had never seen anything like this.
At first he wasn’t even sure what it was he was seeing.
Then he understood, and wished to God he could forget.
One of the things scampered across the wall of the elevator shaft to where a piece of exposed metal had thrust through the concrete. It was jagged and sharp-looking, but the zombie didn’t seem to care. It grabbed onto the metal and then just hung there.
Another zombie joined it a moment later. Running along the walls with that sickening plop-plop-plop as its fingers held, then let go, then held, then let go of the sheer surface of the shaft.
The second zombie crawled along the length of the metal spear, then onto the first beast’s head and shoulders. It wrapped its arms around the other’s chest, its legs around the legs of the first. Both the monstrosities were nearly bereft of skin, flayed by their entry into the shaft, their flesh torn away by the edges of the too-small rift in the concrete. It was impossible to tell if the creatures were women or men – they were only things , just masses of wet muscle and bone in the permanent night of the shaft.
Blood dripped off them in thick streams. It looked almost black. Ichorous. Ken couldn’t tell if that was a trick of the un-light of the shaft, or if their blood, like everything else about them, was changing.
Another zombie pulled its way onto them. This one had once been a man, identifiable by the tattered remnants of a business suit and what looked like part of a tie thrown over its shoulder. The third zombie crawled onto its brother/sister things and, like the first, held tight.
Ken watched a fourth climb into the middle of the shaft and hold to the growth, then a fifth. The excrescence seemed to pulse as the zombies in the middle of the mass shifted slightly, the ones on the outside layers adjusted their grips. It was like watching a beating heart coming into being from nothing. An unholy vision of creatio ex nihilo .
“What are they doing?” said Dorcas. The woman’s voice was low; clearly she was speaking to herself.
But with the question came an answer. Ken looked at Hope. She was still reaching out. Reaching for the dark tumescence just above them. Reaching and now she was groaning, almost….
Ken’s blood ran cold.
She was almost growling .
And he knew what the things were doing.
“They’re building a bridge,” he said. “Building a bridge to the cable. To us.”
48
Ken felt… dark .
His wife and baby were somewhere below him. Below and unseen.
( Dark. )
His daughter was reaching out for the things that tried to kill them. Hands lifted up as though in praise or prayer.
( Darker. )
His son was gone. Bitten. Changed. Dead.
( Darkest. )
And then he realized with a start that the feeling wasn’t merely a mood, it was a reality. That the light in the vertical tunnel that had become a sudden deathtrap was fading once more.
He looked up.
The light wasn’t just fading. It was departing. Christopher was leaving them. Again.
What’s he doing?
The light dimmed to almost nothing. Almost. And perhaps complete nothingness would have been better. Would have been a gift. Because as it was Ken could see just enough to make out the glistening, pulsing mass that added to itself bit by bit, that reached out inch by inch, foot by foot.
How long until one of them reaches the cable?
How long until one of them reaches us ?
The things worked in near-silence, not even trilling or growling anymore. There was only the moist sloughing of flesh on flesh, of raw muscle fibers sliding across one another as they gripped and clenched with strength that was just one more impossibility in a world where the impossible had come to snuff out the once-real.
And yet, though silent, still the things moved in preternatural harmony. As though each could not only see what the others needed, but read the others’ very thoughts.
Move,
At first he wasn’t even sure what it was he was seeing.
Then he understood, and wished to God he could forget.
One of the things scampered across the wall of the elevator shaft to where a piece of exposed metal had thrust through the concrete. It was jagged and sharp-looking, but the zombie didn’t seem to care. It grabbed onto the metal and then just hung there.
Another zombie joined it a moment later. Running along the walls with that sickening plop-plop-plop as its fingers held, then let go, then held, then let go of the sheer surface of the shaft.
The second zombie crawled along the length of the metal spear, then onto the first beast’s head and shoulders. It wrapped its arms around the other’s chest, its legs around the legs of the first. Both the monstrosities were nearly bereft of skin, flayed by their entry into the shaft, their flesh torn away by the edges of the too-small rift in the concrete. It was impossible to tell if the creatures were women or men – they were only things , just masses of wet muscle and bone in the permanent night of the shaft.
Blood dripped off them in thick streams. It looked almost black. Ichorous. Ken couldn’t tell if that was a trick of the un-light of the shaft, or if their blood, like everything else about them, was changing.
Another zombie pulled its way onto them. This one had once been a man, identifiable by the tattered remnants of a business suit and what looked like part of a tie thrown over its shoulder. The third zombie crawled onto its brother/sister things and, like the first, held tight.
Ken watched a fourth climb into the middle of the shaft and hold to the growth, then a fifth. The excrescence seemed to pulse as the zombies in the middle of the mass shifted slightly, the ones on the outside layers adjusted their grips. It was like watching a beating heart coming into being from nothing. An unholy vision of creatio ex nihilo .
“What are they doing?” said Dorcas. The woman’s voice was low; clearly she was speaking to herself.
But with the question came an answer. Ken looked at Hope. She was still reaching out. Reaching for the dark tumescence just above them. Reaching and now she was groaning, almost….
Ken’s blood ran cold.
She was almost growling .
And he knew what the things were doing.
“They’re building a bridge,” he said. “Building a bridge to the cable. To us.”
48
Ken felt… dark .
His wife and baby were somewhere below him. Below and unseen.
( Dark. )
His daughter was reaching out for the things that tried to kill them. Hands lifted up as though in praise or prayer.
( Darker. )
His son was gone. Bitten. Changed. Dead.
( Darkest. )
And then he realized with a start that the feeling wasn’t merely a mood, it was a reality. That the light in the vertical tunnel that had become a sudden deathtrap was fading once more.
He looked up.
The light wasn’t just fading. It was departing. Christopher was leaving them. Again.
What’s he doing?
The light dimmed to almost nothing. Almost. And perhaps complete nothingness would have been better. Would have been a gift. Because as it was Ken could see just enough to make out the glistening, pulsing mass that added to itself bit by bit, that reached out inch by inch, foot by foot.
How long until one of them reaches the cable?
How long until one of them reaches us ?
The things worked in near-silence, not even trilling or growling anymore. There was only the moist sloughing of flesh on flesh, of raw muscle fibers sliding across one another as they gripped and clenched with strength that was just one more impossibility in a world where the impossible had come to snuff out the once-real.
And yet, though silent, still the things moved in preternatural harmony. As though each could not only see what the others needed, but read the others’ very thoughts.
Move,
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