There were no secrets anymore. They knew where he was, and his primary weapon was out of commission. He was sure he only had to clear the chamber, but that took precious seconds that he didn’t have.
His 1911 came out.
Three loud bursts later, and he had the time to make it to the door, which had a simple handle with a deadbolt on the other side. He was in, and he threw the deadbolt and rested his back against the door as he caught his breath.
This didn’t mean Ian could relax; he was by no means in a secure room, as it opened out into the common areas. He checked his rifle and instantly noticed the lack of resistance in the charging handle. He unclipped it from the sling, ejected the magazine he had stored in a pouch, unscrewed the suppressor, and tossed the piece of junk to the side. No love lost, as it wasn’t from his personal collection and had come from the safe house. However, it would have been handy to keep around through all of this shit.
He ate an energy bar and sucked on his CamelBak as he entered the escalator foyer, where Emili had led them. He remembered all the melee weapons that had been there and smiled when he saw they hadn’t been touched. He couldn’t be running around, shooting off a forty-five in a building full of infected.
He picked up a smooth, two-foot-long hatchet that glowed with a dull aluminum finish but was heavy. He figured it had to be an alloy, possibly titanium. This was good for close-in fighting and even had a spike on the end of the pommel. There was no handle of any sort, just the smooth, unblemished metallic color from pointy tip to flat blade. He shoved it in his belt and went for a six-foot pike that leaned up against the wall. It, too, was nicely crafted of a unique material. Both would make a nice addition to the K-bar he always carried in a belt sheath.
Ian looked down the escalator, realizing he was on the uppermost floor, which was not conducive for escaping the property.
“Ian, are you still with us?” It was Kinsey this time.
He sat down on a bench that offered him a good view of the open area and keyed his mic. “Yeah, I’m still here. For now, anyways. Is everybody out?”
“Yeah, well, all but you and a couple of blacksmiths who didn’t make it to the MRAP. What’s your situation?”
“Fucked. In so many ways it is fucked.” Ian paused and took a breath as Kinsey waited. “Rifle is fried. The whole mechanism went to shit, so take a look at your rifles and see if there is any adverse wear.”
“We can worry about our own rifles, we are concerned about you right now.”
“You must be staying in radio range then until I get out?”
“That’s right, we’re a team, remember?”
“Yeah, I remember.” Ian paused again, wondering how he could make them listen to his next order. “Don’t. Go back to base, and give me some time to figure this out. I take it you were successful in drawing them in?”
“Like white on rice, boss man. Okay, here’s what we’ll do. Every six hours, we’ll get somebody into radio range.”
“No, seriously… I can handle this, and I’ll meet you back at base in a day or two.”
“Not going to happen, Kemosabi. At six and twelve have your radio on. If you don’t answer… well, we’ll figure that out then. Besides, you don’t even know how to get back to base.”
“Negative. Coms are off for the duration. Trust me, you will agitate the infected less by staying away. I need to initiate a clean break, solo. Out.” Ian turned off the radio.
“There, I’ve made my bed and now I get to sleep in it,” he said as he picked up a long metallic pike that was a sharp point on one end and a large ball on the other. He could tell by the weight that this was a high grade of aluminum, and he smiled.
Ian’s odds of escape just rose exponentially. He swung it a bit and remembered his days in the neighborhood as a kid when they grabbed anything they could to be Chi Quang Chang from the television show Kung Fu. It was fun—everyone in neighborhood did it, and the show ran long enough to develop a technique of sorts. Combine that with the professional training he had received as an adult, and Ian was confident of his chances to at least sustain for a little while longer against a horde, even without a gun.
Keeping on the move was critical right now. He couldn’t stop for rest while there was one infected on his trail—and all of the infected were hot on his trail. They didn’t have him in their sights, but they were searching for him, and they knew he was in the vicinity just moments ago. He walked past the escalator that they had originally taken up to this level, which Ian believed to be the uppermost story but he couldn’t be sure.
He walked out into an atrium that was lined with terraced balconies and staircases all the way down to the main level. Then he froze in place. Every floor but this one was now packed with infected, and they were all piling into the staircases with such abandoned that they couldn’t help but push themselves upward in surges. A slow but steady stream of ravenous humanity. The lower levels of the atrium looked like a tide of flesh flowing up the stairs, and that was when Ian realized how truly fucked he was.
He remembered all the covers of the post-apocalyptic books he had read, where there was a guy in a gas mask and a coil of rope, and never once within the story did they use either. I could sure use a couple hundred feet of rope about now that I could wrap around one of these columns surrounding the atrium, he thought, realizing at the same time how impractical that would have been; to have one now meant he would have had a coil of rope around him while he ran through the halls, being chased, not to mention all the other things that had gone on.
I guess that is the difference between reality and fiction, he mused as he watched his death approach, not having a clue how he would get out of this mess. He didn’t know how he could get to the roof when the halls behind him were full of infected blocking that escape. Now the lower floors were surging upward, toward him. His life-span could be figured by the number of minutes it would take for the infected to master the stairs enough to get to him.
He almost chuckled when the wide stairway allowed one or two to stumble then fall, taking out fifteen or sixteen on their way down. He realized he should be doing something to get away, but there was nothing he could come up with. If he went where Hansel had been holed up with the blacksmiths, he would be surrounded until they broke through the door and got him, or he starved to death.
He searched his mind for a rooftop exit. Since he wasn’t a rope-carrying hero on a book cover, that was his only way out. He thought of all the passageways and staircases he had been on since he came in the building, and there was nothing that even remotely looked like a roof access. For the first time in his life he wished he was a crow and could just fly away from all this shit. Then he wouldn’t even need a rope.
“Oh well, it’s not like there is a helicopter that could come and pick me up,” he said out loud, only to have the image of a rope come back into his head. Why was he obsessing about that fucking rope?
His head snapped up. He hadn’t seen rope in Hansel’s hideaway, nor did he see an access to the roof, but there was something. He didn’t know if it was strong enough, but he did know he would much rather die from a hundred-foot fall than be gorged upon by thousands of infected.
Ian ran back to Hansel’s place. Ten seconds later he was coming out with a two-hundred-foot roll of 10/2 Romex still in the package. Before he completely exited the maintenance area, he realized he was forgetting something. He scanned the room and spotted a cloth tool bag, which he emptied onto the floor. He quickly broke down a cardboard box and shoved it in the bottom of the tool bag. It was now simply a duffel with a long, padded strap and a relatively firm bottom.
He left the maintenance area in time to see a couple of the infected coming to the top of the stairs right in front of him. He stepped toward them to kick them back so they would push the rest farther down the stairs, but then he changed his mind. It was all or nothing now, and in this all-or-nothing situation, he wanted all of them on the stairs and moving his way.
His 1911
came up and he fired off four fast, loud rounds before slamming it back into his holster, making a mental note that he only had four rounds left in the magazine and two extra full magazines. Not enough bullets for the amount of killing that needs to get done in here; better to play it smart.
He had two hundred feet of Romex, which was twice the amount he needed. If he would have had time, he would have doubled it up to ensure that it wouldn’t break on his descent, but there was no time. He had a couple feet of leeway at the stairway next to him, but across the atrium they were already bleeding out on to his level. His gun fire had sent them into a rage, and they were moving around the rail a lot faster than he would have liked.
He tore the plastic packaging off the Romex and grabbed the inside end of the wire. Twice, he ran it around the column as high as he could reach, leaving an excess of a foot and a half at the end that he could wrap and bend it around itself like a knotted rope. He threw the coil of wire over the edge, watching as it unrolled and hit the floor three levels down. He stepped one leg over the railing and stopped to see Jasper watching him.
If he were less of a man he would have left the animal there, trusting it to find its own way down, or not… whatever the case may be. But he wasn’t a lesser man; he was Ian, and any person or animal who was loyal to him would get nothing but the same in return. He crawled back over the rail and opened the large duffel bag as his head swiveled from side to side.
“Okay, Jasper, we have to do this quick, no fucking around now… step in the bag,” he said, and Jasper stared at him, not understanding the instructions.
Ian reached out and grabbed the dog’s harness, pulling him closer until he was standing on the cardboard bottom of the duffel bag. He wondered if the bag could handle a hundred-pound dog… well, a starved dog so maybe only seventy-five.
“Sit, Jasper,” he said and got the back portion of the duffel zipped up around the tail and ass of the canine.
“Okay, lay down now, boy.” He zipped the bag the rest of the way until it stopped where Jasper’s head poked out. He grabbed the harness as he pulled the 1911 from his holster while Jasper looked at him warily.
He fired two rounds toward an infected who had made to the top of the stairs closest to him and then toward two coming from the other direction. He ejected his magazine and slapped in one of his last two.
“Stay Jasper.” With a grunt, he lifted the heavy duffel up and over one shoulder and then over his head. He knew the weight could cut off air or blood flow, but he hoped not to have to hold it for long. It would all depend on how quickly he could get down to the main level, which now looked relatively empty with all the infected heading up the stairs to get to them on the upper deck.
From the other side of the atrium the infected had rushed at breakneck speed, inspiring visions of how they could foul his line of escape. Even though he had tied it high, there was still the part that stretched over the railing, and too much activity there could create real problems for him. No, he and Jasper could not take their time on the way down, so he planned to rappel two stories at a time.
He started to draw his pistol again but stopped when he heard slapping feet to his right—way too close to his right. He snapped the holster, grabbed the three-strand Romex wire, and eased his weight on to it just as hands came over the edge after him. The copper-and-plastic coating started to stretch alarmingly, so he pushed out with his legs, letting the Romex slide easily through his gloved hands and stopping just long enough for his feet to plant on the guardrail two stories down, where he pushed off again.
There were hundreds of them on that level. For a second, they looked at him as if they couldn’t make out what he was, but then the whole level went into a frenzy. They lunged toward him, but he was already gone, out and away from their grasping hands; however, they continued rushing at him as if there wasn’t a thirty-foot drop to the main level, two stories down. He pushed out with his foot off the next level as a surge of bodies flipped over the railing above in their attempt to get him. Bodies bounced off of him, interrupting his momentum. He felt a jerk in his line and knew that a strand of the copper electrical wire within the Romex had snapped. The plastic coating stretched further. Fuck!
He started to rappel as fast as he could, not worrying about those who had already fallen to the floor below. He didn’t have time worry about it, as the line was stretching and getting ready to snap altogether. A fall from this height could break his leg or dislocate a hip or twist his knee, any of which would doom him to the gullet of an infected.
He was ten feet off the floor when the final copper wire inside the plastic casing snapped. He landed feet-first and rolled backward, knocking two infected who had survived their fall. He stomped on their knees and ankles when he got back on his feet, realizing that immobilizing them was more important than killing them.
He needed a clear space to run, and the way to the door where he had entered and met Emili was open. Ian slowed enough to let Jasper out of the bag then sprinted alongside the row of trash containers that had blocked the infected in the open auditorium earlier. It stood empty now, and all the trash cans were tipped over from when the infected made their exodus toward the commotion Ian and his group had stirred up on the upper levels.
Screeching accompanied thundering footsteps, shaking the building behind him as he gasped for air. Ian figured they had been running nonstop for almost three hours.
Could the way ahead possibly be clear? he wondered while trying to picture the map of Phoenix in his head as well as the streets where they had entered. The original plan had been to run from the convention center’s south building to either Symphony Hall or Convention Center North, where they would take to the streets for the last two blocks to their vehicle. When he had last seen the tunnels, they were filled with hundreds of infected, and that was no longer an option. The way he was going was bringing him to the far side of the south building and would leave him and Jasper with twelve blocks to get to the point where there was no longer a vehicle waiting for him.
Or is there? His crew was savvy enough to leave an accessible vehicle for him.
Ian and Jasper burst through a door leading into the small hallway and away from the overhead doors. He stopped for a second to think about his options. He could hang out and try to jump a couple of infected and dig through their pockets for keys to a vehicle that might start, if he could even find it. He could also go out and dig through cars, hoping someone had a hide-a-key somewhere. Or he could take a screw driver, jam it into the ignition, and start the vehicle, regardless of the fact that all cars are chipped and need the right key or fob to start.
Fucking movies and video games make it look so easy.
His last option was his best option. His crew knew the score, and he knew—or at least hoped—that they would have hooked him up. So, the streets for a mile it would be, and if there wasn’t a vehicle there, he would walk back to the safe house on his own and hopefully wouldn’t get lost or eaten.
He checked his watch. It was just after seven, and the sun would be mid-range on the horizon when he stepped outside. His helmet coms could possibly go a mile in the city. He was aware that he cancelled their call-backs, but he also knew they would ignore him. He needed to get far enough out to cross their path and hopefully catch them with their channel open.
He pulled the pike he had salvaged off his back and made sure the tomahawk was still in place and that the strap was snapped on his pistol. Firing his 1911 out here would be a death sentence. No, his options right now were his feet and the melee weapons he had scavenged on the upper level.
Well legs, you’ve run marathons before, so just pretend we’re in another, except the stakes are a whole lot higher.
Ian tried to bolster his courage by finding similarities between more normal times and the present situation. It didn’t work; he was as afraid as he had ever been. Then he reminded himself that people had been living like this since the onslaught and still survived, so why wouldn’t he?
He slowly opened the door to find the way devoid of life and then eased out onto the sidewalk. He scanned the street and saw the infected all heading toward the stadium and other arena, which had Violent Femmes blasting from the speakers and echoing through the entire downtown area.
Trance-like the infected walked onwards, some looking as if they hadn’t eaten for weeks. Ian looked at the open street that he had to get across and realized he wouldn’t be able to do it unseen. He shook his head in exasperation. So much running already today; a simple jog to Scottsdale right now would be tough, but an all-out sprint would be the end of him and possibly even Jasper.
Ian had to go north, and there was way too much traffic to try to move out of the shadows of the elevated plaza, which had steps leading to the street. It was clear on this side because the Others’ failed attempt to flee had drawn all the infected that had been here over to the northern side. That was when the Smithies made their run…
For my vehicle.
That would have been on the northwest corner and right around the bend from where he now stood. He decided the northeast would be their best route, hugging the building as far as they could. He looked at Jasper, who was watching him with a light of terror behind his eyes, and Ian suddenly realized that for as well-trained as the dog was and though he had performed well within the mission, he was still just a scared kid.
He is still Beverly’s dog, and there is no amount of money that can change that. Ian squatted down and wrapped his arms around the shepherd, who leaned into his embrace. He buried his face into his rough and purred, only to feel Jasper relax just a bit—and hopefully enough.
For Which We Stand: Ian's road (A Five Roads To Texas Novel Book 3) Page 10