Twenty Three

Angie entered the laundry room, Park right behind her. Kristen and Mr. Paulson followed. One of the dryers was still running, loud and hot. Stacks of linens were piled everywhere.

Mr. Paulson looked around. "You people actually wash these things? Shit, how dirty were they before?"

"Be quiet," said Angie. She walked to the other side of the room, where another door led back out into the hall. She looked carefully around the edge of the door. Nothing.

"Okay," she said, walking back to the others. "It's clear for the moment. Let's get our shit together and then get back to it."

She walked to a folding counter and set her jug of alcohol on it. Freeda had been folding sheets at this table. She undid the belt around her waist and took one of the full jugs from the belt. She used the full jug to refill the used one. Then she slid the jug back onto the belt and tied the belt around her waist.

Park was reloading his rifle. He shook the box of ammo and cursed. "Running kind of low already."

"Great," said Mr. Paulson. "So we'll all get halfway, then run out of ammo and get eaten. What a great fucking plan this is."

Park looked at Mr. Paulson. The large dryer in the corner rumbled and groaned.

"Well, here's a thought," said Park. "How about you keep your fucking mouth shut and quit attracting their fucking attention?"

Kristen sighed, looking at both Park and Mr. Paulson. "We aren't getting out of here, are we?"

"Quit saying crap like that," said Angie, adjusting her belt.

"Sam died before we even got out of that room. How in the hell are we going to make it all the way out of this building?"

"I said quit saying crap like that!" Angie snapped, glaring at Kristen.

Kristen sighed again and backed up against a wall. She put her head back.

Angie gave her one more glare, then went back to adjusting her belt.

The dryer stopped.

The groaning didn't.

Angie spun around to face the dryer. Park turned his rifle to it.

"What the hell's that noise?" said Mr. Paulson.

The groaning could be heard clearly now. It was not mechanical. It was loud and gurgling. From what sounded like a choking throat.

Angie looked more closely at the dryer. It was set a foot or so away from the wall.

"Shit," she said. "It's behind the dryer."

"Well, it's stuck then," said Park. "Let's leave it and get the fuck out of here."

"Wait," said Angie. "We can't be sure. It could be someone hiding."

"They're awfully fucking small," said Park.

"And not very verbal," said Mr. Paulson.

"It could be a hurt child," said Kristen. "A survivor. Hurt and hiding."

Angie looked at Kristen and nodded. She hated her, but she was right.

"We have to make sure it's dead before we leave it," said Angie.

"Fine," said Park. "Just hurry."

Angie stepped toward the dryer. The groaning continued. It did indeed sound like a child's voice.

"Is someone there?" said Angie, taking another step.

The groan became louder. Whatever was behind the dryer gurgled and moaned.

"It's okay. We're friends." She stepped up to the edge of the dryer. "Don't be scared." She looked over at Park. Park nodded and got his rifle ready.

Angie nodded to Park and turned back to the dryer. She took a breath and pulled the dryer further away from the wall. She leaned over the top of the dryer, looking down.

Two small, cold hands grabbed her face and pulled.

"Fuck!" Angie heard Park say behind her.

"That's it," said Mr. Paulson. "She's done. Let's get out of here!" Angie heard the wheelchair start to whir.

Angie looked down at what had grabbed her. A small child, hungry and very obviously dead. It was a small boy with portions of his scalp chewed away. He tugged at Angie's head but was not strong enough to get his writhing mouth to her.

"Oh shit," said Angie, softly. It was the boy. The boy Angie had seen eaten.

"Stop right fucking there!" yelled Park, presumably at Mr. Paulson.

The wheelchair stopped. "You gonna pull a gun on a crippled old man?" said Mr. Paulson.

"Stop pointing that thing at my father!" yelled Kristen. Angie heard Kristen's gun cock.

Angie felt tears coming. The boy writhed and gnashed at her. His fingers pawed at her face, but he was too weak to do any damage. "I'm sorry," she said.

She pulled her face away and turned to the others. Park had his rifle pointed at Mr. Paulson. Kristen had her rifle pointed at Park. "Knock it the fuck off!" Angie said, stomping over to Kristen. She snatched the rifle away.

"Back off, bitch!" said Kristen, tears in her eyes. "His stupid friend killed my husband!"

"Shut the fuck up or I will shoot you myself," said Angie, stepping back over to the boy. The boy was still caught behind the dryer, but his head and arms were now visible over the top.

Angie stared at the boy and allowed herself a few seconds to cry.

"Who the fuck is that?" asked Park.

"I dunno," said Angie. "Just some kid, I guess." She swallowed, leveled the rifle and fired.

The boy's head rocked and a large hole appeared in his forehead. His glazed eyes closed and he slumped forward. Dark blood slowly pooled on the top of the dryer.

She turned and gave the rifle back to Kristen. "This is only for those things." She looked at Park. "Same goes for you. Now come on, we've made enough noise."

Groans came from both doorways.

"Dammit!" said Park.

Angie looked in both directions. Corpses were already stumbling in the way they had come. The groans from the way out were getting closer. She scanned the room quickly.

"This is it!" yelled Park. "Just keep shooting until the ammo runs out."

"Then what?" said Kristen as she looked around, panic on her face.

"Then I finally get my wish," said Park, quietly. Angie was close enough to hear. She ignored it for the time being.

Her eyes landed on a wheeled cart full of folded white linen. "Here," she said, running over to the cart. She opened the jug of alcohol and dumped all of it onto the linen.

More corpses from the way they had come groaned and came through the doorway. Angie took out Park's lighter and lit the pile of linens. It burst instantly into flames.

"Shit!" said Mr. Paulson.

Angie screamed and pushed the cart into the corpses. The corpses moaned as the cart hit them. The corpses and most of the doorway burst into flame.

"Crazy bitch!" yelled Mr. Paulson. "We're flammable too!"

"Not if we run," said Angie, turning for the second door. "Go!"

All four of them moved to the door. Three corpses came through the other way, blocking them.

"Shit!" said Park, raising the rifle.

Angie was out in front, inches from the closest corpse. The corpse, what was left of a dried rotted woman covered in a dirty burial dress, grabbed her. The woman's mouth opened, dry skin ripping and cracking, and she leaned in to bite. Angie fumbled in her smock, found the scalpel, and shoved it into the woman's eye socket. Angie grunted and pushed the scalpel in as hard as she could. The corpse shook, then dropped away from her.

"Duck!" yelled Park.

Angie did. Park's rifle went off, the shot flying over Angie's head and into the corpse standing closest to her.

"Shoot the other one!" she yelled. The remaining corpse, a man covered in yellow and red sores, fell on her, groaning. She rolled over on to her back, trying to push him up. He was heavy and strong.

"I can't get a shot!" yelled Park.

"Leave her!" yelled Mr. Paulson.

Fire was spreading on the far wall. Angie could feel the heat from it. She put her palm on the corpse's forehead. He snarled and bit at her, missing but close. Angie pushed upward with all her might. The corpse's head moved up an inch or two, but that was all.

"You'll have to do better than that!" yelled Park.

"Fuck the stupid bitch!" yelled Mr. Paulson. "We're going to burn to death if we stay!"

Angie heard Mr. Paulson's wheelchair start to move. She heard it whir toward the door. From the corner of her vision, she saw one of his wheels move past her.

"Get back here!" yelled Park.

The wheel of Mr. Paulson's chair crunched over the leg of the corpse atop Angie. "Shit!" said Mr. Paulson, trying to swing the chair the other direction. He connected with the corpse's thigh, knocking it to the side and off of Angie.

Park's gun rang out. The corpse flew back a few feet and landed on its back, head destroyed.

Angie stood and glared at Mr. Paulson. She looked at the fire. It was spreading badly.

"Okay, now let's go!" yelled Park.

"Not yet," said Angie. She moved to a wall next to the washing machines. "I hate to admit it, but Mr. Paulson's right." She pulled a fire extinguisher from the wall and moved to the fire. She pulled the pin and emptied the extinguisher into the flames. In a few seconds the flames died down and stopped.

"We don't want the place burning down before we get out," she said, moving to drop the extinguisher. The dried corpse of the woman, the one with the scalpel buried in her eye socket, stirred. She moaned and began to sit up.

"Shit," said Angie. She stepped over to where the corpse was struggling to right itself. She hoisted the extinguisher over her shoulders and threw it down at the corpse's head. The head imploded, sending dried skin and dust flying. The corpse fell down again and stopped moving.

Angie looked back at the others. She undid her belt and removed a jug of alcohol. She tied the belt back and took out Park's lighter.

"Now we can go."