by Scott Lee
Connor sat in his studio apartment, looking over the map of Philadelphia, a single lamp lighting the room. With the large bank of solar panels installed by the apartment complex prior to the apocalypse, the occupants of the place were all afforded a small measure of electrical usage. A single lamp was permitted for each apartment, as long as it utilized either an LED or CFL bulb. In one of the buildings, a large common room was set up where people could gather and watch movies on a big screen TV a few times a week. Overall, life was getting along pretty well considering the circumstances.
But not all safe zones had it this good. This was a somewhat unique situation because of the solar panels. Although more and more businesses and dwellings had installed solar panels or windmills over the years, many did not. And those safe zones that lacked these methods of providing power were living a much harder life.
For this reason the complex maintained a high level of security to ensure that a bandit raid didn’t bring the house of cards tumbling down. Bandits were common in the post apocalyptic world, and an encounter with them was never pleasant. These people were the dregs of society before the zombies, and they were even worse now that the undead ruled the landscape. To these people, killing zombies was a sport. Killing humans was just plain fun.
With this threat in mind, armed men and women constantly patrolled the walls of the complex. Every able body took their turn at protecting the complex, even Connor.
But he wasn’t scheduled to patrol for another two days, so this was the perfect time for him to make the run to Philly. Walking across the room, Connor looked at the four barometers he had hanging on the wall next to the window. Moving to the closest one, he tapped lightly on the glass, watching to see if the needle made any significant movement. The needle held steady at 30.4 inches of mercury (or about 1030 millibars), firmly in the range marked “fair”. Moving down the line, he followed the same procedure with each, checking for any drop in pressure. All held similar readings and indicated fair weather for the upcoming day.
“Perfect,” he said smiling.
Turning to look out the window, he admired a beautiful sunset of brilliant oranges, reds and yellows.
“Red sky at night, sailors’ delight”.
Connor had always been a bit of a weather nut, and this had come in handy in the new zombie filled world. With no more Doppler radar and endless weather forecasts from the throngs of meteorologists on every TV channel and radio station, you needed to know how to forecast the weather the old school way. This was done by studying clouds and using barometers, and Connor had been doing this for years. He had a dozen books on weather, and had read them all. His Audubon Society Field Guide to North American Weather was an invaluable resource for reading cloud formations and determining weather patterns.
He had watched the clouds throughout the day and was happy with what he’d seen. Small cumulus clouds had dominated the sky in the afternoon and evening, indicating no threat of showers in the near term. Connor always enjoyed cloud watching, but especially liked days filled with the wispy cirrus varieties. He loved the way these clouds swept across the blue sky like streaks of a paintbrush.
Staring out the window, Connor watched as the last of the brilliant colors faded into the darkening sky. It was going to be a long day tomorrow, so he needed to make sure he was well rested.
Walking back to the table, he took one final look at the Philly map laid out on the table. His targeted docking point was circled in orange highlighter, and his chosen route through the city was highlighted in yellow. Circled in blue were the three hospitals, and a few blocks from there Connor had circled one more spot in green – Jewelers’ Row. He needed to find more gold so he could restock his supply of ZOMBIE OFF, and what better place than Jewelers’ Row. Here was a city block filled with high-end jewelers, and with any luck, some of the stores would still be intact.
Satisfied with his review of the plan, Connor carefully folded the map and set it next to the weapons. With everything he needed laid out and ready to go, he walked over to the bed and plopped down, leaving his socks and boots on. This was a precaution Connor adhered to diligently. Should there be a breach in the wall by zombies or bandits, he wanted to be able to get up and move quickly, without any delay. The boots always stayed on.
Connor closed his eyes and tried to fall asleep, but his mind just wasn’t ready to shut down. This wasn’t unusual for the night before a run, especially considering where he was going tomorrow. Giving up, he got out of bed, grabbing his Hibben III Fighter off the bedpost as he stood up. This was a huge, bowie style knife that he kept close to his person anytime he was lying down or asleep. The knife was 13” long with a powerful 8” blade that could penetrate a zombie skull like it was butter. It was his favorite knife, and the most well made of any in his collection.
Strapping the knife onto his belt, he walked to the weapons closet and grabbed his katana. Slinging it over his shoulder, Connor headed for the door. He needed to get out and walk around a bit to unwind after the hours of planning, but he never left the apartment unarmed. Grabbing his flashlight, he headed out the door, locking it securely behind him. Walking to the end of the hall, he came to the stairwell door. Before reaching for the door handle, he instinctively unsnapped the leather strap that held the massive knife in its sheath. Hand on the knife handle, he listened at the door and slammed a fist against the metal. After 15 seconds of silence, he pushed the door open and flashed the light into the stairwell. All clear.
Connor had rituals for most of his every day situations. To many they seemed stupid, over cautious, or annoying, but to Connor they were just plain smart. His careful ways had saved his life more than once when he was out on runs, and he made sure to adopt these practices no matter how safe the situation seemed.
“You never know when your next close encounter will be,” he’d say, “so you better be ready”.
Satisfied that the stairwell was safe, he headed down the four flights of stairs to the lobby. His hand moved from the knife handle, but he kept the sheath unsnapped. Arriving at the lobby, he looked around the dimly lit room. A single lamp, with a 42 watt CFL bulb, lit an area with two couches, a half dozen chairs, and a reversible chess/backgammon table. The single bulb provided adequate lighting for the immediate area around the furniture, but left the rest of the large room lacking. Two older men sat at the chess table, plotting their next moves. Connor gave a slight nod to the men as he walked past, getting reciprocal nods in return.
Most of the residents of the complex knew Connor, and all showed him respect. For many, it was more fear than respect. For those that knew him, most didn’t even know his given name. He was simply The Seeker.
Stepping outside, Connor took a deep breath. The air was warm, making for a beautiful early June evening. Looking to the east, he could see the nearly full moon rising on the horizon. The moon phase was definitely taken into account when Connor planned the city mission. Tomorrow night it would be full, providing a natural nightlight should his mission extend into the evening hours. He saw no reason it should take that long, but he planned for every possibility.
Walking out onto the street in front of his building, he looked around the complex. A total of six high-rise apartment buildings and one office building were contained within the manmade trailer wall. There were six additional buildings that made up the original apartment complex, but they were left outside the wall. When the apocalypse hit, they only had resources enough to wall in half the buildings. Fortunately for the current residents, a group of young truck drivers lived in the complex, and their quick thinking had resulted in the trailer wall that now provided salvation for the survivors. Their distribution warehouse had over a hundred semi trailers on site, and a great number of them were commandeered to make the wall.
Strolling casually down the street, he headed for one of the security lookouts positioned every hundred feet along the wall. His friend, Doug was on watch tonight, so he climbe
d the ladder, smiling as he approached his buddy.
“What’s up, Doug?” Connor asked, holding out his hand.
“Hey Connor. What brings you out to the wall tonight?”
Doug grabbed Connors hand firmly and pulled him in for a quick bro hug. The two slapped each other’s backs and separated, their eyes turning in unison back to the area outside the wall.
“Beer?” Doug asked, grabbing a can from a small cooler that sat next to a lawn chair.
“Sure. But just one. I have a big mission tomorrow and can’t afford to be hung over.”
“I heard about your mission. You’re heading to the city, aren’t you?”
“How’d you hear about it? I was trying to keep it under wraps.”
“Word travels fast within the complex. Hardly anything is ever kept secret here. You know that as well as I do.”
“Yea, sometimes I forget. Still, I wish fewer people knew.”
Doug took a long swig of his beer, his gaze still staring out into the darkness.
“You’re one crazy son-of-a-bitch, you know that?” he said, a concerned look crossing his face.
“Don’t give me that look,” exclaimed Connor, taking a drink of his beer. “I’ll be fine.”
“It’s the city,” said Doug, his face turning serious. “This isn’t a simple run down Trooper Road or anything. It’s the freaking city! By my estimate, there are a solid 600,000 zombies roaming that place!”
“Probably more like 750,000,” Conner said smiling.
“Very funny, butt munch,” said Doug, attempting to slap his friend.
Connor easily blocked it, laughing as he did.
The city of Philadelphia provided a deadly situation with the zombies. Generally speaking, the zombie swarms within the larger cities would eventually start to spread out to some degree, thinning out the center city population. But Philadelphia was different. With the Schuylkill River to the west, the Delaware River to the east, and the two rivers meeting to the south, the city provided only one direction for the zombies to go, and that was north. But the majority of the undead population stayed contained within the banks of the river, with only a small amount escaping to the north. The city had a population of around 1.5 million people when the apocalypse struck, and Connor estimated that maybe thirty percent of the population had escaped alive. That meant there were upwards of one million zombies in the city after the initial outbreak, with an estimated 250,000 undead finding their way north over the last year.
“Really, Doug, I’ll be fine. You know me.”
“It’s not you I’m worried about,” he replied. “It’s the 750,000 hungry undead that concern me”.
Connor simply shrugged his shoulders and smiled as he took another drink of beer. Doug could only shake his head in frustration as the two sat in silence atop the protective wall.
The peaceful quiet was suddenly interrupted by the telltale birdcall that was used to relay a warning down the line of sentries. Exchanging glances, Connor stood, downing the last of his beer.
“I’ll go check it out,” he said.
Turning to his left, Connor walked quickly in the direction of the alarm, being careful to not make to much noise on the trailer wall. Rule #1 about guard duty was that you never ran on the wall, unless it was a dire emergency. The echoing footfalls were like gunshots and could easily attract an unwanted group of visitors.
Arriving at the next guard station, the woman pointed further down the line where two men at the corner guard station could be seen pointing into the darkness. Their frantic arm movements clearly indicated something was wrong, prompting Connor to break into a run.
Racing to the post, Connor saw why the alarm had sounded. In the distance, about 200 feet from the wall, was a group of four people, struggling to reach the gate. Two of the shapes were smaller, and one of the larger appeared to be injured. It was a family. Seeing what was behind the four shapes was what made Connor’s heart sink. No more than 50 feet behind them he could see the shapes of dozens of undead coming into view, and they were gaining on the family.
“Go get help!” Connor yelled.
Every corner guard tower had a rope ladder that was anchored to hooks on the top of the wall. In case of an emergency, a sentry could throw the ladder over the wall to provide assistance.
“Sir, it’s too late”.
The complex had rules, and the guards knew them well. If the situation was deemed hopeless, too dangerous, or could put the complex in jeopardy, they had to stay put. They could see that one of the four was injured, and bringing a potentially infected survivor into the complex was forbidden.
“Get help!” yelled Connor.
“But sir . . .”
“Screw this,” said Connor.
In the blink of an eye he was at the edge of the wall, jumping to the roof of the car below. Dropping to the ground, he pulled his katana, throwing the sheath to the side as he made a dead sprint for the family.
The first of the zombies were closing in as he neared the panic stricken family. Two small children cried as they clung to their mother, the woman struggling to pull her injured husband to safety.
“Leave him!” Connor shouted. “Save the children!”
The woman was in shock as she stared blankly back at Connor.
Turning back to the zombies, Connor screamed one last time as he turned to face the oncoming dead.
“GO!”
Blinking slowly, the woman failed to respond as she continued to pull her husband across the ground.
Just then, out of the darkness, Connor heard a familiar voice.
“I’ll get the kids! Cover me!”
It was Doug!
Racing forward, his friend grabbed the two small children in his arms and sprinted for the gate.
Connor turned to face the oncoming horde as dozens of flesh hungry undead descended upon him. The katana’s blade sliced through the air as the first of the zombies closed on him, its head flying from its body in a spray of putrid blood. In a flow of continuous motion, Connor cut down one after another of the undead in an effort to protect the remaining couple. Spinning to his right, he swung hard, severing an oncoming ghoul from shoulder to waist., the zombie falling in pieces to the ground. But for every zombie he dropped, two more appeared. There were just too many. They weren’t going to make it.
Backing up to the couple, he chanced a look down at the man who was kneeling on the ground. Blood poured from a viscous tear in his arm as his wife held him weakly in her arms. The wound was a death sentence. From the look of him, he had less than 10 minutes before he turned.
“They’re not losing both tonight,” Connor said through clenched teeth.
Grabbing the woman’s arm, he turned and ran, leaving the man kneeling before the oncoming swarm. The woman screamed and resisted, struggling to get back to her husband. Having no choice, Connor struck the woman in the head with the hilt of his sword, knocking her unconscious. Throwing her limp body over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry, he grabbed his sword and raced for the gate. Looking behind him, he could see the mass engulf the man, his screams of pain echoing across the field as he was torn to pieces.
As Connor approached the gate, the bus moved to the right and Doug came running out to his aid. Lowering the woman into his arms, Doug quickly carried her inside. Turning, Connor looked back across the field to where the father’s screams had faded. A pulsing mass of undead was clustered where the man had been, while others were following in Connors wake. A half-dozen zombies closed on his position, anxious to find an alternate meal.
Lowering his head, anger swelled inside of him as his grip on the sword turned his knuckles white.
“Connor! Get inside!”
The voice was Doug’s, but he barely heard it. It seemed miles away.
Raising his head, he walked slowly forward to meet the undead scourge, his eyes filled with rage. Approaching the first zombie, his sword moved like lightning, severin
g both legs of the hideous creature in one swing. The torso dropped to the ground, coming to rest on its arms. Kicking it in the chest, he knocked it on its back as he spun and sliced the arms from another. With systematic precision, he carved through the six zombies. Slicing limbs from body, he left nothing but bloody torsos lying in the grass, only their heads still attached. Standing among the dismembered bodies, he slowly turned, looking at each chomping face as it hopelessly tried to reach him.
Walking up to the closest, he knelt down, his face hovering inches above the abomination as it moaned in its desire to consume him.
“Not today, you son-of-a-bitch,” he said, as he pulled his knife and drove it deep into the skull.
Standing, he turned for the gate, only to see Doug standing a few feet away.
“You OK, buddy?” he asked, a mixture of worry and apprehension showing on his face.
“I’m going to bed,” was all Connor said as he walked past him, disappearing through the gate.