Road to Grissom: Part three of the Aftermath series

by Duncan McArdle

  Walking at a reasonably brisk pace, the group were then led a significant distance along the wing. Looking to his sides regularly – both to inspect the right-hand doors leading inwards and also to try and see more out of the dirty windows to his left – John was struggling to take much in the way of specifics in; there was simply too much going on. Not to mention the fact that their rear escort – the bowling-ball shaped man who was breathing so heavily Devon wasn’t sure if he’d make it the entire journey – was so heavy footed that he was quite literally a walking distraction.

  “Now here’s where things get interesting”, Rust announced as they neared the halfway point of the wing, “Either of you folks ever come here back in the day to see a game?”, he asked.

  John and Devon remained resolutely silent, though their escorts heavy breathing continued to obscure their lack of sound.

  “Well if you had, you’d know that when the Blackhawks were in, they skated on the ice no problem, but when the Bulls were playing, they had to put the court on top”, he said, explaining the obvious need for a basketball team not to have to play on the ice-like floor. “Whole thing would be brought out in pieces just like a jigsaw, got fitted together and then they went ahead and played on it”, Rust continued, “Then the next time the Blackhawks played they went ahead and ripped it all out again”.

  At this point, Rust paused awkwardly. He seemed almost transient for a few seconds as he stared at neither John nor Devon, but somehow both of them simultaneously. John wondered just what exactly it was that the man was waiting for, but never came close to giving him the satisfaction of asking. By this point, John was committed to the silent treatment, and so far, it seemed to be working.

  “So when we got here, we were all real interested to see which one they’d left out for us”, Rust eventually started up again, “See me personally, I’m not real big into ice-hockey or basketball, but from a logistical point of view, I was kind of hoping for the wood”, he said. “So we all grouped up on these here doors”, he said, pointing now to a row of ten closed doors situated at the centre of the wing, “And we took bets on which it was gonna’ be, and then we swung them open all at once”.

  With that, Rust walked over to the central set of doors and pushed each of them simultaneously, exerting enough force so as to click them both open. Moving inside, he beckoned for the group to follow behind, as he descended into the darkened innards of the stadium, where barely a few feet in front were visible from what little light filtered in through the grubby windows to the group’s rear.

  Once inside, John just about made out the outline of their tour guide, as he placed his fingers into his mouth and whistled hard, before turning and re-addressing his group. “Now I had my money on the basketball court, so you can imagine by satisfaction when those doors opened up, and we threw some lights on, and low and behold the shimmer of sweet treated wood shone back at us”, he declared, just as the lights began to kick into life.

  At first, all that was illuminated was the area immediately around the group, which, if anything, actually reduced the vision out of sheer directional brightness. But soon enough the next set of lights came on, exposing several rows of seating, and then the next, exposing another set, and then another, and another, until the first signs of the court came suddenly into view. “Now we’ve collected quite the set of supplies since we got here”, Rust yelled over the clanking sound of lights springing into life, just as a huge object in the centre of the court was illuminated by the final few sets of lights, “But the fact is, no matter how many bullets you shoot, and how many people you give a gun, sometimes there’s just too much”.

  At that moment, John realised that the ginormous mound, measuring at least thirty foot in all directions, was an unbelievable gathering of rifles, ammunition, body armour, helmets, pistols, explosives, ration packs, bottled water and just about every other kind of useful item that remained in the world, as well as several of what looked like rocket and grenade launchers.

  “So we just went ahead and threw ‘em all in here”, Rust said.

  Chapter 30: Cards on the table

  There are many different ways one might go about intimidating a potential opponent, from simple, well formatted words of aggression, to more sophisticated displays of advanced abilities that might be used against said foe. But in the post-apocalypse world, options were significantly more limited. Words could much more easily lead to gunfire, and dangerous equipment was harder to come by, so it was imperative that one measure their choice of intimidation carefully.

  In the case of the stadium however, the plan had been a fairly straightforward one. From the very beginning, an air of mystery had been built around the building’s innards by blinding captives on entry. Then when allowed to see, a carefully orchestrated line of soldiers had been organised so as to show off the group’s ability to organise, and an additional overflow of armed guards had been thrown in as a show of force. But this all paled in comparison to the monstrosity the man known as Rust had just unveiled.

  Towering in all directions, the piles of messily thrown in assault rifles, snipers, shotguns, submachine guns and countless other weapons were just a small fragment of the assortment of arms, explosives, equipment, food, water and much more. A single square foot of the mountain of items would have been enough to sustain a large group for weeks, and would have been more than enough to start off a new group entirely. This was clearly the show of ultimate strength, and the fact that they had been so haphazardly thrown into this strange collection was the cherry on top; they didn’t even need them.

  John had slowly made his way down the steps in amongst the rows of seats towards the collection in the centre of the court, but no amount of delaying could have prepared him for the sheer scale of the achievement in front. Even in his wildest dreams such an array would have been incomprehensible, the likes of which were only ever realised after a major military pulled out of a war-torn hellhole, leaving behind anything that was too expensive or too difficult to bring with them.

  Looking in amongst the pile, John couldn’t even begin to count the number of M16s alone, their black receivers so common among the masses that they were blending together as a kind of common backdrop to the items. Even the ammunition seemed endless, with more boxes in that room alone than John had seen his entire time out in the wild, or in either of the major camps he’d so far been a part of.

  “You like?”, Rust asked, noticing that John had peeled off to circle the pile for inspection.

  John refrained from speaking, though he feared his obvious interest in the items was as good a reaction as Rust had been hoping for.

  “It started out with a few crappy handguns nobody needed, some that needed cleaning, some that just weren’t that powerful, you know how it is”, Rust began to explain, “Next thing we found a shipment of AKs, some people took one, others liked what they had, so we put the rest in here”.

  Almost instantaneously John’s eyes settled on the section of the pile containing the AKs, their tell-tale wooden stock just barely visible from deep underneath various other items.

  “Then we found some more rifles, some bigger guns, and it just kind of snowballed”, Rust continued, “Now the damn thing looks like this and we don’t know what to do with it”.

  Looking in-between the weapons, the volume of explosives alone was a sight to behold. From grenades to C4, RPGs to what looked an awful lot like claymores, it was beginning to seem like the world’s biggest bonfire in the making. John couldn’t help but wonder how incredibly unsafe the whole thing must be, though he imaged that was why it was kept here, rather than near to any of the guards.

  Rounding the pile for what may well have been the fifth or sixth time – John’s gaze locked into the centre of the mass of weapons – he placed one foot before the other until he eventually stepped on something raised, causing him to press down hard for stability, and then stumble forwards.

  “Watch it!”, Devon snapped, his foot the thing John had so nearl
y gone face first into the ground because of.

  “Get out of the way then would you?”, John replied angrily.

  Rust stood back, stunned slightly by the sudden change of situation. He’d spend the last twenty minutes trying and ultimately failing to get either man to talk, yet now here they were yelling at each other over something as simple as a stubbed toe. It briefly occurred to Rust that this might all be some kind of strange trick, but such thoughts soon left his mind when a few more heated words were exchanged, and something in the younger and more muscular man suddenly snapped.

  With little warning, and much to the amazement of everyone around him, Devon suddenly threw his still cable-tied hands as high up as he could manage. Before anybody knew what was going on, Devon then brought them hard back downwards, splitting his arms apart and forcing enough pressure onto the plastic locking mechanism of the tight restraints to snap them clean open, a small shard of plastic flying off onto the ground as he did.

  In the same instant, he then lurched forwards towards John, who turned to face him just as the attack began. With his arms now free, Devon wrapped each of them around the older man’s waist, tackling him backwards right into the pile of weapons behind. There was rarely a time where being forced to the ground ended with a comfortable landing, but doing so onto a pile of jagged weapons and explosive certainly wasn’t one of them.

  “Alright alright, that’s enough”, Rust said in a surprisingly calm tone, nodding for the large, round man who had remained at the rear of the group to step in and split up the scuffle.

  With a surprising level of speed, the man reached forwards and grabbed Devon by the back of his neck, pulling him backwards with ease and all but throwing him several feet across the floor. Immediately John jumped up onto his feet, stopped only by the quickly raised hand of Rust, which was pressed against the chest of the still handcuffed man.

  “You think you’re such a big man!?”, John yelled, his head slightly bloodied from where he had seemingly head-butted Devon.

  “Bigger than you!”, Devon retorted, himself much worse for wear due to what appeared to be a split lip, “This whole god damn mess is your fault!”.

  “My fault!?”, John replied angrily, “You were meant to be watching our god damn backs!”.

  “Alright that’s enough”, Rust declared, still refusing to raise his voice, whilst simultaneously turning to his fellow guard. “Didn’t I tell you we’d need the stronger ties?”, he asked, nodding to Devon’s now unrestrained hands.

  “You sure did”, the large man replied, withdrawing a slightly thicker set of the restraints before turning to face Devon, who had little choice but to place his hands behind his back once more.

  “You know we just assumed you two were on the same page”, Rust started up again as he heard the familiar sound of the restraints locking into place, “But hey if you want to play it like this it makes our job a whole lot easier”.

  John didn’t respond, maintaining instead a sinister stare into the eyes of Devon who stood just a few feet away. Devon meanwhile returned the gaze, interrupting only to spit blood onto the hard wood below.

  “Well now that’s just disrespectful”, Rust said matter of factly, as he watched John too receive the thicker set of cable ties, this time in addition to his existing ones.

  Suddenly the lights in the centre of the stadium went out with a large thud. The darkness it brought wasn’t enough to make it difficult to navigate the area, but it was enough to make a difference, and judging by the reaction not only of John and Devon, but also of the other two men, it had been at least a little bit unexpected. That said, they still made an obvious effort to pass it off as normal.

  “Looks like our time here is up”, Rust said, his eyes looking up at the lights before darting over to the control room, situated high above the floor level, and then back to the task at hand. “Let’s get you two back to your room”, he added, before turning and beginning the walk over towards the doors they had entered via.

  John opted not to follow immediately, but was soon shoved hard back into line by the rear-guard, who did the same to Devon in order to get everyone back into their earlier formation.

  The pace set by Rust on the way out was significantly quicker than that which they had entered at. John wasn’t immediately sure why – though he did wonder if Rust felt like he may have shown them too much, and so simply wanted to move them out – but soon began to form a more likely theory when more of the lights above started to go out. In perfect sequence, darkness descended across the stadium’s innards from the court to the doors, just as the group made it to the exit and headed back into the main wing.

  On the other side of the doors the story was much the same. Guards remained in position at regular intervals along the windows, and a large group had remained on what was now John’s right-hand side, milling around discussing whatever there was to discuss in a low enough tone for it not to be audible from the other side of the incredibly quiet area. That said, given how little went on these days, John figured he had a pretty good chance of knowing what they were talking about.

  But unfortunately for his research purposes, their current destination had already been determined, and it took them along a route which presented little to no new information. Turning left after the doors, they began the reasonably long walk along the big open space in the direction of their temporary accommodation, passing by the first of the line of guards within the initial few metres.

  Walking by, John did at least manage to get a good look at the guard’s loadout. Holding a fully automatic HK417 and decked out in full body armour as well as mostly black clothing, the guard maintained an incredibly high level of intimidation. They had the look of riot police but with the equipment of the marines, and judging by their continued static position, the discipline of the SAS. It was a deadly combination that John had no interest in going up against, and judging by the numerous additional guards they soon passed by, it was a consistent format maintained across the stadium.

  Given what they’d so recently seen of course, this was far from a surprise. If a group was able to discard hundreds if not thousands of weapons – something worth more than their weight in gold now – due to simply having too many already, they were clearly well supplied enough to gear up their troops. If anything, John’s only real surprise was why they’d bothered with such a small-scale infiltration attempt at the Chicago camp, when it seemed like they were more than capable of a full-blown assault.

  Retraining his concentration to the current moment though, John once more attempted to take in whatever he could about the surrounding area. It was a strange environment to be in, with countless stalls on each side, once used for selling food, drinks and merchandise at extortionately overpriced rates but now there as little more than empty shells of their former selves and covered in the familiar sight of dust. John could almost hear the sound of tills ringing up, fans clamouring to get through the ticket stalls and chants sounding out throughout the vast open space, but all he could see was armed men and women, large empty spaces, and not a whole lot else.

  “We’re gonna’ go ahead and put you two back for now”, Rust announced, opening up the nearest set of doors to the end of the wing and continuing their journey along the much smaller corridor they had now made their way along twice already. “Now I’d prefer it if you could refrain from beating the shit out of each other, but honestly it’ll just save me a job when we come to have our private little chats”, he explained, “as for when they might be, well that depends on when the room’s freed up”.

  That last part stuck with John, far more than the news that he’d soon be interrogated by the strange character in front. Wherever they were going to be questioned, whatever room they’d be transported to prior to it beginning, was currently in use. First and foremost, John wondered who was in there, but this was soon overshadowed by the further question of whether it was actually currently in use, or if it simply needed cleaning up from its last use.

&nbs
p; For the remainder of the journey, there was little to observe. The same walls and doors went by until they finally arrived at their destination, and John completed yet another recital of his memorised directions from the main wing to their room.

  “Play nice fellas”, Rust said with no emotion displayed on his face whatsoever, whilst the other man simply shoved Devon forwards through the doorway, causing him to push forwards on John and send both men tumbling down to the ground.

  Sliding across the floor, John twisted his body sideways just in time to see the door slam shut behind them, followed soon afterwards by the sound of at least one lock twisting into place with a loud crack. Looking back over at Devon, John gave a rare and fairly tell-tale grin.

  “Did you have to bust my lip?”, Devon asked in an only semi-irritated tone, sucking on his bottom lip in an attempt to clean the wound.

  “Had to make it believable”, John said, smirking as the words left his mouth.

  Chapter 31: Return to sender

  Like a worm wriggling helplessly, both John and Devon moved uncomfortably along the cold, hard floor until they were eventually able to prop themselves up into a seating position on the furthest wall from the door. Their decision to go for the further away wall was by no means a coincidence, but rather an attempt to reduce the chance of anybody hearing them talk. Both men were fairly certain that the larger of their escorts was to remain stationed outside the door at all times.

  “So what you get?”, John asked in a whisper, looking over to his companion in search of whatever item he’d managed to grab during their scuffle.

  “Pistol”, Devon replied with a sense of pride evident in his tone, “Some kind of Beretta I think”, he added, nodding downwards and shifting his hip to highlight a bulge on the inside of his jacket where he had hastily stuffed the weapon.