Aftermath (Book 2): Chicago Calling

by Duncan McArdle

  John felt an immediate sense of personal stupidity, but knew there wasn’t time for that, and so he instead unhooked the helmet still attached to his left arm, running towards the scuffle as he did, and proceeded to hurl the rounded object forwards. The helmet sailed towards the grappling duo just as the biter took a particularly unimpeded swing downwards, its teeth coming within millimetres of Andrew’s neck when the object came out of nowhere, knocking it back slightly.

  But it was only a temporary solution, and in mere moments the figure once again forced its head downwards towards Andrew, who was almost completely helpless with fatigue at this point. Luckily for him however, John’s move had never been intended to subdue the attacker, and had instead only been a stalling tactic. Now in range of the two, John unleashed a duet of gunshots into the head of the beast, sending a large volume of blood spraying out along the floor to Andrew’s right, and exerting just enough force to knock the body partially off of him.

  “You alright?”, John asked uncertainly, grabbing Andrew by the hand and helping him to push off the body and climb up onto his feet.

  “Y-y-yeah I’m fine”, Andrew stuttered, “Thank you”, he said.

  John nodded, before turning to check on Harvey, who was now back on his own feet having finally managed to dispatch the final target.

  “If we’re going in”, John started, pointing to the supermarket, “I’ma get my rifle just in case”, he said, before turning and running back to the eighteen-wheeler.

  “Alright”, Andrew acknowledged in between a series of pants, beads of sweat forming as he tried to find composure once more.

  Harvey meanwhile began inspecting the building’s interior, counting up the large number of undead still present inside.

  John arrived at the truck and climbed back into the cabin, reaching onto the passenger seat to grab his M14, and then quickly jumping back out again. But suddenly he found himself pausing, and on a complete whim, and for no other reason than having hope, John turned back to the cabin, climbed up the steps, and twisted the key.

  “Click… click… click…”, came the engine once more, repeating those same, soul destroying sounds before suddenly, the massive monster finally changed its mind, and roared into life.

  Chapter 32: The speed of sound

  “YES!!”, John yelled loudly from the cabin of the eighteen-wheeler, no longer caring how far his voice travelled and knowing most of it would be drowned out by the massive engine below anyway.

  Excitedly he revved the truck louder, making absolutely sure that it wasn’t going to stop running, and when eventually satisfied that all appeared well, exerted a series of excited gestures and yelps.

  Andrew and Harvey came running quickly over, seemingly amazed that John had managed to get a vehicle running that just a few minutes ago had seemed destined to remain in place till the end of time.

  “John!”, Andrew exclaimed as he approached the truck, just as John excitedly leant out the driver-side window to greet him.

  “Pretty good right!?”, he yelled proudly.

  “No, over there!”, Andrew said, pointing now to the smoke coming from in front of the truck, a sight which upon spotting, wiped the smile clean off of John’s face.

  Resisting the urge to kill the engine for fear of it not coming back on, John opened the door and jumped out of the cabin, hurriedly rushing to the front to see where the problem was coming from. Mercifully, the smoke wasn’t emerging from anywhere in the eighteen-wheeler, but less mercifully, it was coming from the Tesla, where it seemed one of the jumper cables had completely fried, setting fire to both itself and the area surrounding the supercar’s battery.

  Andrew was first on scene, and went running towards the bundle of smoke and flames to try and disconnect the cables, hoping he’d be able to save the car.

  “No!”, John yelled to the advancing man, “Leave it!”.

  “Leave it!?”, Andrew asked in disbelief.

  “We don’t need it Andrew, let’s just get out of here”, John said, as he noticed Harvey nodding in the background, obviously agreeing. “Let’s just get in the truck, and go”.

  “I’ll bring the Nissan”, Harvey said, as he made his way over to the pickup and began detaching its own cables.

  Andrew stared at John like a young boy looking to a police officer, wishing there was something to be done to right a wrong happening right in front of them. But John had no help to offer, he knew the Tesla’s life was always going to be short lived, thanks in no small part to a severe lack of charging facilities. But John also knew that without the car, they would never have gotten back in time to help save the camp, and for that he owed it a debt. Taking one last look at the now more severely burning machine, John gave it an almost human to human nod of appreciation, and then clambered back up into the truck’s cabin.

  Andrew turned now to Harvey, but quickly realised that he too had no intention of rescuing the car, himself already having closed the hood of the Nissan and climbed back inside. The fire was spreading fast through the interior of the Tesla, and so not wishing to waste time, Harvey quickly drove the truck out of harm’s way. All three men knew that thanks to the lack of fuel carried by the electric car, it presented few of the dangers normally found in burning vehicles, but that didn’t mean any one of them wanted to spend any more time than necessary stood next to it.

  “Fine”, Andrew said in a defeated tone, before beginning the short walk past the inferno and around the other side of the truck, looking longingly to the car as he did.

  The eighteen-wheeler had been parked close to both its charging sources, but now that the Nissan had been moved, there was just enough room to move forwards. This of course was a lucky thing, as having to move – or rather shove – the Tesla would otherwise have been necessary, due to the truck’s inability to reverse any further back.

  “What a waste”, Andrew said as he climbed up the steps and into the cabin with John.

  “I know”, John acknowledged, “It served us well”, he added, before moving the truck off to the left, narrowly scraping the Tesla’s bumper on the way past, and then pointing towards the exit.

  “Seems like an electric car has so much potential now”, Andrew said, “If we ever found some decent solar panels, I’m sure we could find a way to-“.

  “I know Andrew”, John interrupted, “But that’s all just a pipe dream”.

  Andrew knew John was right. The idea of running an electric car had been a difficult prospect before the world had ended, and so was guaranteed to be more of one now. The irony of the situation was that there was more fuel than electricity now, and so in a way, they were in better standing to run a fleet of gas guzzling vehicles instead. But the idea of taking a car out on runs, and never having to do extra ones in order to fuel it, had been a prospect Andrew very much liked the idea of.

  “You like driving it?”, John asked.

  “Sure”, Andrew lied, having barely made it over thirty the whole way there.

  John laughed, knowing Andrew was the last person he’d expect to have a flash, advanced car like the Tesla – in the old world or the new one – and doubting very much that he’d understood how to use much of it. “Complicated isn’t it?”, he said.

  “Like a spaceship”, Andrew admitted.

  * * *

  Sonja stood proudly atop the north-east corner of the car-park, watching over her kingdom like a proud mother, or a shepherd looking after their flock. When she’d first holed up in this place with Lester, they’d never envisaged creating the incredible civilisation they had now. In fact, since the first time they’d heard about Chicago, she’d always imagined that they’d head there at the first opportunity.

  The reality of course, had been very different. Every time they’d found a boat, there’d been vulnerable people who needed to get across the water, and if Lester or Sonja had gone along, those who remained would suddenly become even more vulnerable. Instead of getting themselves to safety, they’d repeatedly given up their own spots
to help others, a move they’d received little to nothing in return for.

  Of course, they hadn’t done it for any kind of gratitude or payment. Since day one, Sonja had been helping people, sharing supplies and defending the weak, doing whatever she could not to lose sight of the old world and the kind people she’d met in it. Lester on the other hand had been more about self-preservation, but that hadn’t stopped Sonja turning him into the man he was now, stood downstairs for the majority of most days, the first line of defence against the evil that lurked outside.

  Staring out over the vastness of Lake Michigan in front, Sonja marvelled at the stillness of the water, hearing and seeing absolutely nothing for miles and miles in front. In fact it was much the same story in every direction, and had been for the last hour, not a single soul outside of the car-park having made the faintest of noises save for the occasional bird that glided by in near silence.

  At moments like this, Sonja had found that the best and most constructive way to kill time had been to partake in activities that benefited the community. This ranged from simple acts like helping to prepare food or cleaning weapons, to more time consuming ones, like teaching others the various survival skills she knew. If Sonja could do something that helped someone other than herself, and she could do it without taking her eye off of the job in front, then it was a task worth doing.

  With that in mind, Sonja had spent the last hour or so instructing some of the more able bodied members of the camp on how to safely handle a blade. Should a time arise once again whereby people were forced to defend themselves, she wanted to do everything she could to avoid the catastrophe of the previous occasion, and wished more than anything to reduce – or better yet, alleviate completely – any loss of human life.

  Now however, with her would-be pupils having gone back to their various chores armed with new skills and numerous semi-blunt blades to practise with, Sonja had decided to refine her own skills for a change. It was a welcome change of pace for the day, and one she was doing with the help of a biter Lester had put down shortly after Andrew had left earlier in the morning, one that he had not yet gone back out to collect.

  Sonja locked her gaze on the body, its limbs sprawled out around it but the head of the beast still attached and in reasonably good condition, save of course for the axe wound to the side of it. Making a conscious effort to regulate her breathing, Sonja reached down to the quiver leant against the wall in front, and withdrew a single arrow, sliding her fingers along the length of it to look for any imperfections.

  The arrow in question was made mostly of fibreglass, a practise round that had once upon a time lived a much less exciting life. The one redeeming feature was a tip made of stainless steel, but despite this benefit, the piece had been glued on, and so rarely remained in place for more than a few shots. It was one of a bundle Sonja had found alongside the bow in a sporting goods store shortly after the end, and had since been combined with some other, much more sophisticated sets. Despite its poor quality and construction however, it made for perfect practise ammunition – as indeed it was intended for – and if push came to shove, could be and had been used to bring down the undead.

  Slowly Sonja notched the projectile on the string of her wooden bow. The weapon was of average quality, possessing none of the more interesting features that its recurve or compound equivalents had. Its wooden frame was sturdy but quite heavy, and the string itself looked like it wouldn’t last for long. But it had been Sonja’s since the start, and she’d long since gotten used to firing it. In fact, Sonja had opted for this variant over numerous others, in the hope that its simplicity would help her – a person with little prior experience in archery – get to grips with it, a gamble that had certainly paid off.

  Drawing back with only enough pressure to keep the arrow in place, Sonja looked back up to her target once more, and began analysing. The biter on the ground was wearing some kind of football attire, the details of which had long since been torn off or stained into nothingness by the presence of blood. Sonja couldn’t imagine the chaos of a biter turning in the middle of an area as busy as a stadium mid-game, but she was sure it was situations like that that had helped spread the infection so quickly. That said, the figure on the ground looked to be in fairly good condition, his muscles still obvious behind the sleeves of his shirt despite the period of time having passed that he’d likely gone without food, so she imagined he’d met a more peaceful end.

  Slowly Sonja pulled back her arm, bringing the bow string with it, tensing the wooden frame and reclining the arrow into firing position. Both of Sonja’s arms held firmly as she lined up the shot one final time, her eye now narrowing as she attempted to draw a line between herself and the target. Exhaling once more so as to minimise movement, Sonja parted her fingers, and allowed the tension of the bow to bring the string flying forwards. Suddenly the arrow was propelled out in front, slicing through the midday air on its brief but elegant journey towards its intended target.

  Sonja remained in place, stood with her left arm holding the bow out, and her right still in position, but no longer clutching onto anything. Her eyes remained on the target rather than trying to follow the arrow, and so her gaze stayed locked onto the seemingly misshapen nose of the fallen man right up until the end. Suddenly, the steel tip of the arrow emerged from the sky and struck the body just under the left shoulder, embedding itself surprisingly deep into what Sonja assumed must be a fairly well-rotted area.

  “Damn it”, Sonja said out loud, noting the non-lethal shot that had come from all that work.

  Disappointed, she dropped her arms to each side, staring at the result. To the average person, not previously experienced in the art of archery, nor in the ways of handling any kind of weapon, such a feat might have been impressive. In fact, at the distance she was firing, and with a significant difference in height and a light wind to content with, even a decent archer might have been proud of such a shot, especially considering the equipment in use. But Sonja knew it wasn’t good enough, and knew even more so that she was capable of much better, and so leant down and picked up another arrow.

  The one selected this time was of wooden construction, but appeared – judging by the rounded tip – to once again be a practise projectile. Once more though, Sonja reminded herself that this was indeed practice, and that the use of real ammunition, even when retrievable, was an unnecessary expense. Sonja had talked a good game about the ability for the camp to manufacture its own arrows, but they had yet to obtain any of the materials or equipment needed to do so, and so until such a time, they remained as valuable a commodity as bullets.

  Once again regulating her breathing, Sonja notched the wooden item and drew back her right arm, narrowing her vision to the target and nothing else. Her left arm quivered slightly with the pressure, but she quickly steadied it, stamping out any notion of giving up after just one attempt. Breathing out, Sonja took one final moment to compose herself, and then let fly the shot.

  Just as it had done moments earlier, the air between Sonja and her target was suddenly disrupted by the projectile travelling at great speed, as it made the journey quickly, effortlessly and elegantly. Gradually it began to dip towards its target, and eventually found its mark almost exactly in the centre of the man’s head, landing just above the mouth and striking straight through into the upper rear of the skull, a perfect shot by all accounts.

  But Sonja wasn’t jumping for joy or patting herself on the back. In fact, she wasn’t even looking at where the arrow had landed. Instead, she was looking out the left of her eye, having suddenly heard something approaching from the distance. It was a noise she didn’t recognise, and that troubled Sonja more than anything. Just as soon as she’d determined that she was indeed hearing a sound coming from outside of the camp, she turned to face out into the distance, waiting for something to emerge.

  Where Sonja was looking however, was not to the north, along the road the others would likely be returning. Had it been, she might simply be chalk
ing it all up to the grand return of her fellow guards, but instead, Sonja was staring more north-west, and at an elevated angle, looking up into the sky slightly. In the distance, a small figure was moving through the air, visible at this point as little more than the outline of a bird, seemingly mid-glide.

  But as the figure approached, and began to grow rapidly in size, Sonja soon realised that this was no bird. Within a few seconds, the noise had started to rise, and the figure soon took shape, its slick wings and sharp pointed tip giving notion to some kind of aircraft, and the blackened paint job it adorned pointing to something non-civilian, a sight that hadn’t been seen in some time.

  In an instant, the object sailed well past the car-park with incredible speed, and continued on south, skirting along the edge of the coast. Within a matter of moments, the immense sound created by a jet engine came crashing down on top of the area, forcing Sonja’s hands to her ears, and throwing up various scraps of paper and piles of dirt and dust, disrupting everything within reach of the building.

  Sonja span on the spot in an attempt to follow, and her eyes tightened as she looked to the rear of the fighter jet, now fading back into a bird sized object off in the distance. The machine sailed past the outskirts of Chicago without deviation, still heading south, and soon disappeared just as quickly as it had appeared. All around people began to rush up for a look, amazed and bemused by the presence of such a thing so long after the world had collapsed.

  Sonja’s own viewing however was cut short by another noise, coming this time from the more northern section of road running outside of the camp. Turning to investigate, Sonja caught sight of the Nissan pickup, now making its way back and in doing so covering Sonja in an immense sense of relief. That was of course, until such a feeling was replaced with that of confusion, as the outline of a huge eighteen-wheeler came into view behind the pickup, trundling along in convoy.