Ken lurched at Buck. His vision had strange black spots in it now, and he couldn’t see much of what he was doing, but he saw the elevator fall, and saw the big man’s face. Saw that the man wanted to fall, wanted to die.
Ken grabbed him. Pulled him forward, yanked him the rest of the way into the hall at the same instant the elevator’s overstressed and acid-eroded cables and brakes finally gave up their fight with gravity. The entire apparatus fell, and Ken caught a glimpse of what seemed like hundreds of zombies crawling over the top of the elevator car, vomiting that darkly glowing acid and then reaching for the gap in the outer doors as they plunged past.
Then gone.
Buck was weeping. Sobbing and saying, “Shoulda let me fall, shoulda let me fall,” over and over.
Ken stared at him dumbly. He didn’t know what was happening. His thoughts still tumbled in a free-fall that matched that of the elevator.
A crash sounded from the elevator shaft, and shrieking cries echoed up the chimney-like structure.
“Did you hit me?” said Ken. He didn’t intend it as a way of snapping Buck out of his litany of self-pity, he was far too frazzled and confused himself to do something like that. Still, Buck stopped his recitation and nodded. He was half atop Ken again, and Ken thought, We’ve got to stop meeting like this.
Aloud, he said, “Why?”
“I wasn’t trying to,” said Buck. “I was trying to get that thing to let go of you.”
“Oh.”
“I hit you with the head.”
That didn’t make sense for a second. Then Ken understood. “With the zombie head?”
Buck nodded. “It wouldn’t let go when I hit it, so I figured….” He shrugged.
Ken laughed. The laughter hurt his head. And his back and his ribs and everything else below his hairline. But he couldn’t stop.
Until his daughter started shrieking.
75
At first Ken actually got excited when he heard the sound. Because it was the sound of a baby crying.
Liz.
But when he scrambled to his feet, he saw Maggie. Saw Liz still dangling like a lifeless ragdoll from the carrier. The toddler’s head slumped forward, her beautiful blond hair obscuring her face.
She’s dying.
Ken ignored that thought. Even though he knew it was more than likely. Toddlers didn’t stay unconscious for this long through this much unless there was something seriously wrong with them.
Still, he forced himself to focus on something else. On the source of the shriek that was not Liz. Was not a toddler screaming in pain and confusion upon waking to a world turned inside out.
No, it was Hope. The seven-year-old was standing between Maggie and Ken, rigid as a steel bar, fists clenched at her sides. Her face was turned up, her mouth opened.
And she screamed.
Ken had never heard Hope scream like that before. She was a daredevil, always the first one on the playground, always the first one to try a new toy… and so always the first one to fall and the first one to get hurt. But even with the bumps and bruises and cuts and scrapes, he had never heard her sound like this. She sounded like every atom of her body was being ripped away, one at a time, in a torture so horrific that no one would ever understand it.
Then she fell. The strength visibly fled from her limbs, and where every muscle had been clenched a moment before, now she transformed to a jumble of loose bones and skin.
“Hope!” shouted Maggie.
Aaron and Christopher were both near Ken’s daughter, one on each side of her. Both moved for her, but the cowboy reached her first. He caught the little girl before she fell, wrapping her up in his good arm.
“Let me,” said Christopher.
“No,” said Aaron. “I got her.”
“Really?” said Christopher. He rolled his eyes. “You got one good arm, man.”
“I’m fine.”
Something moved past Ken. It took a moment for him to realize it was Buck. The big man took Hope from Aaron without a word, cradling her gently in his arms.
He looked different holding her. Not the petulant, entitled ass he had seemed to be at first. Not the self-pitying man of a moment before.
He seemed whole. Like he was holding not merely a little girl, but the only thing tethering him to life. Not survival, but life. Two different things, Ken knew.
“We should go,” said Buck. His voice was strange, and Ken wondered what was happening. Not just to Buck, but to all of them. The world had changed, and the change had not escaped them.
What are we?
“Maybe I –“ Maggie began. She took a step toward the man.
“Let him,” said Ken. He felt woozy, and put a hand to his neck. It came back red. Sticky. He wanted to vomit. He leaned against a wall that was painted white and had red streaks across it. Like everything else, it was dirty and bloodied.
He felt an arm slip under his. Knew it was Dorcas.
“Where to?” she said.
Why are you asking me?
He blinked. Everyone was looking at him. Everyone but Maggie, who was staring at Buck like she expected him to run off with Hope at any second.
Ken wiped his mouth. He needed to drink something. He was thirsty.