Renegades by Collings, Michaelbrent
1
The world had ended four hours ago.
So why was Kenny G still playing music?
Ken Strickland knew he was asking this question as a way to avoid the real questions, the questions he should be asking. The questions that had no answers.
But still, it seemed so important.
Civilization had fallen. Zombies had taken over. Zombies whose bites caused instant conversion, who were impervious to pain or grief or discomfort. Monsters whose only apparent thought seemed to be focused on killing those few normal humans that remained.
But Kenny G was still playing music.
Ken Strickland had never hated Kenny G before. Never particularly liked him, but didn’t hate him. Now, though, in an elevator in the Wells Fargo Center, riding up toward the ninth floor where he hoped against all reason to find his wife and three children alive, he realized that the fall of civilization came with some perks.
There would be no more easy listening, no more Muzak.
Beside him, Dorcas shuffled nervously. The middle-aged woman was tough as weathered saddle leather. She had saved Ken’s life several times, even though he was a virtual stranger to her. But she was nervous now, traveling up in a confined space with nowhere to run, nowhere to hide if things went bad.
Maybe we should have taken the stairs.
He discarded that idea almost instantly. Stairs would have taken too long. And the last time they had used the stairs, things had gone badly.
Plus, who knew how long the power would last? This might be the last trip any of them would ever take in an elevator. This might be a magical moment they would tell children and grandchildren about someday.
If we live that long.
“Wonder how many times people took this elevator,” said Christopher. The twenty-two year old looked wistful, as though thinking along the same lines as Ken. He had been the son of Idaho’s governor until a few hours ago. Then, like all of the people in the elevator, he became just one more survivor, one more refugee, one more person fleeing the hordes that had taken over the world in less than ten minutes.
Aaron grunted. Ken couldn’t tell if the cowboy was agreeing with Christopher, or telling him to be quiet. The older man was the most enigmatic of the group. Ken wondered anew who he was. How he’d learned to fight, how the older man seemed to know what to do in almost any situation.
Mysteries. Mysteries in mysteries in mysteries.
No one knew anything anymore.
Welcome to the new world.
The counter on the front panel of the elevator dinged at each floor, a low electronic chirp that was designed to be pleasing and unobtrusive. Each twitter set Ken’s teeth on edge, made him want to tear the circuitry out by its roots in order to shut down the sound.
4 (ding)… 5 (ding)… 6 (ding)….
Dorcas’ hand tightened against Ken’s right arm. The hand that held him was strong, though her other hand hung from the end of a makeshift sling, broken during a zombie attack. Aaron had a handful of broken fingers and a dislocated thumb. Ken had had to cut off the pinkie and ring fingers of his own hand in order to escape an attack.
Everyone was injured. Broken. Beaten down.
7 (ding)….
Only Christopher looked fine. Better than fine. He looked like a cover model, stopped for a latte break and helping out with the zombie apocalypse for a few minutes until the photographer called him back on set.
8 (ding)….
“Get ready,” said Aaron.
Christopher nodded. Ken did, too, though he wondered what they would do to get ready. Aaron had a gun, but it only had two bullets. Other than that the party was weaponless. And even if they each had an assault rifle and full body armor, Ken didn’t know what that would do against hordes of seemingly indestructible attackers. Nothing seemed to stop the things. Even major head trauma didn’t slow them down; just sent them into an indiscriminate rage that would have them attacking anything that moved – including each other.
The elevator dinged. The final floor.
Ken closed his eyes for a moment. He said a silent prayer. Imagined Maggie’s face. The smiles of Derek, Hope, and Liz.
Please let them be alive. Or let them be dead.
Just not things. Not zombies.
The elevator doors opened.
The elevator opened to a corridor. Just a blank wall. Normal, save only for the thick smear of brown-red-black that trailed down its middle.
Christopher stepped forward, clearly intending to move into the hallway. Aaron grabbed him.
“Stop,” the cowboy said. It was barely a whisper. The kind of speech Ken associated with survival.
Christopher halted. The four people in the elevator were silent. Ken couldn’t even hear anyone breathing. They were held in a momentary stasis, an instant before the future hit them with its usual freight-train momentum.
What if Maggie’s gone? The kids?
“Okay,” breathed the cowboy.