Aftermath (Book 2): Chicago Calling

by Duncan McArdle

  The foursome stood for a moment, each staring from person to person, contemplating the different opinions floating around in front. That was of course, except for Andrew, who was opting instead to look at the floor, hopeful he could remain clear of any conflict. Andrew had been the following type since the start of all this, and despite the occasional opportunity for him to be the driver of a car or the first one into a room, he was happy being led by others more often than not, rather than having to make the difficult decisions himself.

  “Look”, John said, “I know this whole thing means we’re a guard down, and that if I leave for Chicago, we’re two down”, he continued, without stopping to look over at Andrew who might have taken issue with the numbers, “But take my word for it, I am not leaving you for good. If I go, I am either coming back or bringing you all with me just as soon as I can, my part here doesn’t end when I set sail”.

  “And what about while you’re gone”, Sonja asked, “We just get by with three guards?”, she said, the subject clearly now having shifted to discuss John’s impending plans to leave just as soon as he could.

  “Well you got by with two”, John said, “And we have the trailer now, we can block up the entrance, make looking after this place safer”.

  Sonja went quiet, shaking her head in disagreement to John’s overall point, but knowing it wasn’t a battle she was likely to win.

  “When I first came here, the first thing I did was help, and all I’ve done since then, is help”, John began again, “I have a connection to this place, to these people”, he continued, “That isn’t going to change the second I hit the water”.

  Sonja – who had been avoiding eye contact with anyone – finally looked back up to Lester, and then to Andrew, and finally to John, before reluctantly nodding in agreement, “Fine”, she added in confirmation.

  “Alright then”, John said finally, before turning to Andrew, “Let’s go get this done”.

  * * *

  Shortly after sun-up, John and Andrew finally set off from the camp, heading left onto the main road with a series of eyes on them from atop the roof of the building. It wasn’t far between the car-park and the burial spot used previously, and so it took barely more than a matter of minutes for the duo to travel there. Upon arrival, John pulled over at the side of the road – the crosses they’d placed on their previous visit just a few metres away – and each of the living occupants jumped out.

  From the back of the truck, both men grabbed a shovel and made their way over to the grass, before John took it upon himself to designate a spot. Briefly he agonised over a few different locations, weighing up trivial attributes that he knew Harvey wouldn’t have cared for anyway, before eventually picking an area. The two of them then set about digging, scraping out huge chunks of land that were ironically surrounded by signs that warned people not to step on the grass. John couldn’t imagine the uproar that would have been if an act such as this had been done just a few months prior.

  Layer by layer, the hole in the ground grew until it reached such a size that John felt they could fit the makeshift coffin inside, at which point he signalled for Andrew to stop. The two men then dropped the shovels atop their respective dirt piles, and made their way back over to the truck, where the coffin lay neatly, surrounded by various items that had been placed around it to stop it from rolling around.

  Working with as much coordination as was possible in such a situation, John and Andrew pulled out the wooden container filled with their friend, and slowly carried him over to the hole, before carefully lowering him inside. The box fitted in perfectly, and so both men stepped back out of the hole, grabbed a shovel, paused for a moment for one final show of respect, and then began slowly filling the grave back up.

  “You want to do the next bit or should I?”, John asked whilst throwing mounds of soil back into the ground.

  “You”, Andrew replied without a second thought.

  Having anticipated such a response, John then dropped his shovel once more, and set about finding the same tree he’d used before.

  The tree in question was a good twenty feet tall, but was more importantly quite wide, and thus full of branches and twigs that he knew it wouldn’t miss. Making his way over, John quickly picked out two particularly thick branches, both seemingly perfect for the job. Snapping them off with limited effort, he then assembled them in his hands into as much of a cross as he could manage, and then took out some remaining cable ties from his rear left pocket, before quickly using them to affix the sticks in place.

  Just as Andrew pushed in the final bundle of dirt, John arrived back at the grave, and immediately began twisting the improvised cross into the ground. Neither of them had known if Harvey was a religious man, and had in fact both imagined quite the opposite, judging by his attitude towards such things. But there were few other options than burial with a cross available now, aside of course from burning, and that was a treatment they reserved only for the enemy.

  The two men stood in silence for a little while longer, feeling the cold wintery air softly blow by and whistle into the distance, each of them hoping not to return here anytime soon. After a while, John found the strength to turn and begin making his way back over to the truck, followed by Andrew, neither man having spoken a word but both knowing they had other things to do. Harvey’s time had come to an end, but at least they’d given him the send-off he deserved.

  * * *

  The marina was reasonably close to the burial site, and in fact upon arriving at the docks, John immediately noticed they were still within viewing distance of the graves they had just come from. But once they pulled up outside the end shed along the waterfront, he put thoughts of the burial they had just completed out of his mind, and focused instead on the task waiting for them right in front.

  “You should head back”, John said to Andrew.

  “And leave you?”, Andrew asked, “Do you remember what happened here the last time?”.

  “We cleared the place out”, John reminded him, “And judging by the door”, he said, pointing to the front of the building, which remained shut from their previous visit, “I don’t think anything new has turned up”.

  “How about I stay here while you go in”, Andrew suggested, “And then I’ll leave with you?”.

  “Fair enough”, John conceded before stepping out of the truck, withdrawing his trusty Ruger as he did.

  Andrew clambered over to the driver-side of the Ford, before briefly considering whether or not he should try to convince John to take the shotgun with him, after it had proved so useful on their previous trip there. But before he could even open his mouth, John had already disappeared inside, and so Andrew instead switched his attention to turning the truck around, so that it would be ready to head back out.

  As he turned, Andrew monitored the area carefully, looking for anything out of place. But from what he could tell, everything seemed exactly as they had left it, and so upon finishing the truck’s manoeuvre, Andrew killed the engine, lowered his window, and remained in his seat. The cold, windy air that seeped in through the now lowered glass made for a truly horrible feeling, but he wasn’t about to head off home just yet, as he knew his thoughts would be plagued with worst case scenarios of what might be happening to the friend he’d abandoned here if he did. Instead, he sat, waiting.

  Arriving inside the familiar shed, John briefly made sure that nothing stirred in the entrance area, and then made his way over to the right-hand door. Swinging it open and then stepping back with his gun raised, John found nothing remaining in the hallway – other than a series of bodies and the foul smell that went with them – and so continued moving forwards, stepping over and on top of several corpses before eventually emerging into the much larger area to the rear of the building.

  Although barely visible behind vast amounts of cloud, the sun’s low position at that time of day had one direct advantage; the light coming through the slightly open shutters was much more prominent. In fact, John now found
himself able to analyse the place in much greater detail, from the smashed light he now saw above his head, to the additional bodies he himself hadn’t noticed the day prior. John imagined however that they were probably just those that had killed either themselves, or each other, long before his first arrival here, and so paid them little attention.

  Finally John caught sight of a chain attached to the part-open shutter, and promptly made his way over. The chain had been disused for some time, and was incredibly difficult to move at first. But with enough patience and determination, the shutter eventually began to rise up, serenaded by a noise of metal screeching against metal. Light quickly began to flood into the area, rising higher and higher until everything was fully illuminated, exposing one final thing for John to look at.

  Placed right on the side of his prized find in front was a large sticker, stamped at the bottom with the logo of the repairs company that had worked on it, and containing a series of hand written notes:

  “MILWAUKEE RUNNER”

  “HULL REPAIR – COMPLETED”

  “READY FOR COLLECTION BY MR MCKINLEY”

  * * *

  Back outside the building, Andrew heard the sound of the shutter rising, and in doing so allowed himself to feel happy with the knowledge that John had made it at least that far. He remained in place out of caution however, ears pricked up waiting to hear one final noise, and eyes ready to see the sight that went with it, his hand poised over the ignition of the truck. His other hand meanwhile remained on the door handle, just in case he was needed.

  A few seconds later, confirmation surfaced that his work here was done, as the sound of a large engine kicked into life from inside the giant shed. Before long, Andrew caught sight of the white, rail-topped bow of the “Milwaukee Runner”, emerging out into the lake from the confines of the boat-repair hut, with none other than John Parker at the helm.

  Chapter 40: Transmission

  Six months earlier, June 4th 2014.

  On a normal day, six men running towards the lobby of a high security bank with guns drawn and looks of fear and panic on almost all of their faces might have been a rather worrisome sight. But this was no longer a bank filled with cash or other valuable assets – all of them looted back when people thought they’d all see the other side of this hell-on-earth that had befallen them – and they were most certainly not bank robbers.

  In fact, the only resemblance this building still bore to its former financial self was the presence of former customers inside. Much like before, said people were stood around quietly, moving only slightly and very slowly, as if trying not to disturb some kind of strange etiquette that had been established by their fellow inhabitants. Unlike before however, these particular people were very much dead.

  “In here!”, came Geoff’s Alabaman voice as he led the pack through a smashed window and into the fairly dim grasp of the main reception area, before his eyes were able to adjust to the darkness and he suddenly realised his mistake, “Oh c’mon!”.

  With that he screeched to a halt, and in an almost cartoon-like way, each and every other member of the group came running up behind and slid into the back of each other, all of them imitating cars unable to stop in time to avoid the growing pile-up in front.

  “With me”, Geoff instructed once he’d regained his balance, “We’ve gotta’ stop somewhere, might as well be here”, he said, before moving towards the nearest target.

  He was right of course, ever since the group had departed Milwaukee on what should have only been a two hour drive, they’d barely managed to stop in an entire week. Every night had been spent camping out in some partially infested hell-hole, and every moment of daytime had been devoted to slowly progressing deeper into the grasps of Chicago, more often than not running up against dead ends of vicious hordes or streets so congested there was no way through. They may well have run right into yet another attack here in this building, but at least it was a slightly more favourably sized one to that which they were running away from.

  Geoff dispatched the nearest individual – a petite woman who despite having been dead for over a month was still tightly grasping her handbag – with a swift blow to the head using a hammer attached to his belt, and then signalled for the group to fan out. In perfect unison, each and every member began picking their own targets and moving apart, every one of them keeping their distance and watching each other’s backs, and all of them bearing the tell-tale signs of exhaustion with every laboured movement.

  In a fairly unremarkable display, Gavin, Michael, Ryan, Ray and Jack each took care of their selected biter, and within a matter of moments the room – or at least the immediate vicinity – was clear. At times like this, when a room of the undead was cleared with such ease and professionalism, they were all reminded of the benefits of having a group this large, especially one that had become so accustomed to the new world so quickly.

  “Alright”, Geoff announced, calling an end to the violence once he saw the last body drop, “Everybody drink up, eat something, and we’ll move out in ten”.

  Without hesitation everyone relaxed, throwing off backpacks and resting weapons on the ground, before each dropping down and lying flat, all of them relieved at the opportunity for a break. Geoff meanwhile stayed on his feet, feeling that due to his position as the group’s leader and former boss he had more responsibility than anyone to keep them safe. Instead he opted to continue pacing the area, seeking out threats and analysing potential weak spots, while everybody else caught their breath and stuffed their faces.

  The lobby was a fairly grand one, with gold, silver and platinum the most common colours among a series of fancy looking desks and ridiculously over-expensive elevators, a reasonably standard affair for this sort of bank. Sadly for everyone there though, the presumably bullet-proof glass that would have separated the tellers from customers and no doubt the living from the dead had been caved in at various points during its inevitable looting, and so would be little use to them now.

  The ruined glass wasn’t however the only reason Geoff had designated this location as a short-term rest-stop rather than a bed for the night. A short distance down each corridor, his sensitive ears were regularly picking up the faint sound of movement, an undisputable piece of evidence that indicated they were far from alone. If ever there was a time to assume they were alone, Geoff had a feeling this was most certainly not it.

  “Everybody ready?”, he asked after hearing a particularly loud noise, something that sped up his desire to evacuate back into the even more deadly but less cramped streets of inner city Chicago.

  “Are you kidding me?”, Michael asked, just barely having managed to finish off the candy bar he’d hastily jammed down his throat, “Already?”.

  “Sorry guys”, Geoff replied, “It ain’t safe here”.

  “It isn’t safe anywhere”, Ryan interjected, gesturing back outside to the silhouettes of moving bodies making their way up and down the street.

  “Well just you wait till we get behind those walls”, Geoff replied.

  Immediately the group went quiet, and not as a means of expressing unison over their current goal. Instead, the silence was coupled with sets of eyes shifting from one member to another, each of them awkwardly looking for someone else to say something that was on all of their minds. It was a sign Geoff recognised straight away as being the start of something bad; doubt.

  “C’mon guys, don’t go giving up on me yet”, Geoff reasoned, hoping to get out ahead of the problem.

  “Geoff”, Gavin said as he clambered onto his feet, “You said two hours”, he added, locking eyes with his former boss, “That was a week ago”.

  “I know that”, Geoff replied, “But what if this is it, what if this is the last place we have to get to?”.

  “Do you really think we’re still gonna’ get there?”, Ryan now asked, “I mean look around, everywhere is just infested with-“.

  Ryan cut off as a rather appropriately timed biter emerged to his rear, clumsily stumbl
ing in through the broken glass and sending a few sharpened shards flying in with it.

  “-Them”, he added, before turning and withdrawing the crowbar he had threaded between a belt loop, twisting it onto its side, and then jamming the sharpened end straight through the eye of the attacker and back out the rear of its skull.

  “Look people”, Geoff started again once the body had dropped, summoning every ounce of energy he could into some desperate attempt at a convincing speech, “Way I see it is, if we can get there, if we can get behind those walls, we can make this place better for everyone else, we can make it somewhere for people to rest, to survive… to live. We can be the people to stop those bodies from piling up any higher!”.

  One by one every person there looked down at their feet without another word. They were all more than familiar with the signs of others who’d tried and failed to reach Chicago, and it was an image none of them wanted back in their minds. With so many bodies both on the ground and walking upright, it had become clear that a huge amount of life had been lost in this city alone, no doubt much of it since the infection had bedded in and more people had attempted to take refuge in the city. Nobody in the group wanted to take away another person’s chance of survival, and each and every one of them saw merit in doing their part to help out the next group of people that sought out safe haven there.

  “Alright”, Ryan said eventually, breaking the silence once he was sure nobody else was going to pitch in, “But what if we can’t get any closer?”, he asked, “I mean we’ve barely moved forwards since we ditched the cars”.

  “Then we make sure nobody else makes the same mistake”, Geoff reasoned, clearly having already considered the possibility.

  “What, stand outside the city and yell at people?”, Michael suggested sarcastically.

  “Maybe”, Geoff replied, “Or maybe we block the roads, put up signs, do something”.