Somehow they made it to the stairs and the shadows there before Doug had to take a break. Hidden in the stairwell, Kathleen watched as the two things from the beach made it to the parking lot. Doug had put his head in his hands, his breathing still harsh and loud here with the concrete walls muffling the other sounds. With another glance outside to see where the things were, Kathleen tore a strip of her ruined dress from the hem. She slapped the sand from it, but there was nothing she could about the salt water. Maybe it would help clean the wound.
She couldn’t see much, but the bullet seemed to have passed right through Doug’s calf, leaving a slightly bigger and more ragged hole on the other side. She didn’t see any glimpse of bone, but then it was hard to see anything through the blood. She wrapped the strip of her dress around the wound and tied it tight. The green had already gone dark from wet, but now it bloomed even blacker.
“Give me your sweatshirt.”
The material was too thick for her to tear, so she simply folded it into thirds and used the arms to tie it around his leg. She peeked again around the wall. The things were there, hidden now by one of the abandoned cop cars. She caught a glimpse of the crawling one from under the car and withdrew quickly — if she could see it, it might be able to see her.
“The blood.” Doug’s voice had gone thin, wispy. The shadows made it too hard to see the color or lack of it in his face, but Kathleen had no trouble noting that his eyes couldn’t seem to stay open.
“I think the sweatshirt will stop it.”
He shook his head, clearly an effort he was barely able to make. “No. The blood. What if they follow. It.”
Shit. Shit, shit, he was right. How smart were they? Could they smell it? Doug had left a trail of blood all across the parking lot, leading right to them.
No time to think of it now. If they could get upstairs, they could… “Shit. My phone.”
She’d lost her bag somewhere, not that her phone would’ve been much good after being soaked. The apartment might have a phone. She hadn’t checked because she hadn’t needed it. Molly had a phone.
“Molly,” she said and stood. “Oh, God. We need to make sure they’re ok.”
Some of Kathleen’s friends, back in those long-ago high school days, had talked about the runner’s high, that place when you pushed through the pain of your breath stabbing your lungs and your stomach threatening to spill up and out of your mouth and found some magical place instead. You were supposed to find it when you pushed your body’s endurance, but she never had back then, and she wasn’t finding it now. What she did have, though, was determination. You couldn’t get through Disney World with two toddlers and an infant without the ability to haul your ass from one place to another, and Kathleen had done that twice.
It hurt. A lot.
By the time Kathleen and Doug made it up the final few concrete steps to the sixteenth floor and the outside corridor, a red haze had begun clouding the edges of her vision, and white spots blinked in front of her even when she closed her eyes. Her ankle had swollen and gone so stiff she couldn’t put weight on it — but it was better than being shot, she thought as Doug took several stumbling steps forward to collapse against the railing. Unit 1699 was at the far end of the corridor, which had been great when they booked it, because it meant a corner balcony overlooking both the ocean and, if you craned your neck, a glimpse of the bayside too. It wasn’t so great now, when they had to pass the other eight units before they could get to it.
Just before they got there, Kathleen fell. Her ankle simply gave way and she went to her knees with Doug close behind, his weight sudden and unforgiving as it pushed her to the ground. She smacked her face against the concrete; the pain was bright and sharp and chased away the threat of unconsciousness that had been plaguing her, but she couldn’t quite find it within herself to be grateful for it. Not when she was spitting blood and her teeth had gone loose, and oh, God, her nose was bleeding and probably broken too.
“Sorry, I’m sorry,” Doug said, but it wasn’t his fault, even if Kathleen wanted to blame him for everything that would never have happened if only he’d never smiled at her that first time.
In the parking lot, a woman screamed.
The sound rose and rose, high-pitched and furious, tapering off into a guttural howl that cut off abruptly. Kathleen’s skin crawled. Her fingers curled on the concrete. She froze in the midst of pushing herself up. Her blood dotted the dirty white floor. It tasted thick and coppery, so she turned her head to the side and spit. She clung to the concrete like it meant to heave up and toss her off, and she listened for more screams, but none came. Only the thunder-thump of the helicopter again, and the constant bleat of sirens. She could hear a fire alarm too, but with the smell of her own blood in her nose there was no way for her to catch even a whiff of smoke.
“Kathleen.” Then again, a little louder. “Kathleen.”
It was Doug, breathing in her ear like a lover. She groaned, eyes fluttering. So she’d passed out, after all. It couldn’t have been for long. Her nose was still dripping. Her teeth, rough-edged under the tender exploration of her tongue. She pushed herself up onto her hands and knees and looked at Doug, who’d propped himself up against the wall beside the door.
“They’re inside,” he told her. “I can hear music.”
Her key was gone along with her purse and phone, but Kathleen got onto her feet and thumped the door with her fist. Harder. Her knuckles split, but what were a few more cuts and bruises on top of all the rest? She pounded, her head down, eyes closed, and the door swung open so suddenly she fell forward.
Molly caught her. “What happened? What’s going on? We’ve been hearing sirens and stuff.” Still holding Kathleen from falling, Molly looked her up and down. “Did that guy hurt you?”
“No,” Kathleen started to say, but shaking her head made the world turn upside down and sideways.
Molly looked over her shoulder, out the door. “Holy shit, how many cop cars are in the parking lot?”
“Let us in.”
Molly had given Kathleen advice about erections, shared her prom dresses and listened to Kathleen bitch about her husband and kids. She was the sort of friend who’d keep your secrets and share your joys — and now she was the kind of friend who didn’t ask stupid questions, just acted. Shouting for Steve, Molly helped Kathleen to the couch and helped her onto the lumpy cushions. Then she and Steve did the same for Doug.
“Shut the door.” Doug sounded a little stronger. “Lock it. Use the chain too, if you have one.”
Steve didn’t move, but Molly did. She secured the door and turned to lean against it, her eyes wide. “What happened?”
“There’s something going on. I don’t know…there’s things. These things came…” Doug shuddered and bent forward.
Kathleen thought once she’d settled onto the couch, she’d never get up again. But that was impossible. She needed ice for her face. Doug needed his wound taken care of. They had to figure out what the hell was going on, and what they were going to do…she’d often said “Mama doesn’t get a sick day,” and it was just as true now, here, where she was nobody’s mother, as it was at home. She pushed at Doug’s shoulder, gently, to settle him against the back of the couch.
“Shhh,” she said. “Let’s get you taken care of.”
Steve paced with unsteady steps. Still drunk, Kathleen thought, but without malice. She wished she were drunk. Hell, maybe she was. Maybe someone really had put something in her drink, and all of this was some sort of drug-dream. Maybe she’d wake up raped in some alley…and that might be better than all of this. It might actually be better.
The thought sickened her, but she pushed it aside. Focused on one thing at a time. She told Molly to bring ice and dishtowels, dish soap and some hot water, all of which Molly did right away with swift efficiency, because she was a mother too.
“What is going on?” Molly asked in a low voice with a quick glance at Steve, who now stood in front of the picture windows
looking out over the balcony. He hadn’t moved the curtains aside. He stared at the fabric.
“I don’t know. These people came out of the ocean. But they weren’t people, I mean they were…” Kathleen stopped herself from saying zombies. Zombies weren’t real.
This wasn’t real.
“A cop came. He shot Doug, I think by accident.” Kathleen’s breath shuddered and she swallowed hard to clear the taste of blood. “There’s a helicopter. And people in the parking lot, I don’t know, it’s like a riot or something. Something bad’s happening, Molly. Really, really bad.”
Molly looked again at Steve, still staring out the window. Then at Doug, who’d rested his head, eyes closed, against the back of the couch and was saying nothing. She nodded. “Yeah.”
Together, Kathleen and Molly stripped away the blood-soaked sweatshirt from Doug’s leg. The wound beneath looked angry, but didn’t seem to be bleeding any more. Kathleen cleaned it as best she could with the soap and water, then used the towels to wrap around his calf again. It was the best she could do without antiseptic cream and bandages. Doug hadn’t moved much. Passed out, maybe just sleeping. Steve was pacing again with lurching steps.
Kathleen leaned close to her friend. “Was he like this the whole time?”
Molly shook her head, and if that was guilt in her eyes, Kathleen pretended not to know. “No. I mean, at first we were sitting out on the balcony, and then I asked him if he wanted something to eat, you know how hungry I get when I’m drinking…” She shook herself. Her voice cracked. “We came inside to get some of that leftover pizza and those doughnuts…and then we opened that bottle of rum. I knew it was stupid, but he started mixing rum-and-Cokes, and I just…I was having fun. That’s all.”
Kathleen didn’t judge. She and Molly weren’t normally huggers, but now they clung to each other. For one crystal-clear moment, Kathleen thought, “this is what happens when you kiss a man who’s not your husband. This is what you get, Kathleen Murphy. Your whole world turns to shit, and you lose everything.”
Molly’s comforting hand on her shoulder stopped Kathleen from bursting into tears. They’d been through a lot over the years, these best friends. But nothing like this.
“Molly, we need to get home.”
That’s when the lights went out.
The apartment’s living room had only the front window, but the building had an outside light that lit up the room’s interior even if inside lamps were off. Not now, though. It wasn’t just the power in the apartment, which had blown earlier when Kathleen was drying her hair and had popped a fuse. The lights were out everywhere. She’d stopped noticing the music coming from the iPod dock on the counter, but that had gone quiet now too.
In the dark, Kathleen heard a sound. A stealthy, shuffling sound, bare feet on the carpet. She could still feel Doug in front of her on the couch. Molly beside her. Which meant the noise had to be Steve.
“Kathleen—”
“Shh,” she said, and Molly hushed.
Kathleen blinked and blinked again, though it made her head ache and spin again. Her eyes strained, adjusting, and caught the hint of red/blue/red from the cop cars. She saw Steve’s silhouette in front of the window, but it merged with the shadows as he lurched to the side.
Then, nothing.
Silence and darkness.
The warmth of Molly at her side vanished, Molly’s scream cut off like a hand had slapped over her mouth. Kathleen heard the thud of feet on the linoleum floor by the dining table, the crash of chairs being overturned. And then, worse, horrifically worse, that same low, grinding growl that had come from the throats of those things on the beach.
She was on her feet and heading for the noise before she could think, but a hand grabbed and caught the back of her dress. Already torn and ruined, now the fabric rent with a low purr. The rip caught the seams around her throat though, and the dress held, yanking her backwards. She screamed, fighting, but strong arms pinned her hands to her sides. Kept her still. Hot breath gusted against her, and she felt the pressure of a cheek against hers, her back pushed up tight and close again to an unfamiliar body.
The lights came on. Doug was the one holding her so tight, murmuring her name in her ear to get her to settle. Kathleen sagged at the sight of the overturned chairs, the table pushed askew. Molly was backed up against the kitchen counter with a steak knife in her hand and Steve bent over in front of her with his hands on his knees. His shoulders heaved.
Doug’s grip softened, but he didn’t let her go. Kathleen had a flashback to the cowboy and the bridesmaid — didn’t that sound like one of those novels she’d used to sneak from under her mother’s bed to giggle over with her friends? With her best friend, Molly, who’d apparently just stabbed a guy in the guts.
“Let. Me. Go.” She didn’t fight against his grip, though she thought she could easily have kicked him in the leg and sent him down.
Doug released her, but kept a hand on her hip. Not enough to keep her from moving if she really wanted to.
“Molly, are you okay?”
Molly didn’t answer, but she nodded. The knife in her hand wavered, tip going down. She looked like she was going to faint.
Doug cleared his throat. “Steve? You okay, man?”
“He’s not okay.” Kathleen pulled away from him. Took two steps forward. Not within Steve’s range, not unless he started moving much faster. She remembered the things on the beach, and thought he just might.
Steve straightened. If Molly had stabbed him, there wasn’t any sign of it now. He coughed and spat a wad of something dark onto the white kitchen tiles.
“Steve!” Doug limped forward, putting himself between Kathleen and his friend. “C’mon, man. Stop. What’s the matter with you?”
Steve took a staggering step closer to them, one hand reaching. His face worked and crumpled. The horrible grinding noise had gone quiet, at least there was that, but none of this was any better.
The front door rocked on its hinges, the knob rattling, the chain that was supposed to keep out thieves no match against whatever was out there now. Molly screamed and dropped the knife. Steve’s head lolled.
He started to laugh.
It was a sick, hitching sound, no humor in it. Like a hyena. Kathleen wanted to put her hands over her ears. She wanted to curl up under some blankets and make all of this go away.
Instead, she moved. Past Doug and Steve, away from the door against which something was still hammering so hard the wood had actually started to crack. “Molly, come on!”
The apartment was a long rectangle, living and dining room in the front with a small kitchen to the side. Hallway with one bath and two guest bedrooms, the master bedroom and bath at the back with the balcony overlooking the ocean accessible from both sliding glass doors in the master bedroom and a small door at the end of the hall. That’s where Kathleen went now, into the bedroom, where she yanked open the sliders to go out onto the balcony.
No fire escape, nothing like that, but there was some weird architectural design to the concrete walls that made ledges between one balcony and the next. From the living room came the crash of glass. The window? Something else? She didn’t have time to think about it. She could barely think of anything.
Molly had gone out onto the balcony. “Look at this!”
Kathleen followed. The highway had become a clogged snarl of traffic, police cars everywhere. A few firetrucks. An ambulance.
And people.
Oh, the people. Staggering, limping, some of them crawling. Some cops were handcuffing them. Some EMTs were loading others onto gurneys. It had become madness, and they needed to get out there, because if they stayed in here —
Doug, holding up Steve, made it through the bedroom door and slammed it behind them. “They got in. The ones from the beach. They’re moving slow, but they’re coming.”
“What are those things?” Molly cried.
Kathleen started stripping the bed. The comforter with the lighthouse went onto the floor,
but the white sheets beneath she tied together, corner to corner, tugging the knots as tight as she could with numb fingers. “I don’t know. But I have to get out of here. I have to get home. Molly, do you have your keys?”
Molly went to the dresser and rummaged in her purse. “Yes.”
Kathleen paused, looking at the two men who’d seemed like nothing but a harmless bit of fun. Steve sat on the edge of the bed, still laughing though the sound had gone low and breathless like the hiss of air escaping a punctured tire. Doug leaned against the dresser, head down. He looked the way she felt. Exhausted.
“I need to get home,” she repeated. “We need to get out of here.”
Something crashed in the hallway. Steve twitched and jerked. Doug looked up.
“The balcony?” He said, like it made perfect sense.
Molly muttered a curse. Kathleen nodded. She gathered the sheets, praying her knots would hold, and tied one end to the metal railing.
“We don’t have to climb down the sheets. Just hold onto them while you put your feet on those things.” She pointed to the ledges. “Then onto the next balcony. We’ll go out through that apartment.”
“What if there’s someone in there too?” Molly asked.
Nothing pounded on the bedroom door, but it did scrape softly.
Suddenly, everything seemed worth the risk.
Steve went first. Katy was sure he’d fall and break on the ground below, but somehow he got onto the lower balcony. Doug next, though he protested and only went when she told him he wasting too much fucking time and should move his ass. Molly after that, and then finally Kathleen, whose feet had just touched the concrete ledge when the door from the hall flew open and something came through it.
She wasted no time seeing if it was the man with stumps for feet or the woman in the bikini. Kathleen dropped, holding onto the sheet, praying she wouldn’t let go or miss the balcony. Hands grabbed and pulled her over the railing, and she fell onto the concrete floor ready to kiss it. Above her, that grinding noise began again.