by Karpa, Boris
That was simple, thought Arthur as he returned to the car. Only now he noticed his clothing was completely soaked in water.
“Does anybody realize how long this lasted?” – asked the Mayor as they snapped the doors shut. – “Not more than ten minutes.”
“I don't think you could get a police car to come to Florentine in ten minutes in the old days.” – Martin laughed – “By the way, Archie – this whole thing should be another clue for you.”
“A clue for what?” – Arthur stared, strapping himself in at the rear seat.
“For our morning lesson. Today seems to be shaping up perfectly for you to have plenty of reasons to figure out.”
“Oh for Pete's sake, Martin,” – Arthur groaned – “If it's that important can't you just tell me?”
“We need to get going,” – the advisor replied, and stepped on the gas.
18:40
They stood upon the wet, rust-red fire escape, the advisor and his apprentice. Like this morning, they stood alone. Their goal – the storage facility, filled with thousands of guns, tons of supplies, food, medicine, an entire civilization in a jar, the key to the city – was only about a thousand yards away. It could just as well have been on the moon. In the gray near-darkness, it was not possible to make anything out – but even from here, one could smell the terrible stench of thousands of undead. Martin passed Arthur his night vision binoculars. – “Take a look.”
The night-vision binoculars displayed the world in an unnatural, light-green hue. It was like watching a black-and-white film through a green filter. But this was still better than simply squinting through near-complete darkness. He could see them now – not individual creatures – they were too far for that – but a teeming, moving, black mass of bodies. There would be no distinguishing them from humans at this range, but for the strange manner of the crowd's movement. They swayed meaninglessly, like a vast sea of carrion.
But beyond that, there was an additional terror to this sight – beyond the near-supernatural nightmare of dealing with the living dead. It was a mere physical terror or facing a superior enemy. The creatures were far too many. They were not only in the single straight street that led to the storage base. They crowded the alleys that crossed it, and some seemed to shamble in and out of the buildings just outside the fence. The place used to be an industrial zone, a range of workshops and small plants that grew on the city outskirts, slowly creeping around the old Army base. Now it was something else entirely.
“That's a death trap.” – Arthur whispered, as if the creatures could hear him, even that far away – “There's far more of them than two thousand.”
“How do you know that?” – the advisor replied, his tone an examiner's tone.
“I don't know how to count them. It just feels that way. I'm right, though – there's far more than two thousand, right?”
“You're right.” – Martin said. Arthur could guess that he was smiling – “I think more of them came here since I've last checked. Maybe they're attracted to each other's noises.”
“Why do you sound so happy?” – Arthur hissed – “We're going to have to call everything off! Go back to Florentine!”
“Why is that?”
“Because there's ten thousand freaking ghouls out there! Ten thousand!” – Arthur whispered, but it felt like screaming. – “How many people did we bring? Two hundred? How many ghouls do you expect each person to shoot? How do you want us to get past this lot, and that back out again?”
“Out will be easier than in.” – Martin replied as laconically as always.
“Oh come on now. Even if we do win out and ride out of here alive with some stuff, that doesn't mean we've won.”
“Not?” – the advisor sounded now genuinely perplexed.
“Not! Because we are going to need a lot more than that to clear out the whole ten thousand! And we can't clear out the city! Does anybody even know how many of them there are in the city?”
“We aren't planning to clear out the city today.”
“No, no, no!” – Arthur had to restrain himself from stamping his foot against the metal surface of the fire escape. In his mind, he already could hear the bell-like, metal voice it would have made if he were to do that, and see the heads of ten thousand ghouls turning towards the source of the sound. – “It's a crazy idea to think that these people can clear out the city! There's not enough! Tell the Mayor we need to retreat! We're not going to beat them, Martin, they've already won! And if we're going to beat them we are going to need more people! It'll take months! We need to round up all the survivors, from all the camps and arm them, and maybe, just maybe, we can do something worthwhile here!”
“Are you finished?” – the advisor asked. He seemed to be entirely untouched by Arthur's speech.
- “What?” – the apprentice's eyes went round.
“Listen to me and listen to me well,” – Martin said. Suddenly, his voice rang like a steel blade. – “I am going to say this once and once only. I don't care how many there are. We're going to get into that base, and we're going to do it tonight. And then the Florentines are going to ride home with their share of the loot, and I'm going to take mine. And when we take back the city I will take my share of the houses we free, and I'm going to be wealthy like Rockefeller when the lights come back on. And so will you. And if you still believe that foolery that we will always lose to these things – well at least don't insult my intelligence by saying it when you're next to me or I'm going to straight-out punch your right in the face. Do you understand me, Archie?”
Uh.” – Arthur gulped uncomfortably. – “Yes. Yes I do.”
“Now let's get ready. We have a job to do.”
With that, Martin turned away from his apprentice and propped his rifle up on the fire escape's hand-railing. It was perhaps not the world's most comfortable shooting setup, but it let him avoid lying down on the wet, cold metal surface. From the upper floor, water continued to rush down the metal stairs, and if they were to lie down they'd be even more thoroughly drenched in it – and no doubt earn themselves a case of pneumonia.
Arthur could not make a nine-hundred yard head shot with his rifle – indeed, he could not make such a shot even if he had Martin's rifle. People who have only been carrying a gun for two weeks don't work miracles. Thus he simply raised the binoculars to his eyes and observed.
A keen observer could have spotted dark-green shadows – in the night-vision binoculars, all shadows are green – moving across the roofs of several houses between them and the undead predators. The shadows moved differently from shamblers – swiftly and confidently. Their movement betrayed that they were not ghouls, but human beings.
- "Those are our people on those roofs?" – Arthur whispered.
Martin replied without checking. "Yes. We've had people climb the roofs from the outside. Grapnel hooks, some strong cord. This way there are positions on either side of the street for all the length between us and them."
- "Why?"
- "Patience, grasshopper. Patience."
Arthur yanked the binocular from side to side, scanning the side streets. As they ran in perpendicular to the street they were looking down on, most of the things happening there were concealed from view by buildings.
– "So what's happening?" – he whispered after a while.
- "Exactly what we can see with our eyes. This street – Iron Street, it was called in its time – runs directly to the gates. It's about a thousand yards from us to the gates. We could jog perhaps six hundred yards without a problem, but everything four hundred or so yards around the fence is filled with ghouls."
- "I can see that." – Arthur replied.
- "Right. Now, these people you see on the roofs are crawling up as close as they can – the rain is hiding them from the ghouls."
- "Yes, but what's the point? I see about a few dozen people. Where are the rest of them?" �
� and how are they planning to do anything against a pile of ghouls that big? – Arthur restrained himself from asking that question.
- "You're thinking that there's not enough people." – Martin muttered while leaning over his scope. – "That crowd there does look quite impressive, doesn't it?"
Arthur gulped. "Yes. Yes it does." If by 'impressive' you mean totally terrifying.
- "Ah, Archie. Do you remember me talking to Mayor Jackson about megafauna? The big hairy monsters of prehistoric time?"
- "Vaguely. They were big, hairy, and then humanity killed them and wore their skins. Great old pep talk, but what does it have to do with how..."
- "It has a very direct bearing on the how," – Martin interjected – "In that we're going to adopt the same methods that had been used by our illustrious ancestors.
- "'Our illustrious ancestors'? Why that's a big help." – Arthur replied – "You sound like a guy in a B-movie."
- "Life imitates art, what can I say. Besides, the dead have risen to life. I am entitled to act like a guy in a B-movie," – Martin bounced back. Arthur snickered despite himself.
- "Now, don't talk. Just watch." – the advisor added – "All you need to do is follow me and do as I say. We're the infiltration team, and all we need to do is know our part. Theodore and his people know theirs, trust me on that."
And thus they waited.
The metal stairwell overhead protected them from most of the train – but they were standing on its very edge, leaning against the railing. Water splashed in their faces, got in under their waterproof jackets. The cold autumn wind lashed hard against their skin. These things might have been minor annoyances if they had been simply here for a few minutes, catching a breath of air after a hard day's work – but they were forced to wait here. With every minutes, the discomfort grew – from a small annoyance to outright suffering.
And nothing happened. The crowd of the dead stood where it had just been, a unified clump of bodies moving like seaweeds on the surface of a calm sea, with only a few creatures walking apart from the ranks, shambling through the street a few dozen yards from the main crowd. their movement appeared nearly random, Brownian – but of course there'd been order to it, order that was not noticeable simply because it was dead – the crowds of the living dead formed and broke up at speeds that were far below those of human observation. With no fresh meat to excite them with its smell, the creatures could be here for hours, with the crowd slowly reshaping itself into something else, moving elsewhere.
I wonder what they'll do if they ever end up eating all the people? – Arthur wondered Will they just walk around like this, or? In his mind's eye rose a terrible vision – of the world stripped from every human being and large animal, with the undead creatures flowing from one ruined building to each other with the same seemingly-random, meaningless movement, with crowds forming in one place, and then slowly pouring into another, ghoul by ghoul, like sand in a massive, invisible hourglass. His mind portrayed them as he was seeing them now in reality – simply as black, man-like shadows. Their rotten, corrupted features were not visible – and with nothing to distract from their nature, the ghouls were far more intimidating. So was the image in his mind of a world filled with ghouls.
And there was nothing to do here but wait.
*
The engine buzzed loudly. Like an angry bumblebee, the surviving motorbike bounced out into the street, its headlights blazing against the darkness. Stunned by the sudden flaring light, Arthur lowered the night vision binoculars, looking on as the motorbike dodged between the lone shamblers, speeding towards the edge of the crowd of ghouls that filled the far half of the street. As the bike stopped, its brakes screamed so loudly Arthur could hear them where he stood – nearly six hundred yard away.
And then, inside the crowd of ghouls, there was a low thump. A shower of smoke and flame burst from among the heads of the undead creatures, and the motorbike began to roll away – slowly this time, only a bit faster than a running man. The crowd moved – shambling, far slower than the bike. They were even slower than normal – only in this way could Arthur explain that the motorbike dodged less than a yard away from a lone shambler, and it did not even reach out for the rider.
Inside the crowd, there was movement – like the movement of ants scrambling over a rat's corpse, shifting it with their weight. Some of the ghouls had already fallen victim to the explosion and now the others were feasting on them, no longer beings of the same kind but merely that much meat.
Suddenly, Martin's rifle spat fire. Arthur jerked from the sudden noise, nearly dropping the binoculars. But he already saw the result – one of the lone ghouls that had nearly stood in the bike's escape path fell over like a sack of potatoes.
For a brief moment, the motorbike ground to a halt. It seemed suicidal – to stop again, with ghouls perhaps forty yards away. But they were stopping, and the man in the sidecar threw something again – a grenade, Arthur guessed. Another explosion, this time at the feet of the approaching ghouls. The rider meanwhile drew a pistol. He held it in an outstretched arm, firing at those lone ghouls that stood scattered along Iron Street. The pistol flashed several times, the loud snapping noise arriving fractions of a second after each shot.
"And now..." – Martin whispered.
The ghouls were now moving faster – not quite as fast as a running man, but as fast as a brisk walk. The bike started again – and just as it came into motion, the man in the sidecar threw another grenade. It dodged onto the sidewalk – the rules of the road meaning little in the world After – and then forward onto the road. Martin's rifle fired again, and another creature just a dozen yards ahead of the bikers fell to the ground.
A few more bursts of motion, and the bike was only a few dozen meters away from were Martin and Arthur were standing. From their perch on the fire escape it appeared tiny, its lights shining precariously towards the approaching crowd of ghouls. Slowly, the dead creatures were breaking into a run. A minute – and a veritable wave of ghouls was rumbling down the stretch of road.
- "What is this?" – Arthur breathed – "There is a pile of shamblers the size of forever running our way!"
- "I've noticed." – Martin said. – "This is going to get hilarious. But to appreciate the humor you need to be looking in the other direction."
- "What?" – the apprentice peered at the advisor. – "What are you on about?"-
- "Follow me. To the roof." – Martin said, starting up the fire escape. – "I'm afraid we're going to give up shelter from the rain to see this show through to its end."
The roof was flat, its surface disrupted only by a concrete service hut and racks of rusty, dead air conditioning machinery. The two friends bypassed it, standing by the edge of the roof to look down – and away from the dry storage facility. From here, they could see the light of the bike bobbing further and further away down Iron Street – and the ghouls following after it.
- "It's leading them away!" – Arthur exclaimed, the plan beginning to dawn on him.
- "Yes. But the question is," – Martin replied – "Where is it leading them?"
Far, far down the street, a clatter came. It was like the sound of an ordinary machine gun – only far faster, the sound of the gunshots seeming to merge into a single continuous brrrap. Tracer rounds lashed at the crowd, passing just left to the motorcycle riders.
The rider was prepared for this eventuality – he simply threw his vehicle onto the right sidewalk and drove it down the street, leaving the left and the middle of the road wide open for the machine gunner. Except there had been more than one machinegun.
Far away, at the end of the street where the machinegun had been firing, two more had joined in. These were heavy machineguns – of the same kind that Arthur had already encountered that evening. This time they had been mounted on something very tall – he raised his binoculars to check. What he saw amazed him.
The large armored buses that had carried most of the men now stood parked across the st
reet, almost close bumper to bumper. Twisting the zoom dial, he saw that mounted on their roofs were two heavy machineguns, with crewmen's arms and heads poking out of hatches on top. But, more importantly, standing between the buses and the oncoming horde of the dead were several large, green municipal garbage containers, each the size of a small truck. Ghouls couldn't climb.
- "It's a trap, isn't it?" – Arthur gasped.
- "Quite clever of you." – Martin quipped – "You'll make admiral yet."
The heavy machineguns were simply working – clattering, clattering, a long, un-ending burst. With every second, dozens of ghouls fell to the ground, and yet others attempted to stop and feast on these, only to be brought down and trampled by their fellow creatures who had not yet smelled the new meal and were still speeding on towards the place where the elusive, bike-riding humans were riding away from them.
The bike was moving slowly by any motorbike measures, but it was still too fast for the creatures to catch up with. It stopped outright for a few seconds – and, in the enhanced, zoomed-in view of the night vision binoculars, Arthur saw the sidecar rider twist his entire body again, throwing another grenade – and yet another one, while the first one was still sailing through the air. The blasts seemed to merge into one another, tearing a wide hole into the mass of the living dead.
Once more, the motorbike started into motion. It was almost within sight of the makeshift barricade now – another small effort, and the two riders would be safe. But at that very moment, something went horribly wrong. The bike spun suddenly out of control for no discernible reason, the sidecar lifting almost entirely off the ground. An oil spot! The thought burst in Arthur's head like ball lightning. He'd read about things like this happening – a tiny spot of oil on the asphalt proving the death of a hapless biker. He could not see it from here – but that was the only explanation he knew about. The motorbike spun, like a toy, the sidecar passenger flailing desperately, the driver pulling on the steering with all his might – but to no avail.