100 Days in Deadland (Deadland Saga, #1) by Rachel Aukes
For the Half Fast crew.
Because if anyone can turn the zombie apocalypse into a good time, it’d be you.
LIMBO
The First Circle of Hell
Chapter I
I paused on the way to my two o’clock meeting, and watched the woman standing outside the restroom with her forehead against the wall, clawing at the paint. After a long moment, I hesitantly reached out. “Excuse me, are you all right?”
At the sound of my voice, Melanie from Accounting turned her head. Her skin had a sickly jaundiced pallor to it, her eyes glazed over. She stared, swaying from side to side in a stilted trance-like manner.
I winced. “Christ, you look like shit.”
She groaned, the jerky motion causing the line of drool hanging from her mouth to swing from side to side. She cocked her head as though trying to figure me out.
I took a cautious step back, not wanting to catch whatever bug was taking my coworkers and half of the Midwest by storm today. Ever since lunch, people had started complaining of indigestion. The cafeteria’s daily special had been known to bring on afternoon bouts of heartburn, but this was crazy. “You had the taco salad, too, huh?”
The door to the women’s restroom swung open and a blur ran past us, startling me and knocking Melanie out of her stupor. Her lips curled in a snarl. Then she lunged at me, her jaws snapping.
“Shit!” Lucky for me, she moved slowly and I sidestepped to the left, leaving her to stumble clumsily onto her stomach. My papers fluttered to the floor while she floundered around. I threw out my hands. “What the f*ck, Mel!”
She glared up at me, this time vocalizing a guttural growl that sent shivers up my neck. She jerkily dragged herself up. Fear crept into my nerves. I edged around her, careful to keep my distance, and pulled the bathroom door open and jumped inside.
I put all my weight into pushing the door closed, but Melanie was over twice my size. She heaved the door open, tumbled inside, and took me down. The air whooshed from my lungs. She pressed against me, her jaws snapping like she wanted to swear-to-God eat me.
Holy f*ck, I’d been scared in my life before, but this went beyond terror. When folks talk about fight or flight instincts, it’s really fight and flight instincts. Everything I’d learned from self-defense classes was forgotten as I held my forearm against her neck while kicking and pushing with everything I had to get out from under her.
My arm shook under the weight. With a surge, I rolled her off me and shoved away. She grabbed at me, her fingers snagging my shirt and taking most of a sleeve with her with a loud rip. With nothing left to pull, the back of her head collided into the wall with a solid smack.
The bathroom door opened, and a high-pitched shriek pierced the air.
“Help!” I yelled while kicking away from Melanie, my Doc Martens squeaking across the floor, but whoever had opened the door had already disappeared.
A staccato pounding erupted from one of the bathroom stalls, matching the beating of my heart.
Knocking her head against the wall didn’t slow down Melanie in the least. If anything, she was more pissed off than ever, now crawling at me like a clumsy, rabid dog. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught the yellow “caution: wet floor” sign propped in the corner. I grabbed it and swung just as she closed the distance, nailing her across the cheek.
Snarling, she charged and I swung again, this time breaking her nose. Thick brown blood sprayed out with every snort and hiss. She came back at me like I hadn’t even hit her. With no time to swing, I shoved the hinged end of the plastic sign forward as hard as I could, karate-chopping her in the throat. The force knocked her back just enough for me to get solidly onto the balls of my feet.
Having her windpipe crushed put an end to the animal sounds and stopped her from spraying any more blood. Yet, even though she clearly couldn’t breathe, she came at me again like she didn’t even need air.
Terror froze my muscles.
My instructor had said a throat chop would take down an assailant in mere seconds. Yet, it had done nothing to stop a desk jockey from Accounting.
With the pounding and growling escalating from the bathroom stall a few feet away, I started swinging the sign relentlessly at Melanie’s head. My heart pounded and my breaths came in gulps, yet Melanie kept on coming at me.
When she moved to pounce, I slammed the sign into her temple, causing her to misjudge her attack, and she head butted the wall instead. She turned around. Her forehead was a bloody mess, and she still didn’t seem fazed.
“What the hell?” I asked breathlessly and swung again. The now-bloody sign’s corner nailed her in the eye, knocking an eyeball out of its socket. Another hit made her eyeball swing until it finally flew free and bounced off the wall. I swung again and again and again, my blows echoed by whoever was pounding on the stall door.
Bones crunched, and Melanie collapsed face-forward onto the floor.
More of that gelatinous coffee-colored blood trickled from her head and pooled on the floor. I hit her with the sign one more time to make sure she wasn’t playing possum, and I was about to kick her when the stall door swung open and Julie, the new girl, tumbled onto the floor. She looked up at me with that same sickly, ravenous look.
“Agh!” I smacked her in the face with the sign, and ran out of the bathroom, throwing the sign at her before I yanked the door open.