by Luke Duffy
“Yeah, we think they went through the sewers. There’s no way that they could’ve gone over land and through the streets. Not with the amount of activity in the area. If they have made it back to home ground, then I bet they went under the city.”
“Have you been down there?” Stan asked, already knowing that his question was redundant. Charlie and his team would undoubtedly have taken a look for themselves.
Charlie grinned at him, his face appearing demonic in the flickering light of the two small candles that provided the only illumination within the hut. He reached up and scratched at his head with one of his shovel sized hands.
“You know me, Stan. I’ve climbed Everest twice and walked to the North Pole. I can never shy away from an adventure. So yeah, we’ve been down there.” He turned to one of his men who was squatting in the corner and huddled around a small camping stove. “Pass me that map we made will you, Nobby? And how’s the brews coming along?”
“Few more minutes,” the man replied.
Without taking his attention away from his task of boiling up some water, Nobby reached into his pocket and tossed a piece of folded paper over to where the others were sitting.
Charlie opened it up and spread it out over the ground between him and Stan, displaying a sketch of the route they had taken beneath the city. Distances and directions were clearly marked, and each junction was labelled with a number. Detailed descriptions of the route and turnings were written beneath, giving a step by step guide on how to navigate through the sewage systems. The team leaned in for a closer look.
“It’s a lot safer than running about on the surface,” Charlie added, as Stan began studying the map. “We ran into a few pus-sacks along the way, but nothing that could be deemed as a major problem. I think they sent a few of their own guys down there, too. We heard some shooting when we were on our way back.”
“Do you think we could get them all out through the tunnels?” Kyle asked, referring to the people within the base.
“I don’t see why not,” Charlie replied with an enthusiastic nod. “As long as we have the route covered with a few teams in advance of the main group, I reckon we could safely get them through. The streets are teeming with the dead, and this is the only real option that we’ve been able to identify.”
“But you said you ran into some of the infected down there and that you heard shooting,” Bull observed.
“Still easier than going over ground and through the city. You should see what it’s like up top, mate. Even the rats are staying in the drains.”
“What about exit points?” Taff asked.
“Here,” Charlie replied, leaning across and tapping a point on the sketch. He reached into his own pocket and pulled out an old ordinance survey map of the area. “Their way into the sewage system is right next to the tunnel they built leading into their base. They can get into the sewers without having to expose themselves above ground. I’m not sure why they never used that option in the past, but I’m assuming that they must’ve looked at it and decided against it for whatever reason.”
“Makes sense,” Taff shrugged. “I wouldn’t be overly keen on roaming around down there if I didn’t need to.”
“Well, they need to now,” the veteran mumbled.
“We got into the sewers at this point,” Charlie continued, showing them an area on the map that indicated a river of some sort. “It’s an outflow into an old canal that leads to the sewage works five kilometres further south. Now that we know the exact route beneath the built-up area, I reckon we could cover it in about two and a half hours.”
“What’s the distance from the entry point to the exit?” Taff asked, already working out his own time appreciation, and attempting to take into account the number of people involved.
“Just over seven kilometres.”
Taff looked at Stan with an expression of doubt. It was a long way for them to travel with a large group of frightened civilians—including children and elderly. With a column of that length, and with so many potential problems, he doubted that things would go smoothly. The sewers would be dark with relatively narrow passageways. He was certain that not everyone would be comfortable carrying out an exodus through such a cramped, claustrophobic and unnerving environment.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Charlie sighed when he saw the silent passage of information between Stan and Taff. “Yes, it’s a big risk with endless possibilities of turning into a gang-fuck, but if we want to help them, then this is the best way. Trust me, we’ve been here a while, and there’s no other way of getting them out of there.”
“It’s not possibilities, Charlie,” Kyle huffed as he shifted his weight on his haunches. His legs were starting to ache, and he was beginning to feel irritated. “It’s probabilities. The moment we get them down there, they’ll start to flap. At best, we’ll get two or three of them abreast in the tunnels with a huge snake of terrified people spread out behind us. Add to that the fact that some will struggle physically, let alone the psychological difficulties, and especially the kids and the weak. Then, if we bump into anything down there and they panic, it’ll be like trying to herd wet cats with a fucking flamethrower.”
“Why are you always so negative?” Nobby asked rhetorically from the corner.
By now he was holding a metal mug filled with black coffee, and dipping his grubby finger into the liquid to test the temperature before lifting it to his lips.
Kyle turned around to look at him. He had never gotten along with Nobby. Since the day he had come aboard the ferry with Charlie’s group they had been at odds. Nobby always presented himself as an optimist, whereas Kyle considered himself as a realist, but sometimes viewed by others as a pessimist.
“Negative?” he huffed.
He did not doubt Nobby’s ability as a soldier, but he feared that his overly positive attitude would at some point either result in people being killed, or that there was an ulterior motive behind his outlook. The veteran knew that the latter was highly unlikely, especially since they had been part of the same group for many years now, and there had never been any evidence of Nobby being anything other than just a decent man. Nobby kept his attention fixed on his cup, and Kyle turned back to Stan.
“It’s nothing to do with being negative. It’s all to do with our own survival, mate. I said it on the ferry, and I’ll say it again; we shouldn’t be risking our own lives for a bunch of strangers that could turn out to be nothing more than fucking baggage. That place is teeming with those things. Do you remember London?”
He paused for a moment. Everyone remembered the failed attack as though it had only happened the day before. Anyone who had been involved in the action could never forget the horrors of what had happened in London. Thousands of men and women had been slaughtered due to ill-conceived planning and amateurish strategic thinking. The team had lost one of their own, Marty, in the action.
“After my unit was wiped out, I joined your group of misfits because I thought you were my best chance at staying alive, not because I thought you were all great guys and fun to be around. We’ve managed to survive for this long, but going down into that city could get us all fucked without lube and without respect in the morning. We owe them nothing, and we need to look out for ourselves in this.”
“What do you suggest?” Stan asked. “We just turn around and head home? Should we just leave them to it? I’m not here on a humanitarian mission or for the fun of it. We need them as much as they need us.”
“I don’t mean that we bug out. But we let them do their own ground work. Get comms with them, give them a heads up, and leave them to it. We’ll support them if we can, but they take all the risks.”
“We can’t just sit back and watch, but I also agree with some of what Kyle’s saying,” Taff grunted.
“So do I,” Stan concurred in an irritated voice. “We’re taking as little risk as possible. That’s why we’re going underground. If they become a burden, we’ll cut them loose, and extract ourselves. Will
that satisfy you?”
“I suppose,” Taff replied with a cock of his head.
Stan turned to look at the veteran and began to speak in a low voice.
“But understand this. We can’t get our ship to move, but they possibly can. If we don’t get the people we need, then we’re just as far up shit creek as they are. There’s no getting around that fact. We’re going in there, Kyle, and that’s that.”
Kyle could see that Stan’s body language was beginning to change. He knew that it would be unwise to push the issue any further. He was confident that their commander would place the safety of his own team first, and he felt satisfied now that Stan had clarified that fact. He had voiced his concerns, and to continue voicing them could be detrimental to his own welfare.
He nodded his acceptance of the plan.
“What about when, or if, we get them through the sewers?” Bull asked. “What do we do then? Walk all the way home?”
“Like Stan just confirmed, we’re not here to hold their hands,” Charlie grunted impatiently. “We’ve recced a route out for them. The exit from the sewers is in a pretty remote area and should give us enough breathing space to get things organised again once that we’re clear. If they have even the slightest idea of what they’re doing, then I’d imagine that they have their own plan for an escape. I suggest we speak to them and find out what that plan is. And that means going down there.”
“See,” Bull grinned at the veteran. “There’s just no getting around it, mate.”
13
The constant trickle and drip of water filled the narrow caverns, carried for long distances by the acoustics of the vaulted ceilings. The wind filtering through the many openings moaned lightly, carrying the dank and stifling odour of rot along with it as it wisped through the sewers.
Al was doing his best to tread lightly, but it was not an easy thing to accomplish. Down in the sewers it was akin to negotiating through an obstacle course blindfolded. There was all manner of debris scattered throughout the tunnels, and the slightest sound made from a careless step would reverberate for great distances.
Despite Tina’s orders, he and Greg had decided to search again for a route out through the subterranean maze. They had waited for long enough, allowing enough time to pass, and hopefully ensuring that any infected down there had dispersed. It was the early hours of the morning now, and they had crept out through the tunnel with the aid of Flash. The young man had wanted to go with them, but Al had insisted that he remain behind to man the door and be ready to let them back in.
Al knew that Tina would have plenty to say over the matter, but he was beyond caring now, and the situation was becoming too desperate to accommodate excessive prudence. She was a cautious leader and never one to make a hasty decision, and always considering every possibility before going forward with a plan of action.
Al, however, was bold and daring, and always had been. Some even considered him as reckless at times. He was a man who acted on instinct, willing to take great risks if there was much to be gained from success. Rarely did he hold anything in reserve and tended to throw everything he had into the fray, ignoring any voice of caution that spoke to him from within his own mind. He was well aware of the inherent flaws of such a mind-set. A failure could result in the loss of everything, including the lives of the people around him.
It was for those same reasons that he admitted he was never cut out to lead a force much bigger than a fighting section of eight troops; maybe a platoon at a push. He was a brilliant soldier and tactician at the lower levels, but commanding larger units made him feel out of his depth and with too many moving parts to consider. His first instinct was always to go forward aggressively and with full force. As a result, he had never felt comfortable being the man that everyone in the base turned to during a crisis. Getting shot in the head and allowing Tina the chance to step in and prove herself as an extremely competent and level headed leader had been a blessing in disguise for him.
It was dark, and the tiny lights that he and Greg had fitted to the barrels of their rifles were barely sufficient enough to allow them to see where they were going. Despite the cold on the surface, the atmosphere in the sewers seemed overly humid, causing him to sweat excessively. Every fifty metres or so they needed to stop and listen, wiping the perspiration from their eyes, and using their sense of smell and hearing to show them the way. They had been down there for well over an hour following the route that Al and Tommy had taken after meeting the reclusive Frank a couple of days before. Every sound made them freeze, and it was a test of their nerves to remain composed in the pitch black, resisting the temptation to fire at the multitude of threats they perceived from every quarter.
They could hear the hollow wails of the dead drifting through the channels of the sewers, but it was always impossible to tell where they were or how far. With every sound they would stop, dropping down low, and cocking their ears into the direction where they thought the noise had come from while attempting to judge whether or not it was wise to continue.
There were a number of bodies down there floating along in the filthy water that slowly flowed through the centre of the tunnels. The stink was almost unbearable as the decomposing carcasses of human beings became lodged and tangled within the wreckage and lay there rotting away for years on end. In some places the ground was completely dry, while in others they needed to wade through thigh deep filth with all kinds of stomach churning debris floating around on the lazy current.
Then there were the rats. They were everywhere. Burrowing holes in the walls, scurrying through gutters and grills, and swimming alongside of Al and Greg, squealing when they were startled by the men’s movements. On occasion, some of the screeching vermin dropped from the pipes and the manholes interspersed along the ceiling, splashing into the water and causing the two soldiers to almost jump from their skins with fright. Al was almost wishing for them to be attacked. At least it would release the tension.
“Take a left at this next junction,” Greg whispered over Al’s shoulder when he stopped to check his map.
Al moved forward again, carefully edging his way towards the corner of the brickwork. He stopped and listened, turning off his light and placing his hand out behind him to prevent Greg from bumping into him. Something was moving around just beyond the corner. He could hear it wading through the water and slowly making its way closer to the junction. It was definitely not a rat; he was sure of that. It sounded too big, displacing too much water to be anything smaller than a human being.
He waited for a moment, trying to identify whether there were more of them approaching, but he could only hear the rhythmic swish of two limbs being dragged through the water, or at least he thought he could. After a short while he felt confident that it was a lone body lost in the tunnels and wandering mindlessly through the darkness. When it sounded as though it was only a few metres away, Al switched on his torch again, and stepped beyond the junction. His narrow light flitted from one wall to the next, trying to identify the approaching body before it came too close.
The beam passed over a figure that was standing in the centre of the curved tunnel. It too stopped in its tracks when it detected movement up ahead of it. It was little more than a collection of grey rags and greenish slimy flesh shrunken over bone that jutted out through the skin in places. Judging by its appearance, Al guessed that it had been down there for quite some time and becoming saturated and waterlogged by the constant moisture. It looked directly into the faint glow of Al’s light, mesmerised by its movements, reaching out with its fingers, and rasping a curious grunt.
Al kept the light pointed into its face as he moved forward, keeping the infected woman hypnotised by the strange illumination that was fighting its way through the total blackness. She had no idea that there was a living man on the other side of the light, or that her existence was about to come to an abrupt end. She swayed with the movement of the light, the few strands of her remaining hair sweeping across her rotted face as he
r vacant eyes remained locked upon the glowing wonder.
There was a flash as Al’s knife was momentarily caught in the beam, but there was no time for the woman’s corpse to react. The blade punched through her eye in an instant as Al lunged. Her head was forced backwards, her feet slipping from under her as he drove the shaft deep into her skull. With a loud splash, she landed in the water, falling away from the knife and becoming just another body that would drift along on the current until it became lodged in one of the many grills throughout the stinking catacombs.
They continued forward, following the map until they reached the point where Al and Tommy had departed from the man who had saved them from the hordes of infected on the surface. They stopped and looked around, checking their bearings and taking advantage of the quiet. Maintaining stealth and moving slowly while concentrating on their noise output and where they were placing their feet was hard to maintain for long periods, especially in such conditions. It was exhausting both mentally and physically.
“That’s where Frank used to live,” Al whispered, indicating the damp steps to their left and illuminating the door with his light.
“You think it could be worth having a look up there?” Greg asked.
“No. The place got overrun. We well and truly fucked it up for him.”
He wondered if the infected that had stormed the building had managed to reach the cellar. The gates and other defences that were in place seemed strong, but Frank had been positive that they would eventually come crashing through the stairs. It was pointless even considering going up there. There was nothing to be gained from such a risky venture.
“Yeah,” Al repeated thoughtfully, still shining his light over the door. “We really did ruin that poor guy’s day.”
By Al’s estimates, they had travelled over three kilometres through the tunnels. He knew that they were generally headed north, and that right now they were right beneath the city centre. He would not even consider searching for an exit and leaving the sewers just yet. There were hundreds of thousands of the dead directly above their heads swarming through the streets and buildings. To climb to the surface now would be a death sentence.