now the zombies could see all the equipment. The needles, scalpels, and blades that were normally just the tools of a medical examiner suddenly looked more like weapons. Big Red flashed a hideous orange-yellow smile as he grabbed two large blades from a table.
Zombie Number Three didn’t care about us. He was only interested in the book. He snatched it from Glass Face and smiled broadly as he looked at the cover to see that they had the right one. As he held it, I got a good look at his hand and noticed something interesting.
He was missing his left ring finger.
I’d like to introduce you to Mr. Cornelius Blackwell.
He snapped at them again, and they turned their attention away from us and started to leave.
“The book,” I pleaded with Natalie. “I don’t know what it is. But we can’t let them take it.”
“You know some way to get them back?” she asked as she tried to catch her breath.
I looked down at the table and saw the answer in a little plastic bag.
“Hey, Corrrrneeeeliusss,” I sang out. “Did you happen to lose a finger? And a wedding ring?”
He stopped and turned around. He looked right at me, and I dangled the bag in the air. I even gave it an extra shake.
“We found this at the cemetery where you left it,” I said. “I hope that wedding ring doesn’t have any sentimental value for you. Especially with that sweet inscription from your wife and all. I can’t decide if I want to melt it down, give it away, or just throw it in the river.”
He was furious, which is exactly what I was hoping for.
“Or did you want it back?”
He started coming right at me, and when he got close, I tossed the bag onto the far side of the table I was next to. When he reached for it with his right hand, I grabbed a metal handsaw that Dr. H uses for (actually, you don’t want to know what he uses it for, just know that he uses it) and with the best saber technique I knew, I chopped off his left hand at the wrist.
The hand, and more important, the book, fell to the floor. I grabbed them both (the hand was still kind of clutching the book) and raced toward the rear exit, snatching my backpack on the way.
As I ran, I pried the dead fingers off the book, which I then shoved into my bag. Natalie caught up with me at the door and we ran down the hallway. We made it around the corner and almost all the way to the stairs before we had to stop.
Big Red and Glass Face had beaten us there and were blocking our escape.
A few seconds later Cornelius Blackwell came out of the lab. He had the bag and the severed hand. And, understandably, he was in a pretty bad mood.
I turned to Natalie and finally took her advice.
“Help.”