Whispers on an Undying World

The Funeral

Fake roses were all she could smell. The museum was claustrophobic because of it, though it soon became an afterthought. Her clothes were oddly cold; her backpack dug into her shoulders and her red-blond hair was pulled too tight. Those silly little details were the ones Micha focused on.

What’s going on here?

There were hundreds of air craft filling the sky, making the air move with their passing. Even inside the building Micha could feel their pressure. The announcements started an hour ago, warning everyone to stay inside. What were they hiding from?

Micha moaned inwardly and watched the people below her; she was going to be late. She was supposed to be on West Street by three. Somehow the world was just against her today, first the funeral then a total grid lock down.

Watch, and then conclude the best course of action. That was how she was raised, today was no exception.

Sighing Micha looked out the window again, seven floors look more from above than below. Down below there were stopped cars at every light; people were running through the streets talking on cell phones. If anyone cared to listen to the government they wouldn’t have left their buildings, but Micha didn’t listen because she should but because the riots started minutes after the announcement.

Ten minutes after the headlong rush to get through the standstill city was when everyone started to panic. Most of the art viewers didn’t listen to the quiet radio broadcast; it was through f*******: that the first of them heard it. It took ten minutes to realize that it was real.

It was odd that the police didn’t try and enforce the broadcast. There weren’t any army troops on the ground yet, or in the buildings, just in the sky and on the television. The police did their best to organize their workers but did nothing about the roaming people.

They repeated the same message over and over. “There have been incidents of causalities all over the Sacramento area involving a terrorist group. Stay indoors for your own safety.”

No more, no less.

The only reason she even went in the building in the first place was because it had been newly renovated into an art museum. Before it had been an apartment complex but some major company bought it when the land lord died and turned it into a museum that showed off local talent. It was pretty popular now; she thought it was by chance that she was on this side of town which was why she went to in in the first place. She was regretting it greatly.

The older gentlemen that filled the screen continued to refuse to answer questions. “The local police insist that all citizens stay indoors. It is best if the streets are free for the law-enforcement to approach the situation.”

It was frustrating.

Looking down the side of the building, she noticed a nest of people swarming the streets below her. Micha wouldn’t have this problem if she had decided to stay home. Looking away from the ground she looked around the room that was full of city people, they acted the same. Each and every one of them had the same expression on their face, terror, pure unadulterated terror. They weren’t equipped to handle a stress like this.

To Micha’s surprise, they hadn’t started to complain or cry. They kept quiet for the most part but it was clear that they didn’t know what to do or how to react. None made any loud noises or sudden movements, they were afraid to start the pandemonium. Though Micha was nervous, she didn’t feel panicked or afraid.

They were looking at each other to know what to do. Once one began to freak out, it would have a domino effect that would create a problem. However one man caught her eye, he was different. His eyes told Micha he wasn’t like the others, he was making a plan. A frown creased his brow, making a shadow on his weathered features. There was one that had common sense.

Micha looked over to the couple next her, it was an Asian women and a Hispanic man both in their late twenties. They were looking down at the streets like she had been doing; their expressions were a mixture of fear and worry. “Excuse me; do you know what’s going on?” She met Micha’s penetrating gaze and shook her head. Her hair was pulled back into a low bun and defined her face by her glistening bangs.

“No, I tried reaching family outside the city and none answered.” The lady leaned in, away from her partner, after a quick look around the room she held her hand up in an explanatory manner. “My brother is in the military, I got a text from him just before the broadcast went out saying that the city has been put under lock down. He said to hole up somewhere and hope there isn’t an air strike.” Her voice was low and hand clutching a silver chain around her neck.

Smiling, Micha nodded to her. “Thanks, that’s more information than I’ve gotten all day. Good luck today.” Waving, Micha walked through the incredibly white room. Making her way through the groups of people gathering around objects that they had been admiring before the broadcast transmitted, some were watching Micha with curious fear.

Though she had done the same, Micha felt her reasoning’s were different. Micha wanted to see how the military dealt with the unknown problem before reacting to it herself. Now that she knew, it was time for her to leave.

The great silver door to the elevator was just ahead. Micha quickened her pace, glad that she had refused the heels from her grandmother and worn her normal boots. There was no way Micha would get anywhere without falling from those bindings of death, even if they were ‘stylish’. Even without heels on Micha’s footfalls echoed throughout the large room.

Not even the pillars with paintings on them could stop the singular sound of her feet reaching the terrified people here. Each of their eyes move to her, watching Micha pass through the room of stillness.

The time limit Micha had given the police just ended, she made the decision to leave but clearly the others hadn’t.

From a young age, Micha’s family were preppers though they were called conspiracy nuts most of the time. Her parents bought a piece of land out in the mountains when Micha was five, frequently taking the kids up there to put more supplies in the bunker. It took until Micha was in high school for the renovations to the old barn were good enough for human habitation. Now it was a full on bomb shelter, twenty rooms below the mountainside along with a railroad entrance and multiple common rooms.

The mountain house was a palace compared to her home.

When she got out of the city, Micha knew every back road there was from Sacramento to Oregon. She would go on the back roads until she reached I-5 near Redding. Micha hoped by then that there would be fewer constrictions; after all it was only supposed to be in Sacramento that the terrorists were attacking. Micha lived on the coast of Oregon, a day’s journey from here, so she had to rent a hotel to attend the funeral. This was just bad luck.

However bad Micha’s luck, she always had a plan and some way out.

The reflective door loomed in front of Micha; she stood as a lone pillar of defiance. Pressing the button to go down she noticed that the light didn’t turn on. Pressing it again there was no movement from the shaft in front of her. The stairs it is then. Sighing Micha looked around for the sign that showed where the stairs are. There it is, to the right then. Making her way to the stairs doorway Micha noticed the sound of the helicopters and planes were getting louder.

Are there more now? There hasn’t been any sounds of gun fire or explosives, no sign that they have found what they thought to be the terrorists. Is that really what they’re looking for or is it just some c**k and bull story?

Tightening the straps to her backpack was her way of showing her unease. It rested against her shirt, light compared to what it usually carried but that was fine because she had enough food and water in it to get her to safety. Carrying food and water was an old habit she had picked up from her mom. Mom was always telling Micha that if she wasn’t prepared she would regret it when the time came that she needed it.

If this charade continues the Will that her father left with her would be useless. The folder holding all of the information and requirements Micha was supposed to have at the funeral today were pressed hard against her back, reminding her that she has a job to do. Her parents divorced years ago, but he was an avid drinker so mom got the kids. Micha was the third oldest and the third youngest, but she was the only one that still talked with her father which was why he gave his Will to her.

A few more steps and the door to the stairs are in front of Micha, with a tug it told her that it was locked. Great. Sighing again Micha pulled some of her bobbing pins out from her hair and took a knee. It had taken Micha a while to get the knack of unlocking a door this way, but it had come in handy when she forgot her keys to the house in her school locker. It had become so common for Micha to forget her keys that she had just taught herself how to pick a lock.

However, this lock was a lot harder than the common house lock. Seven tumblers, she counted each of them as she passed over them with her pin. Ouch, this isn’t going to be easy. While Micha crouched there working on the door a man, only older than her by a few years, pounded his way over to Micha. Each of his footfall’s clear and defined in the relatively still air. “You gettin’ out?” His voice was deep and far above her. He must be six foot four, but he was thick with muscles that told Micha he didn’t just work out.

Looking up at him Micha heard the click and pressure releases from the lock, making it easy to twist her hands and unlock the door. Standing up she looked up at him, still towering far above Micha. His hair was cut short and his jaw straight; his face gave him the look of a scowl though he wasn’t frowning.

Though he wore a scowl it was more of a naturally angry looking face.

“That’s the plan.” Micha opened the door and looked into the metal stair case that awaited them. With a look through the center of the stairs she could see several stories below her. There wasn’t anyone on the stairs at all. No one was trying to get out.

“Room for one more?” He was standing a few feet away with his body faced away from her. So there was another wolf in the crowd of sheep.

Or perhaps they were foxes.

Micha nodded and turned to the stairs. “Don’t hold me up.” Micha was down the stairs two at a time before he shut the door behind them. He had a way about him; it told Micha that he wasn’t from around here. He knew what it meant to survive. The pounding of her boots were matched with the pounding of his. He wasn’t far behind her as they made their way down level after level.

The stairwell was stereotypical. The walls were concrete that had been painted white; the only defining feature was the metal stairs and railings. Each door was marked by yellow and black letters and every floor had a fire-extinguisher next to the handle.

It was quiet except for the pounding of their feet. Pound, pound, pound. Her breathing thickened as the stairs disappeared behind her, how far was left? Another level passed with a large sign saying they were on the third level. Something screamed at her then, it was like she had this nagging feeling that something was off. It was enough to make her feet stop moving. She was three steps down the third level when Micha heard a distant wail. It almost sounded like the creaking of the stairs, but the hick man was still walking down them so she couldn’t tell.

He passed Micha and went a few more steps before turning around and raising an eyebrow at the girl. It was a simple gesture but it held so much understanding that it was comical. Micha held her hand up to her ear. Now the sounds were louder, it couldn’t have been the stairs but what could it be? Micha’s never heard anything like it before. “Do you hear that?”

He nodded and went a few more steps downward then stopped at the small stall in the level. Silence again then it was louder. It was people screaming, more than one. It was chorusing below them, sounding like a m******e. “Screaming down there.” His deep voice bound off the walls; it was not difficult to hear the screams now. They were getting louder.

Micha took the steps two at a time, what could be causing screaming like that? She had never heard screams so scared before, not in a fire, not in a flood. Nothing was as terrified as those screams that found their way to the metal shaft they were stuck in. They pounded their way to the first floor, where the screaming was deafening. With a small breath to calm her, Micha slowly opened the emergency door a crack. Something was wedged against the thick metal door so Micha pushed harder.

The smell of blood filled the stairwell; it made it impossible to breathe. What could have caused something like this to happen? What was going on?

The man behind her pushed on the door with Micha, a trickle of blood dribbled onto the metal floor beneath her feet; a body was what wedged the door shut. After some pushing they jostled the door open, but confusion met them with a sight that came from a horror film. There were bodies of men, women and children of all ages strewn all over the white tiled floor. Paintings were ripped from the walls, statues toppled in crumpled decay.

But the sight that was most confusing was the origin of the screaming. Standing above the bleeding people, some screaming some dead, were others that chewed on their flesh, devouring what lay beneath them. Micha stood there frozen completely mesmerized at the scene before them; it felt like it wasn’t real. There was no way this could really be happening, yet the only words that could describe what was occurring in front of them were the undead.

Zombies.

But the undead, zombies, they aren’t real. There is no way, no possible way, that they could be eating each other out there. This could only be a prank; it was the only logical explanation. This was an art museum; this wasn’t a place to be playing a prank like this. This isn’t funny.

One looked up at her; his eyes were red, tears of blood dribbling down his face. He crouched over a women that was hardly in her thirties, still wearing the straight skirt and blouse that meant she was a worker here. Micha was caught by his eyes; they were dead, nothing resembling a soul stood behind them. That was when he opened his mouth, revealing a shred of flesh that shook from the hiss he was releasing from the deep red mouth of his.

Micha didn’t have time to process the sight before the man behind her pulled her into the stairwell and slammed the door shut behind them. Micha fell back on the grated metal stairs and gasped for air. It was like he had pulled Micha from a dream, the air refused to enter her lungs properly. There was no way that was real.

If it was, what will happen? They’ll nuke the city. That would be the only solution to a problem like this. Micha’s only thoughts were to get out of the city before that happened.

The man pulled her up from her butt and dragged Micha upward, behind them there was pounding on the metal door. It wouldn’t last long. “Get moving.”

By time they got to the third level she was able to breathe. Then Micha remembered her words to this man, the man that had thought to drag her back up the stairs with him. How ironic that Micha was the one that got in his way. “Thanks, I froze.”

He looked back at her with his frowning face. “You opened the right door, I closed the wrong one.” Was that his way of saying you’re welcome?

Micha paused a moment and just stared at this man, somehow he was completely unfazed by what they just saw. Without a doubt, Micha instantly knew that man had a way out. “What now?”

“We take the other stairs.” His height increased now that he was in front of her. His back was straight and his walk long and broad. Confident, isn’t he? Micha was shaking from that sight and the howling that followed up the stairs. Pounding was included but it wasn’t as terrifying as the misshapen screams.

Micha sighed and agreed with him. “I’m Micha, by the way.” He should know the name of the person he saved.

He stopped at the fifth floor door and before opening door he looked back with a smirk. “Thomas.” Thomas, never would have guessed that.