The epicenter of the blast seemed to center on the football stadium. I remembered what Fitzy had told me about the Thumpers. This was the result of one of them being deployed. No wonder they had spoken of the destruction in such horrified tones. It had virtually gutted the main part of downtown St. Louis. Shockingly, it appeared that the baseball stadium was largely intact. I could see where it had been damaged, but the core of the structure was still standing.
“That’s interesting,” I muttered, reaching for my new spyglass.
I began scanning the city, looking for any sign or life or movement. The destruction extended all the way to the old train station mall to the west. Beyond that, I could see buildings that seemed to be in good condition. I still didn’t see any movement on the streets, but at least there was an end to the destruction. Despite the damage, you couldn’t deny that the Thumpers were effective. They were Hel on the real estate, but the results were undeniable. I didn’t see a single zombie anywhere in sight.
Across the river was a different story. The damage from the Thumper had been less extensive and most of the buildings were still standing. The worst of the damage was likely urban decay. Along the streets of East St. Louis, I could see numerous dead wandering around. From the sheer numbers of them, I was thankful for the span of the Mississippi River between us. It was unlikely that they could reach us even by walking across the bottom. The mud was too thick and the current was too strong. I could eliminate them as an immediate threat.
I spent the next few minutes securing the doors to the stairs on both ends of the observation deck. I didn’t want to risk any light, because it would shine like a beacon for miles. I would have to rely on ambient lighting for the night. It wouldn’t be the first time and I had the feeling that it wouldn’t be the last. I could handle it, just fine.
Unpacking my bag, I began to examine the contents. I was in decent shape on the equipment and ammunition, but I was almost out of food. I still had quite a bit of alcohol, but getting drunk wouldn’t help my situation. Opening my last MRE, I began to sort through the contents. The entree no longer mattered. They all tasted the same now. Suddenly, I remembered a place that my wife had taken me to on our last trip to St. Louis. It was a barbeque place called “Pappy’s”. It was probably the best barbeque I had ever eaten. Just the thought of it made my stomach rumble for real food. It was strange, but I missed that place more than I missed some people I knew. Funny, but it’s the little things that you miss the most.
After a less than enthusiastic meal, I sat back against the wall and tried to relax. It was starting to get dark outside and I knew that the last of the light would soon fade. I wasn’t tired enough to go to sleep, despite the events of the day. I needed something to take my mind off of everything. Reaching into my pocket, my fingers found a familiar object. Removing the harmonica, I began to examine it in the dying light. I wondered if the Civil War soldier that it had belonged to had ever sat and stared at it, just like I was doing.
Somehow, I felt a strange connection to this soldier whose name I would never know. Both of us had fought for those we cared about and had been sad to be away from them. I wondered if he felt as lonely as I did at that moment. In a motion I knew that the other soldier had made many times before, I drew the old harmonica to my lips and began to play. I began the haunting notes of a tune that came to my mind as if of its own accord.
Although no one was there to hear it, I poured everything I had into playing a haunting tune called “Ashokan Farewell.”
Chapter Thirteen
Take Me Out to the Ballgame
“Two men meet on battleground,
Their eyes are full of hate.
By sacred oaths both are bound,
Death will be their fate.
- Amon Amarth
- Bloodshed
I’m not sure what caused me to get up and look out the window, but I found myself looking out over the wasteland that had once been St. Louis. At first, I only noticed the desolate stillness of the ruins. They were bathed in the pale moonlight filtering through the haze that was partially obscuring the stars. When I glanced in the direction of the baseball stadium, I was surprised to see light emanating from inside the walls.
It was yellow and flickering, indicating it was from a fire. With the high brick walls that surrounded the stadium, it would be highly unlikely that it could have been seen from the street. That meant that I would never have seen it had I not been up here at the top of the Arch. It also meant that there had to be someone alive inside the stadium to set the fire.
Whoever it was, they must not have been worried about anyone seeing them from the air or from a higher building. The only threat that they seemed concerned about was on the ground, and that meant the undead. Whatever their motivations or reasons, there were survivors inside the baseball stadium. My next destination was decided. I would make contact with them and determine if they were friendly. If so, they needed to find a much better place to hold up than inside the old stadium. When the Fimbul Winter arrived, they wouldn’t stand a chance.
I briefly considered heading for them right then, but decided that waiting until daylight was a much better idea. The only way I could find my way through the rubble to the stadium would be by using my flashlight, and that would attract far too much attention to me. It would likely do more harm than good. It would be far better to wait for daylight. Then I could move without the need for the light and would be able to see trouble before it got to me. I was going to have to have patience.
Settling back down to get some rest, I leaned back against the wall to try to get as comfortable as possible. I could feel the structure swaying softly with the breeze. It was more than a bit disconcerting when I had been up here with my kids, but now I had the knowledge of just how much structural damage had been done to the north support. The thought of it buckling while I was at the top was more than enough to make me reconsider my decisions.
“Fuck this,” I muttered, and started grabbing my gear.
I was just slipping my pack straps over my shoulders when I saw movement out of the corner of my eye. I turned quickly and noticed that I could see moving lights through the window. From the rate of speed, it could only be vehicles. From the way they were moving and the single headlight, they had to be motorcycles. I counted about a dozen of them and they were moving towards the stadium.
I stood and watched as they moved quickly and with precision through the darkness until they arrived at the stadium and disappeared inside. Once they were all inside, I didn’t see any further movement. That had to mean that they were coordinating with whoever was inside to open the door for the motorcycles. They didn’t slow down long enough for them to have opened a door for themselves. That meant whoever had opened it had either been watching or was in communication with them.
“Hmmm,” I mused. “Let’s hope they’re friendly.”
After a moment’s hesitation, I decided it would be safer to try to move through the city when the sun came up. Despite the gentle swaying of the Arch, I reluctantly began to remove my gear and settle in for the night. So long as I didn’t hear the steel start to groan and give way, I would pass the rest of the night here on the observation deck. Setting the alarm on my watch, I decided to doze for a while and try my best to relax. I should have known better.
My dreams came swiftly and violently, with the intensity of a thunderstorm. Visions of walking with my family through the city of St. Louis were savagely flashing among the images of the city before and after the destruction. I could see the faces of people on the streets that we had walked past as we went into the train station mall or to watch a baseball game. In flashes, I could see their faces replaced with the haunting visages of the dead.
I could see myself running with my family, trying to reach the relative safety of the stadium. At first, I kept them ahead of me in an attempt to protect them from the dead, who were right on our heels. Then suddenly, they were behind me and I was reaching for them. I could see the anguish on their
faces as the dead began pulling them away from me. I could feel the soul rending scream tearing from my throat as I tried to save them. I knew this had to be a dream, but it felt real. I couldn’t save them.
My hand reached out for theirs, desperate to pull them to me and away from the dead. Then, their hands were no longer their own. Suddenly, I was looking into the dead faces of my family as they had turned and were now trying to reach me to make me one of them. My outstretched hand had just begun to recoil away from them when their fingers found my flesh. I could feel their nails digging into my skin and the agony as they pulled me towards their mouths. I felt myself being dragged into the crowd to be torn apart by the dead.
Screaming, I awoke and leapt to my feet working the pump on my Keltec shotgun. My finger gripped the trigger and I was ready to fire, but I could only look into the empty gloom of the observation deck. There was nothing there. Only the loneliness of the pre-dawn light that filtered through the windows and the thudding of my heart in my ears greeted me. I was alone.
Turning to look out the windows towards the stadium, I could see the sun was beginning to rise. The hazy light of dawn illuminated the ruined city. Fog from the river had drifted far into the once great city. St. Louis lay below me, like a ghost of its former self. Only the skeleton remained of the vibrant city that I had loved to come visit with my family. Just the dead remained here, now. It served to heighten the lonely feeling inside of me. Despite the ruin and death, there was a stark beauty to it that was somehow captivating. If death awaited me in those streets, then I was going to find it and face it head on.
With grim determination, I began putting on my gear and checking my weapons. Once I was satisfied that everything was ready, I turned to look out over the city once more. The fog was still thick, but the sun would soon begin to burn it off. If I moved quickly, I could hide my movement in the fog. The dangerous part about it was that it would also serve to hide the movement of the dead. I wouldn’t see danger until I was nearly on top of it. It would be just as hard for them to see me. I could live with those odds.
Heading for the stairs, I paused to listen for any sound before I opened the door. I paused for a long moment, just to be safe. The last thing I wanted to do was open the door and find a large group of the undead waiting for me on the other side. Once I was certain that nothing was lurking in the darkness beyond the door, I slowly opened it with my PMR-30 at the ready. My tactical light lit up the stairwell and I slowly exhaled when I found it empty.
“Keep it together, old man,” I whispered.
The descent was far easier than climbing had been. I paused at each landing to listen for any sounds that might indicate that something had heard my footfalls. Although I took pains to keep quiet, the sound seemed to echo off into the darkness and thundered in my ears. I was sweating profusely by the time I reached the bottom, despite the cool morning air.
I stopped at the bottom of the stairs, both to catch my breath as well as to listen for noise beyond the maintenance door. I forced myself to take deep, silent breaths and could feel the blood rushing through the veins on my temples. Slowly, my breathing and heart rate slowed down enough that I could relax. Since I hadn’t heard any noise while I rested, I slowly reached for the door handle.
As my fingers closed on the knob, I felt the familiar feeling kick in that warned me of danger. This time, it wasn’t just a slight ringing in the back of my head. It was an alarm klaxon that rang out like the bells of Notre Dame. Something was very wrong just beyond that door. I held my breath and froze in place, not daring to move for fear of making a sound that would give me away.
For a long moment, I heard nothing but the beating of my own heart. I could feel sweat running down my face and the back of my neck. Tasting the saltiness of my perspiration on my lips, I licked them softly and swallowed hard. Bile was rising in the back of my throat and I felt like I was about to explode from anticipation. Part of me wanted to yank the door open and leap out, with a battle cry on my lips and sword in hand. The rational part of me warned me not to. I was glad that it did.
While the primitive part of my brain screamed in protest, I heard a noise that I almost didn’t catch. It was barely audible and at the edge of my hearing. If I hadn’t been straining to hear it, I never would have noticed. The sweat began to run cold as I realized what the sound had been. It was the soft, almost inaudible click of a claw on the tile floor of the room beyond.
“Stalker!” my brain screamed in warning.
Involuntarily, I gasped softly as I drew in a quick breath. Suddenly the air became electric with the palpable tension. I knew that it had to have heard me. Instantly, my hand leapt from the door knob to the handle of the XVR on my hip. I knew the PMR-30 would be quieter, but lacked the firepower I would need against a Stalker. If I had to shoot through the door, then the .22 magnum just wasn’t going to do the trick.
Briefly, I considered heading back up the stairs and down the other side but instantly dismissed it. Not only was it going to take too much energy to climb the stairs, I doubted that I could do it without giving myself away. I also remembered the big chunk that was missing from the other side of the Arch and doubted that it would be safe to try to go down that way. My only real choice was to fight.
“So be it,” I thought and drew the big revolver.
The creaking of the leather holster was enough to elicit a snarl from the other side of the door. It was instantly answered by at least two more. Three to one odds were not good, but it was even worse when dealing with Stalkers. The first one struck the door with enough force to shake the frame as I stepped back and cocked the hammer.
The heavy metallic click was comforting as my blood began to surge with adrenalin. I waited until I heard another thud against the door and began to gauge the position on the other side. I tensed for the coming noise in this enclosed space, but there was nothing I could do about it. Even if I had a suppressor that large, you can’t silence a revolver. All I could do was grit my teeth at the boom that was about to come.
The door was beginning to buckle as I took aim and waited. When the next impact shook the door, I pulled the trigger. Fire from the muzzle lit up the darkness and nearly flash-blinded me. The massive hollow point punched though the door without effort and I heard the grunt/snarl from beyond that told me I had hit my target. My ears rang from the shot, but it hadn’t been as bad I was expecting.
Cocking the hammer back again, I prepared for the next assault on the door. I could hear the snarls of the Stalkers on the other side, but they weren’t striking the door anymore. I knew that they were smarter than the average dead, but this was beyond what I had come to expect from them. This could only mean one thing. One of the Hrimthurssar had to be out there as well, directing them.
“Fucking great,” I whispered, sighing softly.
My only possible escape route lay back up the stairs and to risk the damage on the other side. I began to draw the mental map in my head and plan my route out of this place, but this time the rational part of my brain lost the argument. With a sudden surge of rage and adrenalin, I yanked a flare out of my cargo pocket and struck the igniter. In a flash of hellish red light, the flare sputtered and began to glow brightly.
The door had already been bent inward, so I shoved the flare out though a gap in the side and saw the room beyond bathed in the red glow. I could see two of the Stalkers on either side of the room and a larger figure standing on the stairway leading back towards the museum. The Stalkers hissed and averted their eyes from the sudden radiance. The Hrimthurssar only squinted and brought his hand up in front of his face to deflect the light.
Although the light wasn’t good, I could tell two things about the Hrimthurssar. First, it wasn’t Bergelmir. Second, this one was much closer to my size. He couldn’t have been more than six and a half feet tall. He was still big, but not massive like Bergelmir. I was more worried about the two Stalkers, at this point.
Yanking my sword from its scabbard, I readied it in my
left hand and kept the XVR in my right. With a snarl born of rage, I kicked the already damaged door and it flew out of the frame, landing on top of the body of the Stalker that I had shot through it. Charging through the door, I snap-fired the XVR and struck the Stalker on my right. I watched as its head erupted in a fountain of gore.
In the eerie light of the flare, I watched as it began to fall before spinning towards the remaining creature. It leapt into the air as I brought the pistol around to fire. Instinctively, I dove to the side and slashed out with the sword, scoring a long gash across the beast’s right side. It struck the ground and rolled off into the darkness. I knew it wasn’t down for the count, but I had more pressing issues at hand. The Hrimthurssar was moving in on my right side with his own sword at the ready.
Spinning towards him, I brought my blade up and parried a blow that would have cut me in half. Despite being smaller than Bergelmir, he was almost as strong. The force of the blow nearly knocked me to my knees. Steel rang loudly against steel as the two blades clashed together with tremendous power. It echoed off into the darkness, ringing throughout the building. I knew that it was like a ringing dinner bell for any undead that had followed the Hrimthurssar. I needed to end this fight quickly if I had any chance of escape.
“Come!” snapped the Hrimthurssar.
I almost thought he was talking to me when I heard the answering snarls of more of the undead moving in from the darkness. Unlike Bergelmir, this guy had no qualms about fighting dirty. That was fine by me. If he was going to be that way, then I could play that game too. Only, I intended to win it. I had more than a few dirty tricks up my own sleeve. Stepping away, I swung my sword in a wide arc aiming at his neck. Just as I expected, he parried the blow and gave me a mocking sneer.
“I expected more from one of the Einherjar,” he said, mockingly. “So you’re one of Odin’s chosen? This will be easier than I thought.”
Ragnarok Rising Page 24