Christopher nodded. He stepped into the office, and Aaron and Dorcas stepped in with him as though afraid to be too far away from the rest of the group.
Ken thought he saw movement outside the office. But he didn’t have time to stop and digest that fact.
He turned to the still-unmoving forms of Maggie, Hope, and little Liz.
He reached out for them.
A sound stopped him. Stopped all of them.
“What about us?”
The voice was nasally. Old. The voice of someone who was not only accustomed to complaining, but who enjoyed it. Perhaps reveled in it. Ken turned quickly. On the other side of the table, laying under the windows, he saw two more cocoons. Adult-sized, a man and an old woman. The woman – the clear owner of the voice – was staring at him angrily, as though all this was Ken’s fault.
“You going to help us?” she demanded. “My son and me’ve been laying here for hours. Just laying here, mind you. Not saying anything, not making any trouble. Just laying here. But I guess we’re not good enough to help.”
The man beside her – her son, Ken supposed – remained silent. But he didn’t look patient. He looked petulant. Taciturn.
Dorcas moved into the room. She almost slipped on the webbing that coated the floor, but caught herself on the table, moving around toward the pair under the window. “We’ll help you,” she told them.
“About time,” said the old woman.
There was a tearing sound. The shearing noise of threads being torn apart. Ken saw Christopher pulling the first strands away from Derek. Freeing his son. His boy.
And that was when everything exploded.
16
The walls, the ceilings. It had all seemed so thick with the spun fibrils. So coarsely coated with the threads.
Now Ken saw through the open door of the conference room that there was more hiding beyond the sticky masses than just wood and tile and plaster. Much more.
Zombies. As though the sound of his son being torn loose had awoken them from a slumber, they erupted from dozens of hiding spots in the web-coated walls and ceilings, ripping free of the sacs where they had rested for some unknown purpose.
In an instant the deserted office suite was filled with dozens of the things. They growled, the same as the zombies that Ken and the others had been dealing with until now. The sound punched out, slammed at Ken’s mind and soul. Crying at him to give up. To join them.
Derek screamed. The scream was as bad as anything Ken had yet experienced.
One or two of the things coming at them had bristly growths on their faces. Tumorous excrescences, with thick hairs, about the size of quarters. Dark and easily visible even at a distance.
What the hell are those?
Not important, Ken. Move!
Then his view was cut off as Aaron slammed the conference door shut. There was a lock and a deadbolt on this side. The cowboy engaged both. “Get your family moving,” he said. Calm. Always calm. But his face was pinched, and he stood by the door, ready for the things to get through.
And they would get through.
Ken didn’t have to be told twice. Christopher turned back to tearing the strands from around little Derek’s form. Dorcas started shredding the moist threads that bound the old woman and her son beyond the conference table.
Ken knelt down and felt Maggie’s throat. He had to dig under some of the webbing to get to the hollow where her pulse could be found. The strands were sticky and moist. Sickening.
Her heart was beating. He checked Hope. Liz.
Both alive.
“Maggie,” he said. Then shouted. “Maggie!” She didn’t move.
Something pushed his leg. It was Derek. The boy was lurching against him. He seemed to be moving oddly. Uncoordinated. Ken didn’t know if that was because he’d been motionless for hours, or because the webbing had a narcotic or numbing effect. Either way, it took Derek several attempts to grab his mother’s face.
“Mommy,” he shouted. “Mommy, wake up!”
“Move,” said Dorcas. She yanked the kid out of the way, and Ken saw that she had found a bottle of water somewhere. He looked over and saw that Christopher had taken over her position, pulling the last webbing away from the old lady and her son. They were a dour pair, both dressed in shredded business attire, both gray of hair and countenance. Neither helped him pull the webbing away, they just waited for the young man to do the work, like he was a servant.
The conference room door started pounding, almost bouncing against its frame. It was a solid door, with a steel frame and perhaps even a steel core if the law firm was particularly security-minded. But how long would it last?
Dorcas unscrewed the water bottle she had found, wincing as she used her bad hand for the movement, then tossed some against Maggie’s face.
Maggie’s eyes fluttered. Dorcas repeated the movement, this time drenching Hope and the baby as well.
Hope sniffled. Started making noises. Maggie coughed.
“Maggie?” said Ken.
The door started crackling. The growling on the other side of it got louder.