Isaac subconsciously unsheathed the dagger and dropped the shotgun to the snow, stepped forward calmly and buried his knife to the hilt in the hairline of the ghoul. It went immediately limp and the porter wriggled from underneath its weight. Isaac wrested the blade from the skull and wiped the ichor on the corpse’s clothes.
Everyone took stock of the situation. Not their best work, but it did the job.
Isaac was studying the clothes being worn by the corpses when he was shoved hard from behind, knocking his glasses off kilter and almost spilling him into one of the lifeless bodies on the ground.
‘You fucking coward!’
Isaac wanted to snap, and he wheeled around to face the porter who had shoved him, who was now being restrained by Cox and another gunman. He was carrying a crowbar and evidently had crosschecked him with the metal implement.
If you only knew the shit I have done for that compound.
‘Waiting until he was almost down to step in like that, what the fuck is wrong with you?’
Cox settled the porter down. ‘You’re lucky he had hung back. If he had rushed into the pocket the way your friend did – ignoring my orders, I might add – he wouldn’t have been in position to help that simple bastard.’
Cox never wavered; her glare was cold.
‘Besides, I didn’t see you rushing in to his rescue, either,’ Cox emphasized her point by jabbing her finger into the man’s chest.
The last remark hit home and shut the aggressor down.
‘Forget it, let’s move on. We have a lot of ground to cover,’ one of the SKS gunners offered, voice slightly muffled through his charcoal grey balaclava. Seeking to ease the tension, he wiped his bayonet clean by piercing the snow with it.
All the ghouls were wearing simple clothes; one of the riflemen patted them down and checked their pockets, but there was nothing of use.
Cox took a look around their position. She didn’t think they had made too much noise and they had maintained a wide berth away from the ridge overlook.
She was pleased. That could have been much worse.
Isaac didn’t bother meeting anyone’s gaze. He collected his shotgun, sheathed his knife, and fell into line.
Chapter 5
Andrew was running out of ideas.
Replacing the protective casing on the radio system, he could feel his frustrations welling up inside. He knew a fair amount about computer hardware and electronics, certainly well above average, but was beginning to realize his affinity for gadgets wasn’t infinitely transferable.
After tightening the last few screws, he turned the radio to face him and gingerly flicked the switch on.
He was greeted anew by the same droning static he had been listening to for days.
Andrew was growing concerned; he didn’t know how Quinn or the others would react to his continued lack of results.
He didn’t want to find out.
Andrew had always been a creature of comforts; he loved take out, fast food, and his video games. He barely left his gaming chair but to pay the delivery guys. The radio room was a good gig; it was heated, and he was left alone. He had space here, unlike the dorms.
But if Quinn ever thought he had outlived his usefulness, or that the power being devoted to the radio had become a waste of resources, he would undoubtedly assign him elsewhere in the complex. And few places were as safe and accommodating as the communications module.
Shit, what if he sends me outside?
Andrew’s heart rate spiked. He knew he would never make it in the infected wasteland.
Suddenly, it occurred to Andrew – nobody else seemed to know anything about the radio, or about computer hardware.
Why else would he alone have been entrusted with the communications?
A mocking smile crept its way on to Andrew’s face.
Therein lay Andrew’s opportunity. Quinn was clever, but Andrew knew that Quinn didn’t have a head for this kind of thing; this was his arena. The other soldiers in the command module all looked like serious combat vets; a couple grease monkeys in the lot, but none that struck Andrew as being particularly tech savvy.
Aside from Quinn, the highest ranking soldier left is a corporal.
All the administrators seem qualified to do is take notes and make shitty coffee; all Andrew needed to do to retain this comfortable posting was to ensure Quinn believed no one else was better suited to the job.
With a renewed sense of purpose, Andrew picked up the receiver and started mindlessly rolling through his script.
It felt good to have an angle.
***
Cox had taken point and led the team up the street.
They were moving steadily away from Harbour Station and had plenty of cover to obscure their line of sight.
By her estimations, the most dangerous pass of the journey to St. Joseph’s was behind them. As long as they kept quiet, they shouldn’t attract attention from whatever may be roaming around the streets below.
At each intersection, Cox would take the team to cover and make sure the streets running perpendicular to them weren’t swollen with the dead. The biggest obstructions were cars long since buried in snow and ice; nothing that would slow them down. She did spot a few scattered infected, but they didn’t seem to notice their presence. Cox wanted to get the team to their destination as quickly as possible to ensure they still had daylight with them for the return trip.
The second intersection had them hugging against a brownstone building and staring across the street at a fieldstone church. Cox checked the streets again running down towards the Uptown area; looked clear enough. She scanned across the street and noticed the red wooden church door was slightly ajar, likely forced open in the wind and the snow accumulation held it there.
Cox considered her options. If there were infected inside, it was a big structure; no telling how many it could be housing. She didn’t think the door was open enough for the dead to force themselves through.
Believing it to be more trouble than it was worth, Cox signaled the troupe to keep moving.
They made quick time to the major intersection where they needed to turn. Cox led the team against the side of a corner building and peered around the edge. Several vehicles were frozen in place, and several ghouls milled about. One corpse lied next to an abandoned grey sedan, half buried in the snow about a dozen feet from the corner where she stood. Across the street there was a grey apartment building with what looked to be a large alcove for off street parking behind it. Several of the corpses seemed to be congregating near the entrance to the alcove, and from her vantage it appeared to have offered significant cover against the wind and snow drifts… it almost looked bare.
She turned to address the gunner who had spoken up earlier. ‘Sully, clear that corpse and get a line up the street. I want to know if behind that building is swarming or not.’
Not saying a word, the man slunk around the corner, advancing surprisingly quick for someone on the move while crouching. The corpse noticed his approach as he drew near, but could offer little resistance. It turned, feebly raising its head and the one hand not buried in the snow, rasping out a growl from its desiccated lungs. Sully could tell this one had mostly been consumed before it reanimated; still deadly, but no risk of sudden movement.
He deftly silenced it with his bayonet before settling into position behind the vehicle. He rubbed the passenger side window and checked the car for any unseen occupants. Satisfied it was empty, he went prone and crawled towards the backend of the vehicle.
After peeking across the street, he rolled to his back and held four fingers up to Cox, waiting for her acknowledgement.
Cox nodded. She pointed to three of the riflemen and then to the porters. ‘Stay here, cover them. Isaac, you hook up with Sullivan behind that car. Once you’re positioned, the rest of us will run across the street. They should
see us and start moving on our position. Once they pass you on the street, come out behind them and take a couple down; we’ll get the rest.’
Cox slung the C7 over her shoulder and drew her knife; a wicked instrument that looked a bit comical in her small hands.
Isaac nodded his agreement and slipped out to take his position alongside Sully and relayed the instructions. Sully smirked.
‘She’s a bitch, but no one I’d rather be on a run with.’
Isaac considered the endorsement.
It was true; she was damn effective in the field.
***
Anders had been studying the guards outside the storage shed for some time now, trying to glean anything from their behaviour that might give him an indication of why they seemed so disturbed.Whatever it was continued to gnaw at him; he was convinced something was amiss.
The nameless sniper continued to nap, blissfully unaware of the crisis of conscience his spotter was undergoing.
Anders rubbed his knuckles, eyes darting nervously about the complex as he chewed on his lower lip. A flood of possibilities took their turn toying with him; he wasn’t able to fully consider any before some new speculation would dominate his thought.
The mutinous pace of his theories enveloped him, and in his compulsion to rid himself of their various implications, he had wholly neglected his post for the better part of an hour.
Anders hadn’t noticed the wind had begun to pick up, and the temperature was subtly starting to shift. The cloud bank over the Bay was spreading, stretching its fingers out and consolidating strength.
Nor had he noticed the streets were getting crowded.
***
Cox adjusted her ponytail and made sure the elastic held tight. Nodding to those accompanying her, she led the charge across the street.
Sully and Isaac remained still and watched as the four reanimated corpses hissed in guttural alarm and shambled towards Cox. Isaac laid the shotgun on the snow, opting to rely solely on the knife.
Sullivan whispered to Isaac – ‘I’ll get second from the end, you get the closest to us.’
Isaac turned the knife over in his hands and waited for the ghouls to pass their position behind the car. The dead cried out and their pace quickened; this must have been the closest they’d been to a meal in days.
As the infected were nearing parallel to the driver side wheel, Sully and Isaac emerged from their hiding spot. So intent on their plainly visible quarry from but a moment ago, the ghouls failed to notice the two assailants creeping up from behind.
Sullivan rammed his bayonet with such ferocity through his target that it collapsed a portion of the rear of the skull. The weight of the blow reverberated with a heavy shudder throughout corpse, crumpling it to the snow. At near the same instant, Isaac grabbed the tattered hood of the coat worn by his ghoul as though a leash. Giving it a stiff pull, its posture stiffened as he slammed his blade sideways through its temple.
As their targets slipped off their blades, Cox and her contingent sped around the corner, quickly dispatching the other two.
Isaac retrieved his Remington as Sullivan rifled through the ghouls’ pockets; nothing but keys, a wallet and a smartphone with a shattered screen. Knowing that the phone or its components might still have some practical use, he tucked it into his jacket and looked to Cox for direction.
Cox motioned to the rest and they moved quickly up the centre of the street. She was feeling confident; they were making good time. Two blocks in this direction and the hospital would basically be within their line of sight.
Cox once again took point. She had switched back to the C7 now and was scanning their path through her scope. They had good cover for this block and were lined with buildings on either side. As they neared the next intersection, she saw the open expanse of the hilltop parking for Harbour Station. It was fenced in by chain link and the decline led all the way down so that the main entrance of the arena was visible. Standing now at the corner of the building, she couldn’t help but look down to the streets below.
The entranceway was burnt; signs of fire damage covered the brick façade, and a significant proportion of the windows had blown out. They were on the side of the building where the section of roof had collapsed, and from this angle it was plain to see fire had ravaged at least that part of the building. Several military transport vehicles and ambulances were abandoned in the streets below – it was almost serene, like the moments immediately after a car crash when everything comes to rest.
But there was movement down there, stirring in the otherwise calm. Raising the scope to her eyes, she confirmed her suspicions.
Dozens of infected were milling about outside the structure. Even taking a brief moment to scan the wreckage, she could estimate at least thirty in plain sight, and that ignored whatever the arena itself would hold.
So fixated on the dead at the base of the hill, she failed to recognize the more immediate threat.
***
Lynn was working hard.
Digging deep into her arsenal, she put emphasis on her baser, more physical charms. She even added in the occasional bit of incidental physical contact – selecting the most form fitting clothing available, she’d casually brush her body against the servicemen in the command post, place her hand on their arms during conversation, play with her hair and giggle, bat her once delicate eyes.
Play the innocent type.
The servicewomen couldn’t stand her; Lynn knew their female intuition sensed she was working an angle. Probably just thought she wanted to get laid; most likely never would have assumed something more subversive than that.
In fact, they probably believed she wasn’t clever enough to orchestrate anything more complicated.
Lynn didn’t care.
Fuck them.
She earned her attention, and she relished in it – especially when stealing it from the uniformed women – but it wasn’t progressing according to schedule.
***
The dead roared with a sound reminiscent of grating stone as they rushed against the fencing.
Cox was startled as she removed her eye from the scope and noticed two infected recklessly throwing themselves against the chain link fence surrounding the parking area. These weren’t like the last few they had dealt with; these were much fresher. While their skin subtle signs of abuse from exposure to the elements, their flesh wasn’t yet necrotic. Decay had yet to claim their features. Trails of blood, dried and frozen, still clung to their faces.
They had both been men and were both clean shaven.
They couldn’t have been dead longer than a day.
They pounded their fists and pressed their faces against the chain link, desperate to rend and tear into fresh meat so tantalizingly close, crying out in unnatural hunger. The fencing rattled and strained beneath their frenzy.
The more recently reanimated were virile, fast; especially if they were largely sheltered from the elements. Not much smarter, but they were nonetheless significantly more dangerous.
‘Shut them up!’ Cox whispered sharply, and Sullivan and the other SKS gunner crossed the street to put them down. Cox raised the aperture back to her eye and scanned the streets; no sign the creatures at the base of the hill had taken note. She allowed herself a moment to steady her pulse and calm her nerves.
As Sully and his partner drove their bayonets home and silenced the two forever, they strained their ears; there was another sound present, something dull and throbbing.
Several of the cars scattered throughout the parking lot were occupied. The dead contained within, awakened by the fury and the commotion, pressed their blighted faces against the windows and struck the glass with their fists and feet.
In the hush of the late morning air, it was almost rhythmic.
A morbid chorus announcing their presence.
Sullivan considered th
e scene. These two were recently turned; they were probably here searching through these cars only yesterday and somehow got careless in the process.
As Sully knelt to study the facial features of the corpse he had just terminated, he couldn’t restrain a disapproving frown. He felt no pity when dispatching the older, more decomposed dead from the First Wave; but dispatching those they had presumably ‘just missed’ always struck a chord of guilt in him. He would never hesitate – in any him-or-them scenario, it would be him. But he treated the task differently, almost delicately. His hands were guided by necessity and not malice.
Maybe it was the realization that there were so few people breathing that were left. Maybe it was the fear he would be condemned to the same restless fate.
Best not to dwell on it.
Chapter 6
Cox pushed them on. Satisfied the sea of corpses at the base of the hill weren’t aware of the stir they were causing above, she motioned everyone to fall in and get to the next intersection.
One of the other riflemen put his hand on her shoulder.
‘Shouldn’t we clear those cars first? There’s a pile of infected.’
Cox glanced over at the dead occupants of the vehicles, pressed awkwardly against the glass and thrashing against their prisons.
‘They’re not smart enough to work the doors, and we can’t spare the time.’
Isaac considered the arguments; both were fair.
But this was Cox’s show.
Looking back at the dead faces he wanted to end their suffering and silence their fanaticism.
He fell into line and the procession was on the move once more.
***
The meeting had come to an end; a line of officials emerged from the office space, leaving Quinn alone in the room. He sat pensively in his chair, head in his hand, seeming thoroughly bereft under the anemic yellow hum of the lone overhead lamp.
The Decline Page 5