Chapter 24: A Fully Stocked Bar

We held our breath through the basement hallway just in case, but neither of us collapsed. I took lead and we carefully avoided the pressure plate and closed the door to the elevator room, just in case. Then, we got into the shaft and shortly reached the second floor.

“No banging,” said Marci, standing on the other side of the doors, readying herself. Even in the darkness of the elevator shaft, the new chainmail she wore made her seem clean amidst all the dust sitting on every metal surface.

“The lights must have distracted them. Wait, I hear something. They’re fighting! Come on, we have to help them!”

“We should still be careful. Be ready to get stabby with anything that’s there.”

Pulling out my sword, which was glowing lightly, I transferred it to my left arm. Right on the elevator door, ready. “One, two, three.”

Together, we pulled the doors open. No torn pants, no legs, no moving dead people nearby. Just filthy red rug. The zombies had all gone elsewhere.

“Clear.” I jumped into the lobby, then turned and held open the doors, offering my hand, pulling Marci up and in. Inside the hallway, metal clanging, Ave grunting, the thunk of her hammers, Dylan shouting, a loud thud that I hoped and hoped was a zombie collapsing, the moans of many, many of the undead things.

Marci and I shared a look, then ran toward the fighting, swords drawn.

A pitched melee battle. The team had built a furniture tunnel that forced the zombies to attack them one at a time. Sofa chairs, sofas, tables, even a cart, lining the entrance to the restaurant like a funnel. There had to be twelve, fifteen zombies scratching and pulling at the furniture, stopping me dead in my tracks.

“Marci. We’re in trouble.”

The first zombie turned its head at our footsteps. Then another, another, and another. With fresh meat nearby, they lost interest in attacking furniture and ambled quickly toward us.

“Shit!” I cut at the first one, aiming for its neck.

“The bar!”

I spared a quick glance – Marci, running for the open bar. Yes, it’d be narrower there, forcing them to come at us one by one on either side. Or climb over the counter, exposing themselves.

In wretched and torn clothing, the one in front of me clutched forward, black and yellow teeth cracking shut, others reaching around it for any part of me they could get a hold of. I turned, ran, grabbing a stool as I did. It was heavier than it looked.

“It’s too wide!”

She was right. Between then counter and the shelving, at least two zombies could come at us, from both sides.

“Get a chair, a stool, anything!”

“Too late!” Marci grabbed a metal water jug.

“I’ll give you the stool!”

“There’s a small door on this side – I’m ok! Can you hold them off?”

One grabbed at the stool, putting it toward him, trying to get at me. Another pushed itself forward on my left, making me stab through the stool’s legs. “Trying!” The sword was glowing like crazy, as if I needed a warning zombies were all around us.

I managed to stick it into the left’s head, and it went stiff, but the one clutching at the stool grabbed my sword arm, pulling me toward its mouth. I went with the force, slamming the hilt into its head. The thing staggered back, but then bit down on the hilt, while tugging and pulling the stool, sending us both falling on the floor, toward more oncoming zombies.

Hitting the ground, I felt its jaw break and I yanked the sword quickly to get out of the reach of another. All I could see were feet and legs shuffling ever and ever closer. Giving up on the stool, I pushed the sword into the nearest one’s stomach and stood, then yanked the blade loose. It didn’t seem bothered in the slightest and reached for me, teeth clattering.

Another was already stepping over the stool. I’d lost my protection.

They both moved in, arms up, mouths agape, flesh rotting, each grabbing at me. I whacked the sword into the arms of the one on the right, throwing his arms left and into the other one. Then I kicked his hip to keep the pressure on and stabbed him through the temple. But another moved into the gap behind those two.

In my peripheral, Dylan charged into the line of zombies trying to get me. I spared a quick glance backwards, checking on Marci, and saw Ave there, hammers flying, dropping the zombies intent on eating the little elf sorceress.

In that instant, rotting hands grabbed my arm, it quickly bit down on my leather armor. I switched the sword to my left hand, slammed it into the thing’s eye. The pressure on my arm relaxed, I withdrew my blade, the corpse fell. Then Dylan caught up, cutting down the last two more easily than I ever could.

Breathing hard, I whirled around to see Ave resting a gory hammer on the bar counter, then high-fiving Marci.

She nodded at me, saying, “That was daring, Boss.”

Dylan put his hand on my shoulder, getting my attention, “Did you get bit? Did it break the leather?” The fighter’s armor was full of bits and pieces of flesh and other gore, his blade brownish.

“No, no, I’m fine. Where’s Fred? Bent?”

Dylan’s face dropped, “Fred’s hurt bad. One of these things took a chunk out of him.”

I looked over at Ave, wondering why she was so exuberant. “We’ve got something that can help. What about Bent?”

“He’s taking care of Fred.”

Ave came up, wiping a hammer with a cloth, “You’ve got something that can help Fred?”

***

Fred was sweating hard, green skin shiny, muscles shivering, teeth clattering, and rocking back and forth.

Bent was wiping his forehead with a wet cloth. He looked up, “He’s not good. Healing potions do nothing. And I’ve given him pain killers from our med kits, but they don’t seem to be having much effect.”

Kneeling beside him, blue potion in hand, I asked, “Can you drink this, Fred? It’ll help.”

He looked up at me, forced a small smile, “I hope . . . I hope you didn’t make it . . . yourself.”

Bringing it closer to his mouth, I said, “Only the finest for you. Drink up.”

His hands were shaking so badly, I lifted it up. He drank as best he could, some spilling down his chin with all the shaking.

“Oh, it’s bitter.” He closed his eyes, muscles clenched, his shivering decreased a little. “But good, but good.”

“What is it?” asked Bent.

“Like the healing pots, but a ‘cure disease’ kind. It’s supposed to help if a zombie bites you. We found a couple downstairs.”

“His ankle’s also swollen and blackening. See?” Bent lifted up Fred’s pants. “The big guy said the centipede didn’t get him, but it must have, just a little.”

“Fred, you have to inform us of these problems.” I shook my head, “Well, hopefully this stuff works on that, too, then.”

“Disease isn’t venom,” said the mage. “We’d need a cure venom pot or something.”

“Maybe with the power on, we can get some ice for his leg.” Marci headed for the back, “I’ll go see if I can find anything suitable.”

Ave called over to her, “Open the freezers at your peril.” She then tapped Fred’s arm, and they shared a brief smile. “You’ll be ok. There’s a full bar, after all.”

I looked around. Ave knelt down to stroke Fred’s hair. Already, he looked a lot better, much to my relief. Dylan caught up with Marci, both of them heading further into the restaurant, Bent waiting to see if Fred would recover, hand on his knee. I was relieved at being altogether again, and that none of us had died. Hopefully, the potion would cure our security officer entirely.

But after that, I didn’t know what to do. Go after the altars like the game wants? Head further into the cavern to find the core and hope it has something to do with our mission? Soon, they’d be looking to me for answers, so I had to pull myself together.