The Dead Walk The Earth II

by Luke Duffy

  “Do we have comms?”

  The corporal shook his head.

  “Their last sit-rep said that they were pulling out from their over-watch position due to the proximity of the airstrikes. I’ve heard nothing from them since but they were steadily moving in the opposite direction, away from the ground assault.”

  Samantha stood back and watched the screen for a moment. The beacons were not moving and it had been over an hour since they last updated. The bio readouts indicated that all six members of Stan’s group were still alive and well. She studied the red blips and traced the route that they had been moving along. They were headed away from the lines on a general bearing of northeast through the city. She was trying to place herself into their shoes and attempting to anticipate Stan’s intentions.

  “There’s a reason that they’re there. They don’t do anything without knowing what their next move is and it’s up to us to know what that move will be.”

  There was something that she was not seeing. She took a step closer and leaned in over the shoulder of the corporal and studied the map overlay displayed on his computer screen. The six red dots were clustered within a prominent junction on the south side of the river and roughly two kilometres inland from the southern bank. She reached across and zoomed in on the map. Again, she racked her brain and studied the ground where Stan and his men had last been seen. They were too far away from the front line to expect a helicopter extraction and besides, she suspected that they were no longer in that area and the signal was just a ghost of their last transponder update.

  “Where the fuck are you, Stan? Where are you leading us?” She grumbled, rhetorically.

  She shook her head and thrummed her fingers against the desk for a while as she studied the map. Then she saw it.

  “Get hold of Werner,” she said urgently and patting her hand down hard on the corporal’s shoulder. “And get me a map of the London tube stations.”

  Gerry looked across to her from amidst the frantic activity of the command staff around him and their anxious voices as they attempted to control the withdrawal.

  “They’re heading for the river,” Samantha said with a nod of confidence as she reached into her pocket and began lighting yet another cigarette. “Those crazy bastards…, they’ve gone underground.”

  21

  While the battle continued to rage in the streets above, the team and the remains of the militia platoon moved deeper underground. Visibility was down to almost nothing and they relied on their dancing flashlight beams and night vision goggles to expose any danger lurking in the darkness. The booms of the high explosives continued to vibrate through the foundations of the city, shaking the walls of the tunnels beneath and dislodging clumps of masonry as London struggled to withstand the ferocious bombardments.

  Stan and his men, wearing their NVGs, led the way down through the dark subway station. Danny was being helped along by Taff while the others fanned out ahead and swept their weapons from side to side, clearing their path as they went while the militia, under the command of the veteran, brought up the rear. The dark basement of London resounded with the fear filled heavy breathing of the survivors.

  The ground was covered with the skeletal remains of hundreds of unfortunate victims of the plague. Those travelling through the underground rail networks had been easy prey for the infected when they overran the city. They were trapped and soon became easily disorientated as they fled through the tunnels in panic, searching for the exits. Many never made it out as terror spread and people fought for their own survival. The youngest and oldest were the most vulnerable and as the commuters scrambled for safety, the frail were abandoned or pushed to the side. The infected quickly found the weak and fell upon them. Now their bones carpeted the cold floors and were being trodden on by the living as they too attempted to escape from the city.

  Further in, as Stan led them in what he believed to be the general direction of the river, they found themselves in water that had risen up to their knees. Since the power had failed, the pumps had ceased to work and now the River Thames was gradually flooding into the maze of tunnels that criss-crossed beneath the city. The subways reeked of sewage and human decomposition, mixed with the pungent smells of oil and mildew. Already, the survivors were beginning to feel as though they were suffocating and craved the far from clean air that was above ground.

  “What the fuck are we doing down here?” Danny whispered rhetorically through pain gritted teeth as he held on to Taff’s shoulder and limped through the filthy water.

  The painkillers that Bobby had supplied him with were beginning to wear off. Each and every step now shot excruciating pain up through his broken bones and along the length of his body and the network of his nervous system. The agony sent him in to minor convulsions that made his body twitch each time he placed his weight upon his damaged legs. Every stride forced a surge of hurt that rocketed up to his brain with an almost electrifying zap.

  “Trying to find a way out, mate,” Taff replied as he kept his eyes on Stan and the men in front of them. Their shapes glowed bright green against a backdrop of black through his NVGs. “How you doing, Dan?”

  “I won’t be doing any breakdancing for a while.”

  Behind them the sound of sloshing water rippled through the tunnels as the five civilian troops, led by the veteran and two regular soldiers covering the rear, waded their way through the subterranean river of noxious water. Their lights flickered continuously as they nervously checked in every direction and peered into every corner.

  The walls of the subways were still adorned with framed posters advertising theatre shows and fast-food restaurants amongst sign-posts giving directions to the various platforms and parts of the stations. Globs of dried blood covered the white tiled walls in vast smears while putrefied and bloated corpses drifted along like flotsam on the gentle currents that flowed through the tube networks. Turnstiles and rail guard boxes sat broken and empty and machines that had once dispensed snacks and train tickets loomed out of the darkness like the rusting hulks of robots that had long since ceased to function.

  On the surface, Stan and his followers had been left with no choice but to venture into the depths of the city’s subways. It was impossible to guess where they had come from but the streets around the river were crammed with the corpses of the living dead. They were all headed for the sounds of the battle in the south and there was no way that Stan and his men could have circumnavigated around them. Finding a hiding place was out of the question. Due to their sheer numbers, it could be a long time before the area was clear enough for them to continue their journey.

  Some of his men were wounded and needed medical attention and the civilians were at the point where their nerves were so tautly stretched, it would not take much pressured to cause them to snap. Hiding whilst surrounded by thousands of infected would result in a number of mental breakdowns, Stan reasoned.

  They needed to reach the Thames and prayed that Captain Werner and his crew were still somewhere within the river. Stan had surmised that the staff of the Operations Room would be monitoring their movements and hoped that Samantha would be able to guess correctly where they were heading. The satellite phone had proven useless in making contact with their command staff and Stan suspected that it had been damaged during the bombing of the factory. The TACBE was also proving to be just as ineffective. Despite repeated attempts, the pilots were either not hearing him due to range or equipment failure, or they were just too busy trying to stabilise the faltering front lines. As a consequence, Stan needed to rely upon the intelligence and anticipation of the men and women that were controlling the operation from the Isle of Wight. If that failed and Werner and the U-boat was nowhere to be found once they reached the river, they would have to attempt to find their own craft to carry them away from the deadly shores of the mainland.

  A bloody rowing boat would do, Stan whispered internally.

  Bull and Marty, carrying the Minimis and wielding the greater firep
ower, had taken point. Up ahead they paused at an intersection. They stepped to the side, took up positions on either side of the curved tunnel, and poked their heads out into the open, clearing the passageways leading off to the left and right.

  Stan directed them to move into the passage that led them on a general bearing eastwards. He was navigating by dead reckoning and following the faded and waterlogged London underground tourist map he had found discarded and floating amongst the wreckage. It was hard to be one-hundred percent sure of exactly where they were and many of the signs were faded with rot and mould or had been burned in the fires that had spread through many of the stations during the outbreak. He was relying on his own built-in compass and estimations of distance from his pacing.

  Further along, they stepped out from the narrow confines of the tunnel and onto one of the station platforms. An abandoned train, its windows smashed and its doors forced open, sat silently resting on its flooded rails. Blood was smeared over many of its interior surfaces and around its doors, and piles of discarded baggage and clothing lay strewn over the seats. The water had reached high enough to flood the floor of the carriages and a steady brook flowed through the train, carrying debris and body parts out over the platforms.

  Bull raised his hand and signalled for everyone to remain still and quiet. The sound of trickling water could be heard echoing through the tunnels as the Thames pushed through the ground and rivulets sprang from the cracks between the tiles. Amongst the drips and streams, heavier splashes could be heard coming from within the train. They were getting louder and all lights were turned and pointed towards the direction of the open set of sliding doors in the nearest carriage. As Bull and Marty pushed to the left and right to cover either end of the platform with their machineguns, Bobby crept forward with Stan backing him.

  Their rifle and sub-machinegun barrels entered into the carriage ahead of them, aiming into the corners as the two men cleared the entranceway into the compartment and then searched further along the rows of seats.

  “Stan,” Bobby whispered and indicated something in front of him.

  Through the green hue of their night vision goggles, the shape that was slowly making its way along the floor towards them was hard to make out. It awkwardly dragged itself through the murky water and towards the bright light beams it could see shining through the broken carriage windows. They did not need to identify it to know what it was. The corpse had been cut or torn in half and its internal organs floated along behind it in a long trail like a string of grotesque and partially inflated balloons.

  It had been trapped down there in the train probably since the beginning, too badly damaged to be able to follow the others up to the surface as they rampaged through the streets and buildings, and feasted upon the population. Its body was bloated and waterlogged from months of floating about in the flooded train but now it was determinedly crawling towards the living men standing illuminated in the doorway by the shaky lights behind them.

  Stan stepped forward, pulling his long heavy blade from his belt. With a forceful chopping motion, he slammed it down against the back of the creatures head. Its face splashed down loudly in the water and the crunch of its skull was audible through the train as Stan’s machete extinguished the creature’s existence.

  They continued deeper into the city’s underground. They came across more of the infected, clambering blindly at the walls, rails, and blocked doorways in the pitch-blackness. At the sight of the militia’s lights, they always turned and began wading through the greasy black water, groaning and gnashing their teeth excitedly. The men in front dealt with them without needing to fire their weapons. Rifle butts, machetes, and knives were used to despatch the pathetic creatures that lurked within the dark.

  According to Stan’s pacing, they had covered a distance of roughly one-point-five kilometres through the dank subterranean atmosphere, stopping at various stations along the way, checking their position, and taking a tentative peek at what was happening on the surface. Each time the reports came back of mass crowds of infected still filling the streets.

  “Where are they all coming from? I thought the airstrikes were supposed to have wiped them out by now?” Taff asked, shaking his head in wonder.

  “There must be some bridges still intact enough to allow them to cross the river from the north. Unless they’ve learned how to swim?” The veteran replied. It was the only explanation that he could think of.

  By Stan’s judgement, they were now only a few hundred metres from the river’s edge. He looked at the faded map in his hands and suddenly realised where they were when he saw the name of the next station along. The significance of their approximate location was only just occurring to him because he had been too concentrated on heading for the river. They were not all that far from a site that they all knew well and with their general direction of travel, they were likely to pass close to a place from their past that had once helped to play a part in their current circumstances.

  They would need to find a point where they could surface soon or they would end up on the northern bank, an even more heavily crowded side of London. With all the noise in the south, it was only fair to assume that every corpse in the metropolis had headed for the riverside, packing the streets along that side of the Thames.

  They began to head eastwards as much as the tunnel systems would allow them to. Around them, the walls resounded with drips of water, the splash of feet, and the frightened heavy breathing of the militia. The distant ghostly wails of the dead that remained lost and trapped in the underground joined in on the haunting opera that clawed at the mental state of the survivors that were desperately searching for a way out.

  At a prominent fork in the tracks, the group turned off to the right and entered into a passageway that seemed to be separate from the rest of the subway tunnels. There were no rail tracks underfoot and it soon became apparent that they were steadily climbing along a gradual slope. Within one-hundred metres, the ground below them became dry as they continued along the strange corridor. As they pushed onwards, the shaft began to narrow. Gone were the tiles of the tube station walls and glitzy posters and advertisements. Now it was just bare concrete with thick steel supports jutting out at evenly spaced intervals.

  Eventually, they began to see glowing maintenance signs informing them that the way ahead was blocked and access beyond that point was strictly prohibited. Security signs also warned of cameras, guards, and prosecution for anyone caught trespassing. Further along they came to a large gate that lay open and showed the tell-tale signs of having been blasted with shaped explosive charges. To the right of the gate, there were an electronic key panel and a pad for biometric scanning.

  Stan ordered a halt and stared up at the frame of the gateway. It was strong and constructed with thick steel bars that were embedded deep into the walls of the tunnel. He was confident that the entrance way and the chasm beyond had nothing to do with London’s underground rail networks. The walls appeared to be relatively new and the gate, along with its security systems, was far too technologically advanced for it to have been in place for more than a few years. He stood and peered into the darkness beyond the entrance then checked his map. The tunnel was not marked on the tube station diagram, confirming to him that they were indeed at the location he had suspected they were headed towards earlier.

  Danny, seizing the opportunity, hobbled over to the wall and slid downwards with his back pressed against the concrete and taking the weight off his painful legs. Bobby crouched beside him and offered him another concoction of painkillers to take the edge off the agony he was suffering. Danny waved them away. His eyes were closed tight and his teeth were clenched together behind his curled lips.

  “No,” he gasped, “I can manage. I just need to rest, mate.”

  Bobby nodded and offered him something to drink. He took the time to check on how the makeshift casts were holding out and saw that they were sodden with water and beginning to fall apart. They had lost their rigidity and
were now nothing more than piles of mushy pulp that were wrapped around Danny’s battered legs.

  “Hey, you,” Bobby hissed across at the two regular soldiers that were attached to the militia platoon. “Find a couple of able bodies amongst your group that can help.”

  Two of them were called forward and made responsible for the continued mobility of the wounded soldier. Bobby instructed them to stay with him at all times and that they were not to worry about fighting or anything else other than ensuring that Danny was kept moving and away from harm.

  “What about those things?” Michael asked nervously.

  “You two just worry about my friend here,” Bobby cut in before Peter was able to reply. “We’ll do the rest and as long as you’re close to Danny, you’ll be safer than being amongst that gang-fuck over there.”

  Bobby shone his light and nodded his head towards the two women and one man that remained in the tunnel behind them. They nervously shone their torches in all directions, spinning their bodies and aiming their weapons at every sound, no matter how slight.

  Peter followed Bobby’s eyes and saw that he was referring to the remnants of his platoon. He did not feel any particular loyalty to the militia soldiers that he had been part of but at the same time, he did not appreciate them being referred to in a derogatory way. They had been through a lot and suffered just as much as any of the regular soldiers. However, the look in Bobby’s eyes convinced him that he should keep his opinions and protests to himself. Instead, he assured the man that they would stay with his friend and keep him moving.

  Bull snatched a light from one of the other soldiers and shone it into the black void beyond the shiny steel bars. The beam brushed over the smooth surfaces of the walls and what looked to be a junction further along and illuminating a number of bundles that he interpreted as corpses scattered over the floor. Directly in front of them, roughly thirty metres or so, it appeared that there was another set of security doors, made from thick solid sheets of steel or iron. They too lay wide open.