Aftermath (Book 2): Chicago Calling

by Duncan McArdle

  “How you wanna do this?”, John asked, “You two take the left, I’ll take the right?”.

  “I think stick together”, Andrew replied, “We’ve got time, no point taking risks”.

  “And this road’s pretty wide”, Sonja chimed in before John could argue his point, “Any of us run into trouble and it’d be a while before we caught up, no sense risking it”, she explained.

  “Okay, fine”, John conceded, “But we just stick to the outside alright, no heading in”, he insisted, keen to avoid spending any time looking for anything other than the one thing he needed.

  “Unless we see anything to make us think it’s worth it”, Sonja reasoned, “We’ve still got mouths to feed remember”, before shooting a firm glance to John.

  The campsite this rag-tag group had left earlier that morning was fairly well stocked. Its prime location and available guards to go out on supply runs meant a healthy stockpile of food, water and weaponry had been accumulated in the months since its formation. That said however, the recent departure of some guards who failed to return from a trip to Chicago – an as of yet unexplained situation that still plagued both John and Andrew’s minds – had reduced the number of people capable of heading out scavenging. This meant that not now, but soon, there would be a renewed need to obtain supplies once again, something John knew was only fair considering the hospitality he’d so far been afforded.

  “Fair enough”, he agreed, before looking to the task ahead,

  The first property of the road was a fairly incredible looking corner-plot mini-mansion, its own private pool glimmering away in the front garden behind the confines of some bushes, and an incredible view across the sun kissed Lake Michigan that it sat just metres away from. It was once an incredible display of wealth, but was now worth little more than the canned food that might have been left in the pantry, or what fuel remained in the inevitably expensive cars housed in its garage.

  Disembarking from the truck – the engine of which Sonja had now shut off – the trio made their way into the boundaries of the property, and began their initial search. Unfortunately for John, it became obvious fairly quickly that there was nothing of interest in the front garden area, thanks mostly to its pool taking up almost all of the available space. With this in mind, John instead moved over to the first of the two garage doors located nearby. Upon arriving, he got down on one knee, and interlocked his hands.

  Andrew had become familiar with the various different processes John repeated upon inspecting every new property, and this was no exception. Knowing exactly what to do, he made his way over to his companion’s location, placed a foot on the makeshift platform his adjoined hands had created, and propelled himself up to eye level with the windows at the top of the left-hand garage. As quickly as he could manage, he adjusted his eyesight for the darkened interior, and then began describing what he could see.

  “Looks like a couple of sedans”, he called out, “Nice ones though”.

  “Hurry it up…”, John advised sternly from below, having no interest in adding any more vehicles to their fleet unless they were of some specific use.

  “Right, sorry”, Andrew continued, before continuing his search. “Just looks like tools and bicycles, no boat”, he said, “Let’s check the next one”.

  With that, Andrew hopped down, and John moved along to the next garage, before placing his hands in the same position as before and repeating the procedure. Soon enough, Andrew brought himself back to eye level with the glass of the second garage.

  “There’s something weird in this side, attached to the ceiling”, Andrew tried to explain, “Looks like it’s swinging slightly” he continued.

  “What kind of thing?”, John questioned.

  “Well, it looks like a- FUCK”, Andrew yelled in shock, falling backwards off of his perch and coming clattering down hard onto his back on the ground behind.

  “What the hell!?”, John exclaimed, his hand instinctively reaching towards his pistol.

  “Jesus!”, Andrew started, “Sorry…”, he said, amidst fits of sporadic pain, “There’s a biter there, hanging…”.

  John turned to the garage and grabbed the windows edging with the tips of his fingers, getting just enough grip to lift himself up for the briefest of moments. Sure enough, he saw the body of who he assumed to be the previous owner, hanging limply by rope from the ceiling above, their arms swinging slightly as they attempted to utilise some of the dwindling energy that had been left in their undead body. It appeared that Andrew’s voice had awoken the creature, the subsequent movement of which had given him quite a shock.

  “I think that one can stay there”, John declared, as Andrew managed to stand himself back up, and Sonja began patting the dirt off of his back.

  * * *

  Building by building the group slowly made their way west along Capitol Drive, spending as little as a few seconds on some of the easier properties, but much longer on those that required gates opening or fences lifting. Eventually however, they made it to the penultimate house on the second block, meaning they would need to bring the car up to their location soon if they wanted to avoid having a long run back to it in case of an emergency.

  The house in question was an incredibly box-shaped building, its two storey exterior almost completely square, making it seem somewhat mundane looking compared to its more extravagant predecessors.

  “Now that’s a tree”, Sonja remarked, pointing out one of its few defining features, a conifer standing a good twenty or so metres tall in front.

  “Bet we could see for two or three blocks at the top of that”, Andrew pointed out, “It might save us some time exploring?”, he asked.

  “If you wanna climb that haggard thing”, John started, pointing to the fairly severe splintering that was taking place towards the top of the tree, “Be my guest”, he remarked, before instead opting to walk up the side path.

  For a few seconds, Andrew stood still, his eyes scanning up and down along the vast lengths of bark in front of him, trying to devise a route that would see him emerge victorious up in the sky, ready to provide lookout and become the hero of the day.

  “You’ve already fallen down once today Andrew”, Sonja joked, before following in John’s footsteps towards the house, still speaking as she moved, “And I don’t think I could pick you up after this one”.

  Heading up the drive that hugged the building’s western side, Sonja immediately spotted what seemed to be canned food on a counter-top inside, visible through the grimy but just barely usable kitchen window. The idea there might be more than one item was a long shot, and it was an even longer shot that even this first batch of cans would actually be edible, but as far as she was concerned, it was worth a chance.

  “Heading in”, Sonja called out to her fellow scavengers, before using her knife to prise off the plastic frame of the window.

  “Why?”, John asked, coming back round from the rear of the house, evidently having found nothing of interest.

  “Food by the looks of things”, Sonja explained, now lifting the pane of glass free of its frame and then setting it down against the wall in front.

  Andrew arrived on scene just as Sonja began to disappear through the now missing window, her footsteps echoing inside the empty house and her backpack leant against the wall alongside the removed glass, a large wooden item protruding from it.

  “Anything?”, John asked impatiently.

  “Hold on”, Sonja replied, her voice accompanied by the sound of various cupboards being flung open, “Yeah looks like a few cans”, she said optimistically, but with some emotion kept in reserve while she analysed her find, “In date too”.

  “We’ll dine like Kings tonight”, John stated sarcastically.

  “And Queens”, Sonja added, her head now reappearing at the window, “Turn”, she said, pointing to Andrew now, who promptly spun half circle and presented his backpack towards her.

  “Well what we got then?”, John asked.

  “Two c
ans of beans”, Sonja started, before disappearing back into the kitchen, reappearing every few seconds with another set of items. “Some corn… soup… some more beans… some more soup”.

  “I’m getting the idea”, John interrupted, unimpressed.

  “Couple bottles of water”, Sonja added happily, throwing the small but nevertheless incredibly valuable clear bottles into Andrew’s backpack, “And finally, some baking soda”.

  “What’s that for”, Andrew asked, as he turned back to face Sonja and offer her a hand out through the window.

  At this point, John shook his head and began walking down the path.

  “When the toothpaste runs out”, Sonja explained, before taking Andrew’s hand and climbing back into the open air, “There’s not much else you can use”, she said.

  “BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP”.

  Suddenly all three members of the group jumped in shock, throwing hands to ears as they attempted to block out the horrifically loud sound that had begun filling the air all around.

  “What the hell!?”, Sonja called out, her feet having barely hit the ground.

  “House alarm!”, John remarked, making his way back along the path towards the road, but this time turning left and heading for the front door, “Saw it on the way in!”.

  “I haven’t heard a noise like that in forever, how is it even working!?”, Andrew asked.

  “Must be on a backup generator, or solar powered or something!”, John yelled over the noise, his head craning round looking for the location of the alarm.

  “What do we do!?”, Andrew asked.

  John remained silent for a moment, until he finally caught sight of the yellow box visible just underneath the gutter. “We stop it!”, he shouted, withdrawing the Ruger SR22 attached to his side.

  “Hey wait a second!”, Sonja interjected, herself also yelling in order to be heard. “You wanna waste a bullet on that!?”, she asked, “Let’s just leave it, there’s nobody around and it’ll wear itself out!”.

  Normally John might have agreed. The cost of a bullet was high, and compared to removing some noise that was unlikely to bother them once they were a little further down the road, it was even higher. But as he turned to face Sonja he was immediately reminded of the worst part of such volume; what it attracted.

  “I get where you’re coming from”, John began, “But unless you want a whole bunch of them coming out of the woodwork”, he continued, pointing to the figure that now drunkenly ambled towards them from the other side of the road, “It’s something we gotta’ do!”.

  John was right of course, a noise that loud might bring enough of the undead out to condemn an area ten square blocks in size, and in a worst case scenario could even generate a horde. Alarms weren’t the sort of thing he liked to waste precious ammunition on, but judging by the threat it had already presented, it seemed to make sense. With that in mind, John took aim at the small box, and placed his finger on the trigger.

  “Hold on!”, Sonja interrupted yet again, causing John to lower his weapon. “If we have to do it”, she started, before pulling the wooden bow and quiver from inside her backpack, “At least do it right!”, she shouted.

  “How is that any better!?”, John asked, as he watched Sonja notch an arrow and pull back the string.

  “We can’t make bullets”, Sonja began, her eye narrowing on her target, pausing for a second before her right hand released its grip, and sent the wood bodied, metal tipped projectile hurtling towards the inferior plastic box, shattering it into hundreds of pieces and immediately killing the noise. “But we can make arrows”, she finished in a much more quiet tone, looking briefly at John as she walked back towards the road.

  John had to admire Sonja’s quick thinking. There was little to no chance of them ever being able to produce decent ammunition in any real quantities, but arrows could be made using relatively common materials, and had been made in the home for thousands of years. In any case, John was perhaps more impressed with her abilities using the wooden weapon, as he watched her notch up another arrow and quickly dispatch the encroaching biter, before immediately looking round to identify another.

  This time the creature was walking with much better pace, and stood just ten or so metres from Sonja’s position, coming from further down the as yet unexplored western portion of the road. In a gesture so smooth it looked like more of a reflex, she withdrew an arrow from her back mounted quiver, perched it on the string of her bow, reclined her right arm as far back as she could pull, and closed an eye, ready to make the kill.

  Watching nervously from just a few feet away, M1911 pistol gripped tight as a backup, Andrew tried in vain to follow the immense speed of the outgoing kill-shot as it sliced through the midday air and embedded itself into the centre of the target’s skull. Immediately, the undead being dropped to the floor, the arrow remaining perfectly positioned as its brittle bones bounced and snapped on the hard concrete below.

  Andrew tensed up even more however when Sonja began the walk over to each of her kills. In what was a must-do part of using archery to take down enemies, she cautiously approached in case of any remaining signs of life, and upon ensuring she was in no danger, swiftly yanked each of her arrows free of their targets. Wiping them off on the clothes of said victims, Sonja inspected each projectile for damage, and then finally placed the valuable ammunition back into her quiver.

  “Ready for the block’s last house?”, Sonja then asked calmly, turning to face the others whose ears were still ringing.

  “I figure we can probably spare a few minutes”, John noted, to the confusion of his fellow scavengers.

  “For what exactly?”, Sonja asked.

  “That”, John replied, pointing over Sonja’s shoulder to the gas station that stood just a short distance further along the street.

  Chapter 4: Translucent

  The gas station was relatively small – with only four double sided pumps on its forecourt – but housed a decently sized store that by the looks of things may have been the main source of business. Unlike most fuel stops however, this particular property wasn’t scorched by fire or knocked down to the ground, and seemed in relatively good condition overall. That said, there seemed to be some kind of vehicle barricade around its perimeter, arranged in a way that enabled only one person to enter and exit on foot at a time, no doubt set up to restrict the number of irate evacuees allowed in at once.

  “ONE GALLON PER PERSON, $10, NO FOOD OR WATER LEFT”, said Andrew, reading one of the many signs that littered the premises.

  “Jesus, they really cashed in on this whole thing huh?”, Sonja asked, referring to the hiked up prices many stations like this had brought in towards the end.

  John meanwhile made his way through the person-sized gap in the vehicle created fencing and found himself standing on the otherwise desolate forecourt, the words “NO SELF-FUELLING ALLOWED” repeated on signs all over each of the pumps.

  “They must have gotten a lot of people filling up and running I guess”, pointed out Andrew as he too saw the signs, himself now bringing up the rear with Sonja.

  Out of all of the pumps available, only one appeared to have been operational, presumably to make things easier to monitor. It came as no surprise to anyone however, to see nothing but dust and air come tumbling out of it as John made his way over and cut open the tubing. The entire station appeared to have been run dry, and so John instead turned his attention to the store.

  It was a relatively large 24-hour type establishment, though John imagined the 24-hour part of that had been wound down considerably towards the end. Bullet holes littered the walls, and various stains of what John was certain was blood were spread out along the brickwork, making for a rather gruesome sight. Whatever had happened here towards the end had clearly not been well received, and John could only hope it had only happened outside.

  Much to everyone’s dismay, the windows and doors of the building were so dirtied, darkened and covered with “KEEP OUT” signs that it was n
ear impossible to see inside. Nobody in the group liked raiding anywhere without first gathering as much information as possible, but gauging the condition of the building’s internals was going to be difficult without entering, and so it seemed the group would be going in blind.

  “Who attacks a gas station that has no fuel, and a store that has no supplies?”, Sonja asked, clearly confused by the state of the property.

  “Someone who thinks they’re lying I guess”, John replied, still inspecting the hole-laden building.

  “Well, guess we should split up, me and Andrew come in from the back?”, Sonja suggested.

  “Last time I split up before entering one of these places”, John started, thinking back to the time he had raided one just like it back in Eau Claire, on that occasion with the help of a man called Donald, “It didn’t exactly go smoothly”, he said. “I say we stick together on this one”.

  “Alright”, Sonja and Andrew said in unison, Andrew sounding incredibly happy about the prospect of safety in numbers.

  John approached the glass cautiously, keen to avoid a similar scare situation to the one Andrew had suffered just minutes earlier. The closer he got, the more he was able to see, and yet all he could really make out was a series of outlines, shelving most likely, and the odd sign of more bullet holes. Getting closer and closer, John managed to find the odd patch of glass that was slightly more useful, and eventually caught sight of a particularly important outline inside the darkened store; one that didn’t remain still.

  “Movement”, he said abruptly, halting the group on the spot and crouching down onto one knee whilst simultaneously withdrawing his pistol, a series of actions his companions repeated.

  Over the next few seconds, John’s brief investigation came to the conclusion that there were at least two or three particularly important figures inside, each morphing into different shapes and positions, a sign that normally indicated some kind of movement. There was no way he wanted to get any closer for fear of them being bandits, but he also knew that if there was something moving inside – either living or dead – that there were probably some supplies there too.