LZR-1143 (Book 4): Desolation

by Bryan James

  I was on the right path. These had both been raided. I must be getting closer to people.

  The corridor extended deep into the dam, stretching out and curving slightly to the right, keeping the visibility low, to about thirty feet.

  Then I caught the sound again. I angled the light toward the bend, trying to catch a sight of the person or thing making the noise, but nothing was there.

  High above, the sudden clamor of a heavy metal door being swung open echoed in the confined space.

  So that lasted a full ten minutes, did it?

  I hoped that it was Ethan and Rhi, but in my heart I suspected otherwise. Somehow those things had found me.

  Playing the light against the walls and staying to the side of the passage, I moved carefully past the first open door to my left, scanning it quickly and taking in the machinery before continuing on. The entire complex on these levels appeared to be mechanical. Pipes and conduits ran the length of the ceiling, and large industrial instruction posters lined the walls. Doorways were marked obscurely with rooms like “PumpLock12E” and “GravFeedGH.”

  I could have been in a gynecologist’s office for all I knew. Everything looked foreign and difficult to understand, much less control or manipulate.

  The sound of movement in the water hit my ears again, and I turned quickly, scanning the hallway again.

  This time it was closer.

  But how was that possible?

  I looked for areas where the water was disturbed, but there were multiple eddies and swirls along the dark passage. Places where the water ran into smaller rooms. Where it drained into holes in the foundation.

  I stopped moving as my foot hit an obstruction beneath the surface, and I pulled back, standing still for a moment.

  The sound came again, closer still. Nearly on top of me.

  Jesus, what the hell?

  There was nothing here! Was I actually going insane?

  The walls were feeling closer and tighter, and as I heard the water rushing in from further along the corridor, I began to feel constricted and lost—there were millions of pounds of concrete above me. Between me and the air.

  The water exploded next to me as two hands shot out from under the surface, latching on to my legs in a death grip and pulling me off balance. The rifle slipped from my grip as I turned heavily into the wall, then toppled into the water.

  ***

  The frantic hands were slippery and pieces of skin and chunks of flesh came off in my hands as I wrestled the creature under the water. Its head thrust to the surface, lined faced marred by multiple spots of deep rot, showing bone beneath the age-darkened skin. It was wearing the uniform of a maintenance worker, the name “Jeff” stenciled in red inside a white logo and I pushed back on the thing’s chest as it slipped on something beneath the surface. Clambering back quickly on all fours, I grasped for the rifle beneath the water.

  The zombie regrouped, pulling itself forward on its two arms. As it splashed ahead, I saw why it wasn’t standing—both legs had been removed above the knees by something sharp. The cuts were precise and clean—you know, other than the strips of flesh and tattered skin hanging from the thing’s quadriceps.

  But standards are much lower nowadays for such things.

  My hand found the stock of the carbine as it scrabbled for my feet. I quickly stood, pulling the gun out of the water as my boot found the creature’s skull with a powerful kick. The sound of cracking bone ended the struggle as I took a deep breath.

  This was not the way to safety or to survivors and whoever had come in before me had not come this way.

  This thing had been down here for a while, and if there had been anyone else through here, it would have made more noise.

  That meant going back upstairs.

  Back up to where I could now hear the movement of many feet in the confined area.

  Back up to where I would have to fight through more of those things to follow the trail of blood that might have been left by my new friends.

  Sometimes it didn’t pay to roll out of your cold, hard bed in the morning.

  Switching off the flashlight, I took the stairs slowly, careful not to make hard footfalls on the metal as I scaled the several flights back up. My breath came in short bursts as I listened to the gathered undead roaming the halls. Peeking my head around the edge of the landing, I saw the crowd of creatures outlined by the light of the wide open doorway. There were at least twenty. Where they came from I had no idea, but with the down fencing and the shattered door frames, Ethan and Rhi were right—this place was about as secure as a dead squirrel on a hillbilly highway.

  The large group had meandered almost to the stairs and I was preparing myself to fight my way through the group when I heard the clatter of footfalls from above.

  I cursed, trying to determine my best route if I was going to be hemmed in from both sides.

  The bright light of intense flame blasted through my eyes and I slammed them shut, raising my hands to my face as a burst of fire shot from the landing above.

  Dozens of creatures moaned in confusion as their eyes were instantly vaporized by the intense heat. Skin crackled and roared under the onslaught and I listened as the bodies above began slamming into the walls and floor, blinded and weakened by the fire.

  As my eyes adjusted, I followed the stream of blazing death back to the source. A small form stood on the second step from the bottom, near the landing to the main floor. A large tube extended out from the individual’s hands, more tubing leading to a five gallon drum of liquid.

  Zombies continued to lurch forward, braving the fire as they sensed a human presence on the other side of the wall of flame. The stream continued to oscillate from side to side, bringing a thick, acrid black smoke that began to fill the narrow passage and filter back up into the stairwell. I saw that, while the weapon was effective, it was not going to hold them all back. They were staggering through the flame, and there were too many. The smoke would eventually work to our disadvantage and if there was no ventilation higher up, we could be killing ourselves.

  I bolted to the top of the stairs, braving the stream of fire and locking eyes with a small boy, possibly all of nine years old, who stood strong and fast, training the weapon on the zombies behind me like a professional firefighter. His face was hidden by an over-sized gas mask, and his clothes were several sizes too large underneath a heavy overcoat. Thick glasses stood out underneath the plastic cover of the mask.

  I moved past the child to the stairwell behind and began taking clear shots, dropping several flaming creatures in quick succession. The wall of fire and smoke was almost too thick already. I fired again, aiming for a dense shadow in the smoke. Another shot ricocheted loudly off the wall as it went wide. My flashlight cut through the smoke like a beacon, and I watched as the creatures followed the flame and the light. More were now streaming in from the open door.

  “We have to go!” I yelled at the boy, watching as he stopped pouring death into the passage and stared around the floor, almost as if stunned at the damage he had caused. He looked up at me briefly and nodded, trying to hoist the tube and canister contraption with him.

  “No, I have a better idea,” I said, pulling him up and pushing him to the next landing. I grabbed the five gallon drum and removed the tube and cap. Watching as the beasts poured through the flames and smoke, stumbling in confusion in the thick pall of fire and ash, I located an opening in the crowd. I threw the jug, and dove for the cover of the stairwell, bolted up several steps and around the corner, where the child waited, eyes wide underneath the mask.

  “What…” he began, but I didn’t have time. I simply flattened him to the ground as the building shook with the detonation, and the fuel erupted in the tunnel below.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Greetings, salutations, and goodbyes...

  My ears felt like they were bleeding from the concussive force of the explosion in the tunnel below. I shook my head slowly, hoping to regain some awareness as the
smoke and dust and debris filtered up into the hallway to which we had fled. The small body below me squirmed, and I sat back against the wall, watching the stairs.

  All that approached was smoke and dust. A lot of it.

  I think I brought the ceiling down.

  Well, that was one way to close the door.

  “Stay here,” I said to the kid, coughing through the smoke as I went to the landing between floors, listened briefly for moans, then flicked on my light. It cut through the darkness like a sword, illuminating squirming bodies under fallen rock and cement, exposed wiring and rebar, and zero daylight. A large pile of rubble stood between the stairs and the doorway, only twenty feet down the passage.

  “Yeah, that’s not good,” a small muffled voice said behind me. I turned to see the boy squatting on the landing above me. “You know that’s our only door, right?”

  No, Mr. Smartypants, I’m new here.

  I’m from the government and I’m here to help, I wanted to say.

  But he wouldn’t get that one, so I decided for the less flashy retort.

  “Uh…no, I didn’t … I mean, I wasn’t …”

  He rose, waving the smoke away in front of his face.

  “Come on, we need to talk to the group,” was all he said, mounting the stairs.

  “Hey, did Rhi and Ethan make it back? With Romeo? I saw the blood down here, and I thought maybe …”

  He turned and nodded, taking a right and winding his way up one more flight of stairs. A sign read “Main Controls” and he followed the hallway deeper into the dam, until we were at least halfway through the building. He spoke as we walked, removing his mask as the smoke faded behind us. He had a shock of flaming red hair and two very bright green eyes that were like emeralds shining out of the coal mine that was his smoke-covered face. His voice was oddly monotonous, with very little inflection.

  “They got here about thirty minutes ago, and they said you were on your way. They thought. Although they said you tried real hard to get yourself killed down there. Is that true? Did you really try to kill yourself?”

  I laughed until I realized he wasn’t joking.

  “No, kid. I made some … miscalculations. They resulted in sub-optimal circumstances that I had to adjust on a contingency basis.” There. That made it sound better than “I screwed the pooch.”

  “Okay,” he said, nodding as if that was the most normal answer in the world. “Anyway, Ethan caught a ricochet while they were coming down off the trail, and they had to come in quick. Couldn’t wait for you on account of the blood. He was hurt pretty bad. They said those things were on the trail behind them and they managed to block ‘em off with some downed trees.”

  He turned to me curiously.

  “How come you didn’t close the door behind you?”

  “I did. They must have pushed it open.”

  “Oh. Makes sense,” he said, matter-of-factly. His voice was still calm and unflustered.

  Interesting kid.

  “So what were you doing down there? Aren’t you a little young for heroics like that?”

  He shrugged.

  “Maybe,” he answered honestly. “I was curious as to whether you’d show, and I’ve been playing with this idea I read about in a book. So I kinda … snuck out and …”

  “You snuck out? You mean your mom and dad don’t know you’re here?”

  He shook his head, the simple act failing to betray any hint of sadness or regret.

  “They’re dead,” he said emotionlessly. “But the rest of the group…they were fussing over Ethan, and I was able to slip out with my flamethrower, no problem.”

  He moved right past that dead parents thing, didn’t he? I supposed that was the way of the world now—the way that kids had to deal with those realities. Ky certainly carried that pain with her. She didn’t talk about it much, but I knew. I’m sure he held that pain in the same place—carrying it high and tight. Because if you let the weight of it fall on you, you’d never get back up again.

  “Your flamethrower, huh? I’m sure whoever built that was happy you made use of it, but you still should have told them you were leaving.”

  He ignored the last part, simply clarifying.

  “It was mine. That was my idea that I wanted to try. I built it.” He found the door he was looking for and pushed it open quietly. The hollow sound of the metal door opening echoed in the empty hallway. Somewhere far away, a single stream of water dripped constantly.

  “You built …?” I was interrupted as the glow of warm candlelight and fluorescent lamp light streamed into the hallway.

  The door opened outward, and as we entered the large room, I realized that the camp had been set in one of the largest rooms that must exist in the dam. The entryway was simply a metal platform that dropped off to the right into a stairwell leading to the concrete floor. Multiple computer terminals—dead of course—sat in rows at desks facing a large screen. Giant dials and readouts lined the sides of the room, and a large office sat in the rear, separated from the rest of the workspace by a large pane of glass. The smell of long-unwashed people, old smoke, and dank, musty building mixed together for an unpalatable experience—even after the smoke and exploding zombies.

  A flurry of curses and clanging of weapons filtered up from the ground as we closed the door behind us.

  “Eli!” Rhi’s voice was both relieved and angry, as it cut through the chaos and I saw her sturdy face appear from the small huddle of people talking animatedly in the corner of the room.

  “Child!” her voice was exasperated, as if this had happened before. I had no doubt that it had, especially watching his not-overly-chastised countenance as she ascended the stairs. Her look caused me to back up a little, and I wasn’t even the target of the wrath.

  “I have told you boy, you do not leave the group unless someone is with you. Jesus Christ, if I had a belt I would use it on your willful rear.”

  Her eyes came up to me and she nodded, face softening somewhat.

  “Mike, we’re glad you made it. Sorry about the plan—we watched you long enough to see your idea go sideways, then a bunch of those things found us on the trail. Damnedest thing too—they almost never take out to the wilderness like that in small groups. Musta been stirred up by the quakes and water and such. Ethan caught a stray bullet when we were fightin’ them off and we had to move quickly.” She made a face. “Well, as quickly as us old folks can.”

  She waved a hand in my face and gestured down, putting her arm around Eli’s shoulders and walking him down the stairs.

  “Christ, child. You smell like shit. What have you been in to?”

  “Zombie barbecue,” I quipped, almost running into them as she stopped and stared at the boy.

  “You took that contraption out? And it worked?” She laughed and shook her head. “I swear, boy, if you weren’t someone else’s child … I suppose you used the last of our fuel,” she added, a slight edge to her voice.

  “I didn’t have anything else to use,” he shrugged, matter-of-factly.

  “Uh-huh,” she said, reaching the ground floor two steps ahead of me. “If we weren’t plum out of vehicles, I might be more angry,” Rhi said under her breath.

  A middle-aged woman burst from the group to take Eli by the shoulders and admonish him a second time, this time in animated and energetic Spanish.

  “We had just realized he snuck away,” said Rhi, gesturing at the adults with a variety of meager weapons on their shoulders and hips. “He slipped away while we were attending to Ethan…” she began, but I held a hand up.

  “I understand. Truth be told, he may have saved my life. I took a wrong turn on my way in here, and went down instead of up. Those things busted in and almost cut me off. I was getting ready to fight a losing fight up there.”

  I laughed as Romeo barreled out of the crowd and found my hand, taking it in his mouth with glee. I bent down and tapped my shoulders, and he put his paws on either side of my head for a huge hug. His tongue made its way
to an ear and I laughed, pushing him down and rubbing his head as I followed Rhi.

  She lowered her voice slightly as the others in the group began to make their way over slowly.

  “He’s a special boy. Smart as all get-out, observant. But no sense. He will walk into a room of those things, or slip away with no one watching. Don’t know if it’s trauma from his folks, or he’s a little off or what.” She shook her head as if to clear the air.

  “Anyway, let me introduce you to our small group,” she turned to meet the men and women tentatively approaching.

  “First the most important. That there is Margaret, she’s six and a half. Davey over there is Margaret’s sister, and he’s all of eight. Baby Tommy is over there with Susan—hi Susan, wave over, there you go—and Reggie here is Margaret and Davey’s dad.” She lowered her voice slightly. “Their mom didn’t make it. An accident before we met them.”

  Mike took Reggie’s hand, feeling the callouses of a day laborer. Reggie was nearly six feet tall and large across the shoulders. A beer belly protruded slightly over his worn belt, and a Seahawks cap sat firmly planted on a thick shock of black hair. His dark complexion spoke of Hispanic heritage, but he spoke with no accent.

  “Pleasure Mr. McKnight,” he said, eyes slightly unbelieving. I nodded, appreciative of him not making a thing about my erstwhile celebrity.

  Rhi’s voice was less enthused as she gestured to the next couple in line. “This is Jean, and her husband Greg. They’re from Seattle.”

  Jean managed a wan smile, but Greg held back, eyes cautious and suspicious. She was average height and pretty, but lines of worry crossed her face. From her blue eyes to her dark brown hair, she had been ravaged by the times. Her dark blue shirt tucked into jeans above thick boots made for a stylish end-of-the-world ensemble, even if the whole thing was dirty and torn.

  Greg’s eyes narrowed as I took her in, clearly suspecting some amount of sleeze rather than a typical assessment of new company. Jeans under a thick leather jacket, with steel toed boots and a shotgun in one hand, he was the unshaven poster child for the weekend Harley crowd. Probably a doctor or a lawyer, I suspected. His dark, almost black, eyes were unblinking as they took me in from head to foot.