“Here.” He handed a couple of them to Amadou. “Fill these up to right below where I have cut them.”
Tom patted him on the back. The bottles still wouldn’t shatter, but they would at least split open without having to be thrown with great force, something that would have otherwise limited distance and thus effectiveness.
With their redesigned Molotovs lined up on the pavement, the survivors waited for dusk to turn colours into grey and then darkness to descend. Meanwhile, Tom and Amadou went up the road a ways, maintaining a low crouch next to a retaining wall separating some raised flowerbeds from the sidewalk.
The roundabout was much closer now, and with their proximity came the already all too familiar stench of decay. Amadou suppressed a gag reflex as a gust of wind brought on the smell with full force. The entire area was teeming with corpses. Some, still strapped into their seatbelts, flailed about helplessly in their vehicles while their peers staggered about outside, bumping into cars and other obstacles and then into each other like slow-moving balls inside a giant pinball machine.
“How many?” Tom whispered out of the corner of his mouth.
They were downwind from the traffic circle, and low-level noises were unlikely to carry in that direction, but this was no time to take chances.
“Two hundred, maybe three.” Amadou tried to focus on the moving shapes in the semi-dark up ahead.
They would have to get close and then split up, throwing their Molotovs into opposite directions if they wanted to create any kind of diversion and gap big enough to slip through. They continued to observe in silence for a while, watching the dark figures go about their indiscernible business, moving back and forth in seemingly random patterns, only now and then changing course as the odd clunk of wind-borne debris hitting the side of a vehicle drew their attention. If the wind kept up, it would provide additional noise to cover their transit. Tom smiled. Not long and his two loved ones would be back in his arms.
Backtracking carefully, never losing sight of the horde, they retreated until they were almost out of sight, before turning and heading back to the group. The others were waiting, gear at the ready.
“Lose the packs,” Tom instructed, ”they will only slow us down. "Plus, once we are through, even if we have to hunker down, there are plenty of opportunities in this part of town to restock.”
Everyone complied, taking out whatever ammunition they could carry. They stuffed loaded magazines into their pockets and belt pouches, leaving everything else behind. One last glance at the relative safety of their banged-up vehicle, and they moved out. Single-file, Tom took point, followed by Amadou, Nadia, Gautier, David, and Justus. Papillon took the rear. He had decided straight away that he would stay close to the Kenyan in case the man’s nerves again got the better of him.
The plan was for Amadou and Papillon to peel off, moving along the road left and right as soon as they came into range of the traffic circle. Surrounded by two-story buildings close to the road on all sides, the area offered little in terms of cover. Once committed, they would have to move fast. Delivering their Molotovs with some precision and distance in opposite directions, they would try to divide the horde, allowing the others to pass through the gap. Tom gave the signal to halt and everyone went to ground, while Amadou and Papillon got into position. He hated leaving Justus alone but figured at least for now, at the back of the line, he could do the least amount of damage.
Light now so low it was hard to discern anything but rough outlines, Tom nodded towards the men's moving shadows. Time was of the essence. It would not be long before darkness was almost complete, eliminating their own ability to see and with it the small advantage they still had. With uncanny stealth, Amadou and Papillon moved in their respective directions, while Tom and the others, now in a virtual crawl, made their way to the closest concrete barrier. At some stage having served as a lane marker for inbound traffic, it now blocked the road a good 20 yards ahead.
There were only few shapes moving about it, the bulk of the dead gathered closer to the main thoroughfare and the grassy island with a long dried-up water feature that formed the center of the traffic circle. Amadou's and Papillon's shadows had disappeared from view. Shielding his eyes from the impending flashes, Tom counted down the seconds. They had agreed that both men would move for another 20 meters, before hurling their Molotovs far and high, aiming for the opposite side of the road, thus ideally ensuring that dead traffic was moving away from their route through the center opposed to towards it.
It took longer than he had anticipated, but finally Tom thought he could see the flicker of a lighter from where he assumed Amadou had taken up position.
Meanwhile, not exactly being the smallest of the group, it took Papillon a few extra seconds to find a spot offering just enough cover to do what had to be done next. A pickup truck its front angled skyward, sat atop a row of bollards, the type placed along many roads of the city to prevent matatus from using the sidewalks as their priority lane.
Papillon crouched below the front axle and flicked his lighter. The vehicle's silver paint job immediately magnified the small flame. The dull eyes of the corpse looking up straight into Papillon's own seemed to dance in the flicker. Trying to free itself, the crawler still trapped between the vehicle and the bollards, clawed. Before Papillon could react, it let out a blood-curdling wail. The response was immediate. A cacophony of woe erupted, each moan triggering another wave of excitement down the highway, where more and more joined the unholy choir. Having lumbered about without purpose, movement now rippled through the hundreds of shapes.
Heads turned in search of the attraction that had caused the stir. The flickering glow of his lighter like a homing beacon, the creatures had no difficulty identifying their target. Ignoring the corpses around him, Papillon jumped to his feet. In one motion, he lit the rag and threw the fuel-filled bottle as hard and far as he could. Immediately ducking back into the darkness he once again crouched and counted the seconds. Through his sweat-soaked shirt he could feel the first dead fingers grasp at his shoulder. It would be a close call. One. Two. He got to three when a huge flame doused everything around him in fiery light. The time for concealment was over. Taking off in a sprint he tackled the first few corpses leaning in for a bite. The rest, now distracted by the fireball, were already changing direction. In the orange glow of the second cocktail, he could see Amadou's outline further up the road.
The lanky Congolese moved fast, his agility curiously juxtaposed the staggering masses around him. At first, from where Tom was watching, it seemed as though their plan had backfired. Some of the dead in the men's immediate vicinity had caught on to their presence and, instead of pursuing the diversion, gave chase. Soon though, a constant breeze caused the fires to dance, the constant ebb and flow of the flames creating a dramatic performance of shadow and light and with it confusion among the corpses. They abandoned pursuit and, drawn to the display, some of them even began chasing their own peers’ reflections.
Shortly, Amadou and Papillon would fall in behind, covering the group from the flanks. Tom gave the signal to move. Getting up from behind the barrier, he was relieved to see that the glow of the distant fires provided just enough light to navigate to the other side without colliding with one of the many objects in their way. Moving at a light jog, the group took off towards the center of the roundabout. The goal: to regroup at the water feature before weaving through the row of trucks and cars that blocked the southbound lane, before using one of the openings next to the angled shipping containers to gain entrance to the rest of the suburb. What was waiting for them after that, nobody knew.
Tom and Justus only hoped they knew the area well enough to guide them to shelter, should they find themselves pursued heavily or, God forbid, surrounded. It wasn’t much of a plan, but the lesser of many evils and with Tom’s anxiety growing and their own reserves at an all-time low, nobody had even tried to argue. He urged the group on from behind while making sure Justus stayed on track. Despite
the short distance, it would not take much for the already near-panic actor to lose it completely.
It was Nadia with Gautier and David in tow who reached the water feature first. Satisfied that the others had hunkered down inside the bowl of the large fountain, Tom halted. Within seconds Amadou and Papillon approached, hoofing it from their respective directions, side-stepping corpses and cars alike with admirable agility.
They had just about reached the fountain when something behind Tom caused him to spin around. A violent growl above the wailing of the dead, followed by high-pitched screams. The report of Nadia’s sidearm as she fired at someone or something just out of sight. Tom sprinted, but his foot caught on something hard and wiry. Nadia’s Derringer spat its second and final magnum round into the dark. Tom tore away from a dead hand clutching at his ankle. Stumbling forward, he sprinted. He could see Nadia struggling to hold back the old man. Gautier was screaming like a madman, kicking, punching, to break free. Tom reached them just as Nadia lost her grip. They watched helplessly as the old man ran off into the dark of the grassy meridian to the south. Still yelling and screaming at the top of his lungs, he disappeared, his outline quickly obscured by the abandoned vehicles, the smoke, and the teeming mass of corpses surging in the flicker of the breeze-fanned inferno.
“A lion. A lion took David!” Nadia yelled, close to hysteria.
The next sound they heard was more screams. Her face froze with fear. These were different. Pain, violence, anguish. Death screams of a desperate man. Gautier.
He was being torn apart. Whether it was the lion or the walking corpses, it was hard to say. It went on for a few long seconds. Agony stretching time into an eternity. Gautier's suffering came to an end, a blood-filled gargle. A long shadow glided low through the tall grass near the overgrown lane dividers before melting into the blackness.
Amadou and Papillon jumped into the fountain's basin and joined the others in silence. Even in the dark, the look on the faces that greeted them was enough not to ask questions. In the blink of an eye, they had lost both the boy and Gautier. And yet, grieving would have to wait. Movement near the containers across the access road into Westlands caused Tom to refocus. The commotion had not only excited the creatures even more but drawn them away from the fires and towards its source. Drawn in by their peers, more and more dead now joined from the other side of the highway and pushed into the space between the traffic circle and the containers. Tom’s thoughts were whirring.
The group's window of opportunity was closing. Closing rapidly. He could feel himself starting to lose his grip on the situation. Temporal distortion. Tunnel vision set in. They were sitting ducks in the middle of the undead whirlwind around them. Cold sweat dripped, and his hands began to shake almost uncontrollably. He could feel Papillon’s hand on his shoulder, the giant doing his best to calm him down.
“We need to move. MOVE!”
It was Amadou's voice that broke through the fog of war, and Tom finally came round. Amadou took the lead, with Papillon shoving the other three forward over the edge of the fountain’s basin and back onto the grassy mount on the other side. There were far more creatures on this side now than there had been when they first launched their diversions. Still drawn in the direction of the tantalizing screams moments earlier, they hardly noticed the survivor's shadowy outlines crawling across the grass. That was, until a suppressed but audible yelp cut through the soundscape of shuffling feet.
The group stopped mid-movement. The cry had come from the rear. Angry, hugging the ground, their heads turned. Justus was clutching his hand and whimpering through gritted teeth. A large piece of glass protruded from his wrist. Glistening in the dying fires' flames, bright red spurt from the wound like a fountain of its own. Papillon, still last in line, urged them to move. If they stopped now, they were done for good. Getting up to his feet, he scooped up Justus with one arm.
“Fuck it.” Tom could hear him say as Papillon gathered momentum.
Having flung the Kenyan over his shoulder like a child, he bolted down the slope of the circle's center mount towards the far side. The other three fell in, taking cover behind his giant frame as Papillon made contact with the first of the corpses. The creature didn’t even have time to turn to see what was coming. It bounced back with a thud and a crunch, ricocheted off the nearest vehicle and bowled over several others, before landing on top of the heap with a broken back. Close enough to Papillon to hear him grunt from the strain of carrying Justus and the impact of the collision, Tom and Amadou propped him up from behind. Put their arms around either side of him, they pushed with their shoulders.
Like in the ruck of a rugby match, they continued ploughing forward. Close behind them, Nadia’s eyes grew even wider as their human battering ram inflicted its toll. Like pins in a bowling alley, the shambling dead were tossed aside, knocking each other over into writhing bundles of twisted arms, legs, and torsos. Jaws snapped and hands reached, but came up empty.
The human juggernaut was virtually unstoppable. It took all of the men's strength and focus to follow Papillon's movements. Weaving through the ever-narrowing spaces between abandoned vehicles, he now utilized even the smallest gaps between the corpses. They knew they could not allow themselves to break stride, least of all the big man in front. Within seconds they had covered the remaining forty meters to the edge of the traffic circle. With an almighty bang, Papillon’s shoulder connected with one of the shipping containers, bringing the rampage to an abrupt halt. Recovering as quickly as he had impacted, he twisted and, careful not to cause further injury to the Kenyan under his arm, started running towards the gap between the container and the adjacent buildings. Last through the narrow opening, Nadia took a last glanced back.
Behind them, the ranks of the creatures had already replenished. In a massive squall of unrestrained hunger, the cacophony of wails reached new heights as they aimed for the same bottleneck in pursuit. Papillon’s chest was heaving now. The Kenyan’s weight seemed to have doubled, and it was becoming harder to breathe by the second. His back ached, and his thighs burned, and he started to fear collapse. For now, the area this side of the container was almost deserted, but already shadows emerged from doorways and broken windows of the shops and offices that lined the road. As unmistakable as their insatiable hunger, the sound of the dead announced their presence.
“To the right!” Tom grunted.
It took all his and Amadou’s strength to change the big man’s direction. They stumbled into the nearest building just as the first of their pursuers appeared through the gap. In the darkened hallway, they let go of Papillon, and he collapsed on the tiled floor. Nadia quickly reloaded her weapon and took point. Exhausted, Tom turned and staggered back to the entrance. Moments later, the rattling sound of a shutter being lowered echoed through the building. Tom stood back, mesmerized by the mass of creatures that were already pushing against the grate. Snarling, biting into the metal like rabid dogs, the first undead hands reached through the grille no sooner than had he had secured the it
“Nadia, check ahead and make sure there are no surprises!” Tom yelled into the dark.
A number of rapid shots rang out, but before he could investigate, Nadia came back with an 'All Ok.' They re-joined Amadou, Papillon, and Justus, who was lying still on the tiles in front of the two. Tom kneeled down and checked his pulse. Justus' skin was cold and clammy. His chest had stopped moving. The large wound in his arm and wrist had stopped bleeding.
“He is gone.” Tom tried to keep himself from letting the anger he felt consume him.
Three people had just lost their lives. Three good people that hadn’t have died, just like the thousands, even millions out there, were it not for the greed of some pharmaceutical company. These people paid the price, while the culprits made their clean getaway. Tom brought up his M4 and screamed. Venting his anger in the thunder of the rifle, he emptied the magazine into the dark of the hallway. When the bolt finally locked forward, he dropped the smoking rifle to the ground
and buried his head in his hands. The others stood in silence and shock, their energy spent, along with their minds.
Ignoring the dead on the other side of the security grille they closed their eyes and rested their backs against the cool concrete walls. They sat there, a picture of stillness among the chaos and of despair in the middle of this city that had become its incarnation. Tom wasn’t sure whether he had passed out from overload or dozed off from exhaustion. Either way, when he opened his eyes, he found himself alone.
It was still dark. The pale light of a new moon cast moving shadows from the outside in an unnerving pattern. For a moment, he began to question his very grasp on reality. The thought of being caught in nothing but a bad dream was soothing, a virtual act of propitiation unto himself, even. Looking over the blood-splattered floor and across to the shutter, where the dead’s zeal showed no sign of abating, reality came flooding back. The familiar outline of Amadou appeared around the corner, with Papillon and Nadia in short succession. Tom pushed himself up and robotically reloaded his rifle, before walking towards the T-section at the end of the hallway.
“I thought I had lost you.”
He wasn't sure why he extended his hand but felt his spirits return when the others shook it emphatically.
“So did we.” Amadou‘s bright smile was visible even through the gloom of the dark building’s interior.
“The other two entrances are secure.” Nadia broke through the moment with her usual pragmatism. “How did you know this was here?”
They were glad for the temporary reprieve but somehow suspected that they hadn’t ended up here by pure luck.
“There’s a burger place on the first floor. I have been here a few times and always wondered about the odd layout of this place.” Tom explained, walking them into the center atrium of a small shopping center. “One day, I was eating there late. When I tried to leave, I found the other exits locked. The only one they kept open for staff and visitors was the one we just came in through.”
The Virophage Chronicles (Book 2): Dead Hemisphere [Keres Rising] Page 7