The mornings were cold year-round. That was frustrating. Vigil lit a cigarette and massaged his numbed ears for a minute. That wasn't the best idea.
In most cases, the onomatopoeia associated with zombies was a moan. A 'why me' or 'I'm bloody starving' guttural sound only occasionally confused with 'oh yes, don't stop' if you watch the lesser-known B-movies. What rose to Vigil's ears however, was screams. Wails of hatred and damnation. The boy considered simply not looking down. After all, the bank was sufficiently closed off and four stories high. While he might have been relying heavily on the old Loony Toons 'don't look down and you'll walk right across that canyon' logic, it just didn't seem worth it.
Except it did. "Oh yeah." Today was day one of looking for other survivors. He backed up to the ledge and casually glanced down. His jaw dropped, his cigarette fell, and it landed square on a dead's head two stories below him. "Oh fuck."
They were climbing up each other like ants. There was little incline to the mass of squirming bodies, but they were making progress at a disturbing rate. The boy ran the perimeter of the building. "Wall of zombies, wall of zombies, fuck!" Four for four. And of course, the fourth wall had the fire escape. Only a matter of time. Maybe minutes.
Vigil hugged himself and tried to stop shaking. Deep breaths. Deep breaths. Deep...
Alright. The screams were louder once the pulse behind his ears settled, but the shakes were gone. He stretched his arms in a few directions and grabbed the pipe he'd only had to use one other time. Twice, if you count teeing a firecracker down a subway stairwell.
After considering his weapon and the relatively open space he occupied, his only frame of reference for what would come next was grounded in Kill Bill 1, The Matrix Reloaded, and a handful of kung-fu stereotypes. [So, Kill Bill again?] In fashion with the aforementioned, Vigil gathered his belongings to the center of the rectangular platform and perched on the sleeping bag cross-legged. He'd never meditated before, but it seemed like a good enough way to pass the last few minutes. There were no wires or other buildings nearby that he could get to. He was here, and so were they. If he was gonna die here -and he probably would, then it'll be drawn out to the bitter end. "Ohm... Ohm." [Damnit] He got up and checked over the side with the fire escape. It was a cluster-fuck to be sure. For a moment he thought that they might get clogged in the metal frame-work and slow down again, but given the other three walls, that would only post-pone the inevitable. But there were matters at hand. The boy unzipped and urinated down the side of the bank, smugly hitting as many as he could, which wasn't too difficult. He then returned to the sleeping bag and fumbled for the photographs in his bag. There were only about ten. He flipped through them, kissing each one and working his eye lids rapidly to keep from crying again. When he went through them all, he did so one more time before tucking them away into his sweatshirt pocket, zipping it up partially and pulling up the sleeves. He wasn't cold anymore, but layers on the neck and shoulder region were a must, and he'd watched loose articles like jacket flaps cause a lot of bad ends for people, back when there still were any. He took a comfortable grip on the pipe and walked the perimeter again. It was still just the one side that he had to worry about immediately, but the screaming ants were definitely making progress on all fronts. Taking a crouched position facing the northern ledge, Vigil stared at the brick horizon line and steadied his breath as best he could. The screams were thundering now. The sun was just over the mountains to his right. Orange haze filtered the scene. The smell of blood and decay rose just under the cries. [I guess it's been a good life. Got laid a few times, got fucked up a few times, shook Marilyn Manson's hand and ate Robert Plant's prime rib. Never did complete anything on paper though. Fuck. Oh well. No lamentations!]
A hand rose over the wall. "Punch it time." He ran forward ready to swing.
