Road to Grissom: Part three of the Aftermath series

by Duncan McArdle

  “Hold on a second”, came another previously unheard from voice, in a much better spoken tone than his colleagues. “Haven’t we been here before? I remember picking this place clean, clearing out a bunch of ‘auders inside”, he stated, using a term for the dead John had last heard way back in Wisconsin.

  “Yeah I think he’s right”, said the man who seemed to be holding the shotgun, “Could have said something sooner, I almost wasted a shell”.

  “Well if we ain’t going in then let’s get the hell back”, came the Texan’s tone once more, “We’re supposed to be back…”, he continued, before breaking off for a moment, seemingly to check the time, “About five minutes ago”, he laughed.

  With that, John finally exhaled after what seemed like an eternity of holding his breath, adrenaline surging through his veins and causing sweat to drip from his forehead.

  “Jesus that was close”, Danny whispered from over by the door, the sound of the vehicle outside revving up and moving off now one of the best sounds anybody could have hoped for.

  “Too close”, John replied.

  Chapter 12: Tail

  Soon enough, the unknown group had re-boarded their vehicle, their engine continuing to hum idly in the otherwise empty forecourt. Seemingly happy with the knowledge they’d visited once before, and clearly either unaware or uncaring of the fact the door they’d left unlocked had been locked since their last visit, the group were now preoccupied with the realisation that they were already running late, and needed to get back. With that in mind, it wasn’t long until their engine noise began dying down, as they drove onto the nearby road and headed back where ever they’d come from.

  But before they were too far gone, and in fact just seconds after they were out of eye line with the front of the gas station’s store, its two front doors flung wildly open. Emerging through them with incredible speed was the still somewhat concern-riddled face of John Parker, who proceeded to analyse his surroundings just as quickly as he could manage, and then sprint off to his right, in the direction of the road running alongside the premises.

  “Get the car ready!”, he called out to his rear.

  “You got it”, Devon replied, following close behind John with his rifle raised, slightly less convinced that the threat had fully subsided.

  Danny meanwhile remained prone for some time, himself the least convinced of their safety.

  “DANNY!”, Devon yelled back upon realising he wasn’t being followed.

  “Alright alright!”, Danny replied, reluctantly getting to his feet and then running after his fellow guard in the direction of the Ford.

  John’s decision to keep the group’s vehicle a few metres back from the gas station had paid off handsomely. Not only would the sight of a well-conditioned, apocalypse-ready vehicle have sparked suspicion from the unknown group, potentially leading to a very much unwanted confrontation, but had the vehicle even only been stolen, it would have put John and his fellow survivors in a very unfortunate position. Being so many miles out from the city meant there was no way they could get back on foot, and with it now being so long after the end of the world, finding a running vehicle was becoming more and more difficult.

  Devon arrived at the Focus first, throwing open the driver-side door before starting the process of stepping inside, something he interrupted half-way through by placing his hand on the doorframe and stopping his momentum dead.

  “You drive”, he suddenly instructed of Danny, who was still a few paces back.

  “Me?”, Danny asked, the adrenaline still pulsing through his veins so rapidly he was sure steady driving wasn’t going to be his speciality, “Why?”.

  “Because”, Devon replied, ejecting the magazine of his riffle to check his ammunition and then cocking back the charging handle once he’d re-loaded the weapon, “We might need to shoot”.

  “Great”, Danny said sarcastically, before climbing into the vehicle and starting the engine.

  John meanwhile had made his way to the centre of the street running alongside the gas station, a street that was several miles long and perfectly straight, meaning he could see far into the distance without issue. The sides of the road were lined with houses, only the occasional store or office block to break up the monotony, along with several vehicles parked on the side of the street, and even more members of the local undead population wandering around at various points. But most importantly of all, he could see the rear of a black sedan slowly moving along the road away from the gas station.

  What John hadn’t noticed however, was the presence of two other much closer entities. Currently making their way over from opposite sides of the street, were the two biters the group had earlier made note of, previously deeming them to be of little immediate danger and therefore opting to leave them be. Now though, as each advanced upon John – who was only just taking note of their presence – they began to present a much more significant threat.

  Acting entirely upon instinct, John re-slung his M16 over the shoulder and withdrew the hunting blade that remained lodged in its holster on his side. Quickly analysing his two approaching attackers he made the astute observation that whilst the gentleman to his right was closer, the woman on his left was moving much more quickly. Acting accordingly, John moved to his left, blade raised up on his right hand, left hand held out ready to grip the woman’s neck.

  Soon enough he was in range, gripping the woman like a vice and holding her fairly energetic movements at bay. Just as soon as he had control, the knife reclined slightly so as to allow for as much momentum build up as possible, and then began its short journey forwards, piercing just above the woman’s left eye and cracking straight through the outer skull into the mushy innards of the head. Being sure to follow standard procedure, John retained his grip on the blade and pulled back as the being dropped, hoping to retrieve his weapon in time to use on the second attacker. But there was no such luck. The woman’s body pulled the knife down with it, ripping it from John’s grip and leaving him stood there, in the centre of the street, nothing but loud weapons to use and a very big incentive not to use them.

  John began analysing the situation once more, as well as the potential options he had in front of him. He could use the pistol, the quieter of his two weapons but also the one with the smallest amount of ammunition. He could attempt to melee the approaching biter with the butt of either gun, an action that carried the unfortunate side effect of splattering blood just about everywhere, a potentially dangerous act that could in some cases lead to infection. Or finally, he could simply wrestle the being to the ground, and leave it there, though allowing the thing to live had already caused him problems once, and he didn’t much fancy allowing the same to happen again.

  But before John could make his decision, a slightly different approach was taken for him. With little notice, other than the slight revving of an engine, the outline of a Ford Focus RS’ front bumper came briefly into view, making contact with the kneecaps of the deceased man in front and scooping him up into the air. As the Ford screeched to a halt just in front of John – and only a few inches to his side – both of its occupants watched on as the man’s body flew right across the street to their left, eventually coming to a stop only when its feet hit the curb, and its head then slingshotted down hard onto the pavement. A tell-tale combination of cracks and squelches sounded out, easily audible even over the noise of the humming engine alongside John, and told him that the foe in front was most certainly dead.

  “Right on time”, John remarked, before placing his right foot on the first biter’s chest, grabbing hold of his blade’s handle with both hands, and then pulling hard, eventually prising the knife free.

  “Yeah”, Danny replied, himself now even more fearful over current events, the trembling of his voice and shaking of his hands telling John more than any words could have done.

  “You good?”, John asked as he climbed into the passenger seat to Danny’s rear.

  “Yeah”, Danny lied, “All good”.


  “Then let’s go!”, John instructed abruptly.

  By this point, the unknown vehicle ahead was barely a dot in the distance. But despite the seemingly insurmountable gap between where the Ford was and where it needed to be, everyone in it knew one thing; speed was probably not the answer. Speed brought with it an immense amount of noise, it made them easier to spot from any direction, it attracted the unwanted attention of both the living and the dead, and of course, as was so often an important consideration now, it reduced the fuel efficiency.

  Accordingly, Danny set off at an enthusiastic but nevertheless gingerly pace, making sure to more than match the velocity of the car they were attempting to tail, but opting to remain within a sensible speed. Catching up with whoever had just come so close to stumbling upon the Chicago based group was important, especially if they turned out to be the same people who had so recently performed the infiltration, but it didn’t mean much if it came at the price of creating a horde, or worse.

  Mercifully, the road ahead was paved with various obstacles, and best John could tell, the vehicle they were following – which he now thought to be some kind of sedan – wasn’t quite as apocalypse-proofed as theirs. Whilst the Ford sailed through, battering minor blockages out the way with its metal plate-covered front, the sedan had to slow and manoeuvre around, allowing the gap to be closed fairly quickly.

  “Not too close”, John eventually had to advise his driver, “We don’t want ‘em spotting us”, he said, before cocking back the charging handle of his rifle just as Devon had done before him.

  “What’s the play if they stop?”, Devon asked from the seat next to John, without taking his eyes off the target ahead.

  “Something tells me they won’t”, John replied, “And that if they do, it’ll be for a reason”.

  “Like what?”, Danny asked from up front.

  “Like if it’s a trap”, John remarked.

  Danny immediately shivered, his already worry-drenched face taking another coating of fear. “Fantastic”, he remarked.

  With the gap now narrowed to around three blocks, the vehicle ahead took its first turn, breaking the monotony of the slow chase and finally lending credence to the theory that they might be somewhere near their base. Curling into a street on the left, the sedan – which appeared on closer inspection to be Lincoln Town Car – disappeared from view fairly abruptly, prompting Danny to put his foot down slightly in order to catch up.

  Tailing vehicles wasn’t something that was covered by the Chicago community’s comprehensive survival guide, for the fairly obvious reason that it simply didn’t happen often enough to warrant teaching about. But despite that, Danny seemed to be doing a decent job. He quickly caught up to the corner at which the leading car had turned, before slowing to a stop just prior to turning, making sure to look up the next street before throwing the vehicle into it. John wasn’t sure where Danny had picked up his technique, but judging by past conversations he’d had with the twenty-year-old, he felt that video games were a good bet.

  Once in the next street, the tail resumed. Keeping a couple of blocks back from the town car, the Ford crept along at around thirty miles per hour, being sure to keep close to the curb. The hope was that they might be mistaken for a parked car by the vehicle in front, should they look into their rear-view mirror, and for that reason Danny was also making sure to make as few erratic movements as possible; If they wished to be mistaken for a stationary vehicle, they had to act like one.

  After a few minutes of moving along the road though, the Lincoln took another turn to the right, forcing Danny to catch up. Swerving to avoid a particularly nasty looking pile of broken glass, the Focus sped quickly towards the road the lead car had turned down. John and Devon meanwhile each continued to look to their respective sides periodically, as well as to their rear, in order to ensure they themselves weren’t being tailed.

  As soon as the next street came into view, the black town car could be seen making another turn a single block down, this time to the left. This was not in itself irregular – doing an s-turn like that was fairly common – but as there had been no major blockages on the previous road both vehicles had been travelling along, and as they were still well within Chicago’s grid-layout road network, that second turn did indicate one of two things.

  “Either they know we’re following, or we’re almost there”, John pointed out.

  “How’s that?”, Devon asked.

  “Well they would have just carried on going straight otherwise”, John explained, “What’s down that street?”, he questioned, as Danny moved up closer to the corner, not knowing whether or not to take it.

  “Houses for the most part, some stores too”, Devon replied, “And-“.

  “Guys, look!”, interrupted Danny with a wavering finger pointing straight ahead, diverting everyone’s attention dead head, to the very reason the Lincoln had turned off so suddenly.

  Between one and two blocks down, just a few metres after the spot the lead car had diverted, a mass of movement immediately caught every eye. Moving from side to side in an almost uniform wave of gestures better found at a music festival, at least eighty or so of the undead wandered slowly in the direction of the Ford Focus, albeit with their own attention more drawn to the vehicle that had just made its way so close to them.

  “So that’s why they turned”, John said in realisation, a slight tone of disappointment evident in his voice.

  “What do we do?”, Danny asked, very aware he remained in charge of their direction, with the horde now little more than a block from them, its members becoming incredible aware of another vehicle sat idling within earshot.

  “Not sure”, John replied, looking around in every direction for clues as to what might be nearby, “Gimme’ a second”.

  The immediate vicinity gave little information regarding local landmarks. The group were in a predominantly residential neighbourhood, far enough out of the city that they were unlikely to encounter many major buildings that would make for a halfway decent base, other than the sorts of places that were almost definitely overrun, such as the schools and local stadium. John wasn’t even sure they were anywhere near wherever the Lincoln’s occupants called home, given that it had now become apparent their deviation was due to the horde. But the local area matched where Danny had spotted the other unknown vehicle heading when it been spotted driving away from their own camp, and it seemed like one hell of a coincidence to spot two vehicles so close together in such a short space of time. John was certain there was more to the local area, and that’s when he spotted a small, dust covered sign that only caught his eye due to its long since darkened red paint.

  “There’s a hospital nearby”, John remarked, pointing to the sign in the horde-infested street just under a block away.

  “Yeah it’s a few blocks behind the horde”, Devon replied, “Not far from the stadium”.

  “Do you think that’s where they’re going?”, Danny asked quickly, hoping to speed up the rate at which they decided on their next destination.

  “Seems like it could be a good option”, John replied.

  “But those places are normally so overrun”, Devon interjected.

  “Agreed”, John confirmed, “But unless anybody’s got any other ideas?”, he asked, before looking between the two blank faces he currently shared the vehicle with. “Looks like we need to head over there then”, John said. “Danny, let’s detour a couple blocks across, see if we can’t get around this”, he instructed, nodding to the mass of bodies now only around twenty metres away.

  “Thank god”, Danny replied, before happily putting the car back into gear and moving off.

  Chapter 12: Approaching greatness

  At some time approaching late afternoon in an area not too westwards to be considered outer-Chicago, but not too inner city to be central, a black Lincoln Town Car cruised calmly along the mostly empty streets. Inside its metal frame sat five male occupants, each fairly large in size and each dressed in the k
ind of rag-tag clothing that had become ubiquitous with new world in all its lack of glory.

  The five men were all well-armed, as was also the norm nowadays. Rifle barrels and shotgun stocks faced upwards towards the vehicle’s roof, metal-plated vests could be seen on all four men, and various pieces of ammunition were strewn about the interior. In the trunk the story was much the same, multiple boxes of ammo, countless shotgun shells and even something a little rarer; a grenade. Clearly this was not your average, run of the mill scavenger party. This was a well-armed unit, out for a specific reason, and more than capable of looking after itself.

  Although the car currently cruised along at a fairly nondescript speed and in an incredibly calm manner, the preceding few minutes had been anything but. After making a series of left and right turns a short while after exiting the confines of the local gas-station – most of which had been made in error by the less than competent driver Eddy – they’d recently found themselves staring directly into the midst of a fairly significantly sized horde, just barely a block or so ahead of them, and had to detour accordingly.

  “Now that right there”, came the front passenger’s voice in a thick Texan drawl, “That was too close”.

  “They followin’?”, asked Eddy, himself hailing from somewhere on the eastern seaboard.

  “Doesn’t look like it”, called out one of the three backseat passengers.

  “Yeah looks like they carried on the way we came”, said another, “Not sure what after”.

  “Thank Christ”, Eddy replied, “I barely had time to turn off”.

  “Yeah well you wouldn’t’a had to if you weren’t so god damned stupid”, said the front passenger, clearly aggravated by the series of mistakes that had led to this point.

  “Yeah whatever Rust”, the driver replied, “I don’t get how you expect me to drive round these places without no mirrors, can’t see a damn thing behind”.

  “What in the hell do mirrors have to do with where you’re going?”, Rust asked, “They’re for where you’ve been, boy”.