The Decline

by Jessulat, Christopher

  It had a large, official looking doorway at the end.

  A wry smile crossed Cox’s thin lips, as if she couldn’t contain her excitement at how clever she was.

  Isaac and Cox advanced to the side of the door frame. The door was clearly heavy and had an electronic key swipe to get in. It was mounted to swing inwards and would have been magnetically sealed, but whereas the power had been out for weeks it would offer little objection. The door had a partial glass window in it; the type with the wire mesh within designed to thwart an attempt to shatter it.

  The room was pitch black, an absolute void.

  Isaac looked to Cox, and pounded on the door twice.

  A moment of silence before a thud came in response; the unmistakable sound of a body throwing itself against the door. A coarse cry of hunger issued from within, a foul and severe drawling.

  Cox considered their options. Judging from the size of the door and the placement of the room, it would likely be little more than a closet.

  ‘Okay, on the count of three we shoulder the door together; send this corpse flying,’ she began. ‘Then you go in and knife it.’

  Isaac didn’t like it; far too uncertain. But they needed to get in, needed to be quiet, and the door only swung one way. Nodding his accord, he leaned the 870 against the wall and unsheathed his knife.

  Pressing their bodies against the door, they could hear the anguished cries from within; a few tantalizing inches were all that separated it from a long awaited meal.

  Cox led the count and they both stepped into the door with all the power they could muster. It exploded into the room, crashing into the corpse on the other side and sent it sprawling to the floor. Isaac pushed the door open the remainder of the way and rushed in with knife in hand.

  As Isaac stepped into the room he was beset by another ghoul within. Stretching outwards, it clawed at Isaac’s arms and torso as he struggled with it. The shambling corpse towered over Isaac; it stood several inches taller and dramatically outweighed him despite its obvious decomposition. Isaac backpedalled at an awkward angle as the ghoul lunged; he tripped against the door frame and tumbled to the floor.

  The ghoul had found a grip on one of Isaac’s arms, trapping it under its weight as it came down on top of him. Isaac had managed to frame his forearm under its chin as they collapsed together, desperately using it to create distance. As he struck the floor, the air was blasted from his lungs under the sheer girth of the attacker. Its eyes fixated on his, wild with vulgar hunger. He struggled to keep the gnashing teeth from tearing into his unprotected face. Thin wisps of what little hair remained on the assailant’s head hung against Isaac’s skin as the teeth snapped the air feverishly. The jaw opened absurdly wide between bites, the necrotic flesh stretched taut about it.

  In that moment, Isaac’s gaze met the dull mirrors of his assailant’s eyes; he could recognize nothing but the imminent void in their reflection. There was no memory of humanity therein. He squirmed frantically, bridged his hips and tried to free his trapped arm, but the weight was insurmountable. His lungs couldn’t draw breath, and without oxygen his strength would fail.

  In horror, Isaac’s arm began to buckle and the sinister jaws crept ever closer, spurred on by the primal recognition of its tiring prey.

  A sudden jolt and a wet sensation; something viscous and vile spilled onto the side of Isaac’s face, thick and foul as spoiled molasses. The creature on top of him went strangely limp as its head lolled to the side, its lusting hunger extinguished. Isaac twisted his body and managed to slip out from under the dead weight. As the door swung closed he saw Cox had laid waste to the other ghoul before it had recovered its footing.

  Isaac sat up and wiped the blackened blood and ichor from his face, careful to brush it away from his eyes and mouth, and took a gasping breath. Through his crooked glasses he watched Cox as she brought down the stock of her rifle repeatedly into the pulverized remnants of the corpse’s skull a few extra times for good measure.

  Scavenging was messy business.

  Satisfied at last that her handiwork was finished, Cox turned back to regard Isaac. He seemed calm despite the close call; she reasoned he must have emerged unscathed.

  Checking the room around her, it became apparent they had hit pay dirt. Though several shelves were bare, they had found a veritable trove. Maybe not everything on their list, but the storage unit had medications, bedding, and a variety of implements.

  And now, no one to object to their taking.

  She turned to Isaac.

  ‘Get that porter in here, we hit the jackpot.’

  Isaac sheathed his knife, wiped his gory hands onto his pant legs and rose to his feet. His ribs hurt and one of his shoulders was tweaked; he had probably hyper extended something, but he was mobile. He recovered his 870 and stepped back out to the triage area to instruct the burly man.

  Cox called after him – ‘Get the other runners over here, too.’

  ***

  Sullivan stared from his perch at the window where the fire team had gained entry to the hospital. They hadn’t been gone long at all and one of the porters was already summoned.

  Maybe this was going to be an easy win?

  Neither Sullivan nor his counterpart had spoken much, and the remaining two porters stood and shuffled their feet awkwardly as they tried to hold their nerves off. Occasionally they whispered to each other, but Sullivan paid them little mind. Aside from the scuff of someone’s boots as they paced nervously, the only consistent sound was the other gunner as he sucked on his cigarettes. The acrid smoke didn’t do much to mask the smell of mould in the room, but Sullivan liked it all the same. It reminded him of the days before the outbreak, back in the days when you could settle in somewhere for a pint and light up in the bars.

  Despite never having a taste for cigarettes himself, he regarded them with a fond familiarity these days.

  They’d been used as currency amongst other survivors – he’d seen them bartered for wares smuggled in by scavengers, the ones who didn’t feel like truthfully accounting for all their spoils when returning from a salvage mission. It wasn’t just the vices that had a place in the enclave’s tiny illicit economy – though alcohol, cigarettes and marijuana were highly prized – but other, less sinful items like toothpaste, books, and various foodstuffs were also easy to trade.

  Any of yesterday’s comforts.

  Sully had always turned over everything he had found to the authorities when he came back. Whatever he found out there, he figured someone else would appreciate it more than he did. Whatever he needed, the universe would provide.

  He was a glass half full kinda guy.

  Sullivan had a couple of step brothers, quite a bit younger than he after his father’s second marriage. They were both away at college when the First Wave hit, halfway across the country on athletic scholarships. Sullivan was sure that, wherever his brothers were, they were alive and looking after their people, just as he was doing.

  Sully had always been an athlete himself, but wasn’t interested in immediately pursuing a postsecondary education. With an insatiable desire to not be tethered to the small town of his birth, he opted to travel some of the world and focused on amassing life experience.

  Good thing he had; no one was traveling for fun anymore. He was thankful he had afforded himself the opportunity.

  His eyes caught some movement again. The fire team called for the remaining porters.

  Sullivan leaned back in his chair and turned to the runners.

  ‘Looks like it’s your turn, fellas.’

  ***

  The burly man was filling his pack with everything that looked useful in the storage closet as the other two porters filtered in to the main chamber. Each loaded their packs with everything from bedding to bandages.

  Cox left them with two riflemen as they sorted through the storage room and the list the
infirmary had provided them. She and Isaac rejoined the rest. Cox wanted to push on deeper; the spoils had been well worth the effort thus far.

  ‘You look like shit,’ one of the other gunners said, addressing Isaac as he and Cox stepped back into the lobby.

  ‘I’ve had worse.’

  Cox gave her orders. Two guns would hold the emergency room lobby and their exit. She, Isaac, another gunner and the remaining porter would continue on. Immediately adjacent to the emergency room was a hallway with elevators and a staircase; Cox wanted to see the second floor.

  Isaac’s shoulder throbbed and he could no longer take a deep breath comfortably; he was sure nothing was broken but knew he was more banged up than he wanted to admit. He took out the prescription painkillers he had taken from the ambulance and popped a couple, then tossed the bottle to the accompanying porter who slipped them into his jacket.

  With everyone aware of their assignments, Cox led the four out towards the stairwell. As they lined up outside the staircase entry she flashed her light further down the corridor and paused to listen. Nothing but the same dereliction; some overturned gurneys, windswept paper and shell casings scattered across the floor, bullet holes and blood stains on the walls. In the distance she thought she could hear a faint rumbling, but their goal was upstairs; the corridor was long and dark and full of debris.

  She grabbed the door handle and gently opened it. The beam from Isaac’s flashlight lit an empty staircase. He peered inside, checked the corners and started in. The team followed suit, each slipping by in single file. Cox was last to enter, and she latched the door behind them.

  An oppressive darkness crowded around them, keenly aware of their trespass. The encroaching black was punctuated only by the thin beams of their flashlights as they wove up the stairs.

  In the tight confines of the stairwell, every footfall was amplified. Comically loud, the sound resonated off the walls and climbed the stairs ahead of them.

  Isaac couldn’t help but feel they were making entirely too much noise.

  Chapter 8

  Anders lowered the aperture from his eyes.

  What have I done?

  The streets were now milling with the dead; he estimated almost three dozen shambling about. While they were yet a fair distance and he knew they’d be able to thin the crowd substantially before the ghouls ever made it to the walls, he cursed his childlike obsession with the imagined intrigue below.

  He was being counted on. The spotter’s role was critical.

  He had to take initiative or be thought completely daft.

  Anders slapped the shoulder of his sniper who woke with a start. Anders motioned to the streets below. The soldier sat up and peered through his scope.

  ‘Holy fuck, you didn’t think to mention that?’

  ‘They gathered faster than you’d think.’

  ‘Fuck you they did,’ the sniper replied, dripping with cynicism. He cycled his sights through the hostiles.

  Anders raised his binoculars again.

  ‘They don’t notice us; they’re not coming closer.’

  ‘I bet they aren’t getting further away, either.’

  Anders felt defeated. Had the soldier been looking directly at him, his attempt at deception would have been plainly painted across his face.

  The storm continued to mass over the Bay. Judging from the dimensions of the cloud bank, it hadn’t lost any severity; the horizon was darkening and its corruption was spreading towards landfall.

  Guilt swelled inside Anders, and he could feel a cold sweat bead on his forehead.

  ‘What do we do?’ Anders offered sheepishly.

  The sniper lowered his rifle and turned to scowl at Anders.

  ‘Alert the guard,’ he spat. ‘And tell Quinn you’re a fucking moron.’

  Anders wanted to protest the insult – that self righteous prick had slept his last two shifts in the nest – but ultimately thought better of it.

  No sense in alienating him.

  They might need each other soon.

  ***

  They had come to the second landing.

  The door to the second floor was solid metal; no window offered the troupe a glimpse at what this level would hold.

  Isaac was still sore; the pills hadn’t had a chance to kick in yet. It hurt to shoulder the Remington and he didn’t want to deal with the recoil, but he knew the discomfort would be a small price to pay.

  In any event, he knew none of his present company would give a shit about his complaint anyway.

  The team held their breath outside the door, taking turns to press up against it. There wasn’t a sound to be heard, but the unmistakable sickly scent of decay was ever present.

  Thick in the air, it was palpable.

  Intoxicating.

  Cox pushed against the door and it swung open, Isaac and the other gunner immediately stepped into the corridor with weapons raised.

  Their torchlight splayed across the chaos.

  Wires and tubing hung limp and lethargic from the ceiling panels, plastic coverings for the lights and shattered fluorescents covered the floors. Bloody boot prints smeared the tile. Gurneys and desks were overturned in the hall. Several partially consumed bodies lay strewn about, some in uniform, some in scrubs.

  The life within was long since spent.

  Cox and the porter surveyed the scene and began canvassing the uniformed dead for salvage; Isaac and the other gunner scanned the hallways leading away from this clearing.

  The rifleman snapped his fingers and the rest wheeled to face him. The beam of his flashlight was fixated at the foot of a nondescript door where three ghouls lied. He held them in his beam and nothing stirred in the glare; the rest moved up to the doorway. Cox gave them a nudge with her boot, but none of the corpses offered a response.

  It was obvious they wanted in there; less obvious what happened to them.

  Cox turned her attention down the corridor. All the doors looked the same. Several had furniture or hospital beds placed in front of them.

  An ominous feeling they had overstayed their welcome swelled inside her.

  ‘Alright, this room and we’re out.’

  Isaac and the others were surprised by her apparent change of heart, but no one offered an argument. The hospital was big – four scavengers plumbing its depths alone seemed foolhardy.

  Cox shifted the door slightly, and needed the other rifleman’s help to shoulder it open. Someone inside had slid a small desk up against the doorway as a barricade. This signaled immediate danger to the seasoned veterans – whatever had walled themselves in hadn’t managed to wander back out.

  Isaac used the widening crack in the door to shine his flashlight in. Surely the shifting desk would have stirred anything inside; as soon as Isaac had the space to fit his frame, he squeezed through.

  It was a small room with a single bed. The windows were textured glass and muddled the only bit of sunlight that pierced the dreariness. The dividing curtain was drawn around the patient’s bed, but otherwise the room was unremarkable.

  Isaac advanced slowly, blood thundering in his ears. An overwhelming sense of malaise called to him from behind the curtain. Isaac ducked down and raised the covering with the muzzle of his shotgun. It revealed a corpse, tucked in to the bed neatly and with fresh linens. The face was covered with a white cloth, but long hair was evident beneath the covering and upon the pillow. She had been treated with a great deal of care and reverence – whoever had arranged this had cared deeply for her.

  A better fate than most.

  Isaac circled around the foot of the bed with the muzzle raised. The remains of a uniformed man were slumped awkwardly on the floor, an obvious exit wound through the side of his head; the walls were splattered with the self-inflicted trauma. Lying at his feet were a pair of sheets, each as neatly arranged as the woman in bed, s
eparated by a white and blue vase that held a withered floral arrangement. The linoleum between them was littered with wilted petals shed from the crumbling stalk of whatever breed of flower it once held. The sheets were bloodstained from where he assumed the heads would have been oriented, only these two were small… much too small to have been adults.

  Isaac’s shoulders dropped and the Remington lowered as he realized what he was looking at.

  The other rifleman was shimmying through the door when Isaac waved him off. Isaac bent down and collected the .38 revolver from beside the slumped man’s boot. As Isaac turned over the dead man’s pockets, he met its sorrowful gaze. Tearstains left tracks on the grime covering his face, visible now even in the decomposed state. The man would have been handsome in his day; fair haired and well groomed.

  Isaac sat back on his heels, stood the shotgun up on the stock and leaned the barrel against his shoulder.

  Poor bastard.

  He continued to study the man’s features, such as they were now. In the dim and woeful light he couldn’t help but pity him.

  Isaac felt a strange kinship with this man.

  He did what needed to be done; made the only choice there was to make.

  Isaac had failed to realize how engrossed he had become with the soldier; several moments had passed with him vacantly staring at the dead man. Isaac had seen a great deal of death since the world ended, and had done more than his share of killing. But something in this corpse resonated within him. Ordinarily he would step over the dead without a second thought, but this one was different.

  He wanted this one to find the same peaceful rest as his family.

  Using the shotgun as a prop to help him rise, Isaac stood and took stock of the room. A small closet was next to the lavatory; inside there were a number of towels, but no linens. Isaac took the largest towel he could find and he started back towards the dead soldier. Before he made it, Isaac stopped in his tracks.

  Something had caught his ear; muffled, but unmistakable.