Remains of the Dead by Iain McKinnon Page A

on every breath.
    The sound of the ghetto blaster still wafted into earshot between the dry cries of dead voices. But the drone of the chopper was now overwhelmed by the moans of the hungry dead.
    Cahz scanned the lobby, looking past the security desk and the elevators, trying to make out the entrance to the stairs. Loops of conduit sagged from the ceiling like vines in a plastic and aluminium jungle. A steady trickle of water cascaded from a snapped pipe, splashing onto a mushy ceiling tile.
    With his boots squelching through the debris, Cahz cautiously skirted the dilapidated car sitting on its four flat tyres. The driver’s door was slightly ajar. The windows were smashed in. Down the seams of the metal work he could see the tarnish of rust—or was it dried blood? In the dim light he couldn’t be sure.
    As he unpicked the darkness a figure stepped out of the gloom. Its arms outstretched, it let rise a wail. Its tough vocal cords pushed out the stale air in its dead lungs, past its goatee framed lips, to form a flattened vowel that bounced off the empty walls, an off-key note that piqued Cahz’s fear. The zombie’s once neat uniform was now dishevelled. The crisp white shirt bore a large hole across the shoulder. Around the edges the raw flesh had desiccated, forming ragged sheets of dried skin. The crimson deluge that once poured from the wound was now a brown stain that ran down the zombie’s chest to merge into the blood-caked trousers.
    Fighting against his natural reaction to flee, Cahz took a determined step towards the zombie. The saggy folds of grey skin that drooped from its face became taught as its mouth opened wide. Its jaws held apart in anticipation of a meal. Polluted saliva glistened behind the cracked and blackened lips. As it lurched out of the shadows, Cahz realised the dead security guard didn’t have a beard. The dark stain around its mouth was the dried blood of a long dead victim. This wretched being had been infected and upon his defective resurrection he had in turn infected another, the cycle of infection perpetuated. In this one malignant creature, Cahz could see reflected the billions of dead and undead.
    Cahz thumped the cadaver hard in the head. The bone crunched with the impact and the butt skidded off the loose skin. As the metal edge slipped down the zombie’s face, it took with it the cold dead flesh, exposing the bone beneath. Like a well cooked chicken, the skin and muscle and cartilage sloughed free from the skull.
    The zombie stumbled backwards into the shadows from the force of the blow, but rather than toppling to the floor the creature caught itself and came shambling forward again. When it emerged into the light, it smiled an impossibly wide grin populated by broken teeth and yellow glistening bone.
    The zombie stepped closer, devoid of a nose and grinning. Its skull still wore small clumps of flesh and sinew. The raw white eyes inside their sockets twitched and darted, peering through damaged cornea, trying to reacquire its meal. The remnants of its human face dangled from its chin like the wattle on a cockerels neck. The slick grey mask of dead flesh quivered and jiggled as the creature stumbled forward.
    A bolt of sick rose in Cahz’s mouth. He spluttered at the acrid taste, spitting out the milky granules of vomit.
    The zombie closed in, arms outstretched, compelled to embrace its meal.
    With a grunt of exertion, Cahz delivered a second blow. The rifle split open the skull with a crack and this time the zombie collapsed to the floor.
    “Is it clear?” Cannon asked as he drew up with Cahz.
    “No idea.” Cahz pointed at a set of doors. “Reckon that’s the stairwell?”
    “Let’s give it a try, boss.” Cannon jogged over and pushed at the door. “A little help here.”
    Cahz turned to see Ryan supporting Elspeth as they hobbled into the lobby. At their tail there was already a sea of undead arms clawing for them.
    “Fuck!”
    Cahz whipped round at the cry to see