The Decline

by Jessulat, Christopher

  ‘There’s nothing for it; we’ve got to go now. We can’t wait. Don’t fire your guns unless you absolutely have to, at least until we get to the bottom of this street. We want that alarm to be the only sound now, hope it keeps drawing them away from us.’

  Everyone steeled themselves, prepared for the melee.

  Cox crouched down and tapped Isaac and Sullivan on the shoulder.

  Without hesitation, the two slipped around the corner, followed after a few short strides by the rest.

  The dead roared.

  A large, bulging ghoul was first in line. Its heavyset frame was scarcely contained inside a weathered, thoroughly grease stained brown winter coat. The few wisps of its black hair yet remaining were matted and patchy. Wide eyes bulging, its fat grey fingers floundered in the air as it stretched out for its intended prey, its scowling face twisted in pain.

  Sullivan was the faster runner of the two, and slowed his pace to match that of Isaac’s. As the fat corpse lunged forward, Sullivan kicked at its knee. The dried bone buckled at the joint and the thing collapsed to the ground. Isaac seized the moment and buried his knife into the side of its skull. As the massive body shuddered into stillness, it crumpled backward and pulled Isaac along with it.

  Sully saw Isaac fall to the snow, but was confident he had dispatched the corpse first. He squared himself to the street and the oncoming attack as the rest of the team poured out from behind the corner to join him.

  The chaos was absolute.

  There was no semblance of formation now, no discipline in their ranks. They struck wildly.

  Sullivan saw no option but to pick a target and take it down.

  Isaac finally wrenched his blade free of the skull it was trapped in. As he went to stand his ribs pulsed with fresh pain. The melee wasn’t a good place for him, now less than ever. He managed to get to his feet and stumbled a few paces towards the team to see they were now besieged on all sides.

  Clutching his ribs, he staggered on.

  The burly porter was berserk. He swung with all his might and stepped in to each flailing arc of his bat. He didn’t notice his brutish style was pulling him farther away from the body of the group and he became beset on multiple sides by the ghouls.

  Isaac watched helplessly as a decayed hand found a hold on one of his straps and used the pack to haul him down. He continued to thrash with his bat as the corpse tore into him. A second ghoul dove into him headlong and he was buried under their combined weight.

  The screams were terrible.

  Another rifleman was tackled from behind by what looked to be a janitor as he drove the butt of his weapon into the head of a teenage girl. The blow knocked the girl back, but it didn’t finish her; she joined in the feast as well.

  The battle was going poorly.

  Caution be damned; Cox drew her sidearm and started firing rounds indiscriminately. Seeing her lead, Isaac drew his Norinco as well, trusting it infinitely more than his current capacity in close quarters.

  The horn continued to blare in the background.

  Sullivan had just finished off his second target when he heard the shots behind him. Turning to the shooters, he realized just how badly things had gone.

  Cox had exhausted her clip and let it fall to the snow. She slammed another one in.

  More dead spilled into the streets from the buildings around them. They crashed through windows, splintered doors and emerged from unseen corners.

  It didn’t matter, they were fucking everywhere.

  Sullivan hustled to the downed porter, but was blocked by his former partner.

  ‘He’s got the bag!’ Sullivan protested, intent on pushing through and recovering the purpose for their sacrifice.

  ‘Doesn’t matter, it’s lost,’ the gunner retaliated as he attempted to restrain Sully.

  Another hand reached over Sullivan’s shoulder and pulled him back.

  ‘We will be too if we don’t get away from here,’ Cox professed.

  Sullivan knew it to be true. The screams and thrashes of their comrades were subsiding. Were it not for the grim feasting, they’d have been overwhelmed.

  They had carved a break in the middle of the street, calm as the eye of a hurricane.

  Many of the corpses filing in to the street growled in hatred for those yet living, but most seemed content to stoop for the easy meals rather than pursue the survivors.

  There was still plenty of road ahead.

  Chapter 10

  Anders marveled at the efficiency of the two snipers.

  Only a handful of the dead remained now, and they were nowhere near their walls. While the team had been patient in picking their targets, they were active in taking them down. The few scant ghouls remaining were still a solid hundred yards out.

  The Timberwolves continued to hammer their report as the dead pressed on.

  Anders fumbled about the nest as he collected the spent casings, zapped his fingers a couple times by picking up the searing hot brass. He sat back and fiddled with the box of .338 as he returned a handful of the empty shells to their placeholders. Anders had read somewhere that casings from most calibers could be successfully reloaded and recycled; he wanted to ensure those powerful C14’s had every opportunity to stay in service.

  One of the snipers dropped out his clip and turned to Anders, whom he expected to extend him a fresh magazine.

  Anders looked at the soldier and realized maybe he had miscounted after all. He checked the box and the floor of the nest for any unspent rounds that may have escaped his notice.

  The soldier turned to his colleague who never took his eye from his aperture.

  ‘No matter,’ he breathed before he squeezed another round off. ‘There are only four of them left, and I’ve got two more in the mag.’

  The sniper cycled the action smoothly and chambered another round. The jettisoned casing clinked playfully as it collided with another spent cartridge.

  ‘Someone at the wall can finish the last of them off,’ he mused, clearly more satisfied with himself than he ought to be.

  Anders smiled wide as he slumped back down against the wall and returned his gaze skyward. He breathed his silent thanks to whatever god had watched over their little commune.

  Though it felt an instant, Anders knew they had been firing for several minutes. He shifted his weight as the sniper took another carefully placed shot, and elongated his back into a luxurious stretch. Now that the action had passed, Anders took stock of himself. His ears rang terribly and the fresh air was replaced by the pungency of spent gunpowder. The tips of his fingers stung from the heated brass; he realized he’d likely be without his fingerprints for a few days.

  He cracked another smile as the soldier cycled the action to chamber his final round. He could have covered his ears for this one, but he didn’t care. He welcomed the deafening report, the solemn affirmation of their deliverance, and at least another day of their communal survival.

  ‘It almost isn’t even fair…,’ chuckled the sniper as he scanned through the few available remaining targets.

  He seemed intent on identifying the perfect final kill; this shot wouldn’t be for just any ghoul.

  The other soldier grinned as he removed his rifle from the ledge and stood it up on the butt end. He gave it a once over and brushed some of the snow clinging to the stock with a single finger.

  Anders started to sit up, meaning to profess his sincere admiration for their efforts. He even meant to chance a pat on the back to his new mates – after the final shot was expended – but he was stopped short.

  It was so unexpected, it almost didn’t register.

  A shot echoed from somewhere below them.

  In complete confusion, Anders froze in place. The two soldiers stiffened slightly, almost imperceptibly, as each cocked their ears and strained them towards the sound. None of the nest
mates had anticipated a shot aside from their own.

  ‘What the hell…?’

  The rifle slowly lowered from the ledge as the soldiers exchanged dazed glances.

  Another shot from below.

  A flurry of recognition set the lot of them to motion. The shots were originating from the shooting platform at the other corner of the compound.

  Anders started to rise and orient himself towards the sound, but instead crumpled awkwardly as he was shoved down by one of the soldiers as they scrambled to overlook the compound. Off balance, Anders scarcely caught himself before he fell flat on his face in a tangle of slush and spent casings.

  Two more shots, this time in rapid succession.

  Muddled cries of alarm.

  It was unquestionable now – the shooting platform had a bead on something. The three could only make out indistinct shouts from below, though even at this distance their panicked pitch was plainly evident. Men and women scurried like ants over the snow and slush below as they splintered in every direction like smashed glass.

  ‘Jesus Christ… what now?’ bleated the first soldier.

  Another shot rang out.

  ‘What the fuck are they shooting at?’ the other replied.

  Though they couldn’t see what threat the platform responded to, based on the muzzle smoke from the last round, it became apparent the platform was firing elsewhere. As Anders was righting himself the sniper brusquely yanked the binoculars from him.

  ‘Talk to me…,’ the sniper breathed between clenched teeth.

  ‘Damn it, I can’t see shit past that corner,’ the soldier spat as he lowered the binoculars and surveyed the scene beneath them. Several survivors spilled from the central structure and ran for the fences. The typical guard frantically redeployed themselves and headed to shore up the wall.

  ‘How many rounds do you have?’ the sniper stammered.

  ‘I’m spent.’

  It occurred to the sniper then that the central nest was unmanned.

  ‘Fuck me…’

  The sniper picked up his C14 and shifted his sights towards the same firing line as the shooting platform.

  Not that it mattered much; he had but a single bullet remaining.

  ‘Are we sure we’re spent up here?’

  It took Anders a moment to realize this was basically his department. He swam his hands through the slush and the brass casings. When he came up empty, he tore open the box of .338 and spilled its contents.

  The empty metal cylinders clinked cheerfully as they mocked his every effort, laughing above the wet smear of the grimy snow.

  Two more shots pounded from below.

  As the realization dawned on him, Anders slumped back on his haunches.

  It was a wasted exercise.

  He knew they were spent.

  ‘Give me some good news, man…,’ the sniper pleaded.

  Utterly bereft, Anders collapsed on his heels.

  ‘We’re out.’

  ***

  Quinn was busy directing traffic when one of his civilian guardsmen threw open the door to the command module. Quinn had sensed something wasn’t right – the shots were coming faster than he expected, and their hurried pace set his teeth on edge. He knew his men were generally disciplined, especially those in the nests; their shots should come slow and deliberate. They each knew how scarce ammunition had become – every round was important.

  Something outside was testing their nerve.

  Instinctively, he produced his favourite sidearm from a desk drawer and had already mindlessly loaded a spare clip when the door almost came off its hinges.

  The guardsman gasped for breath.

  ‘…the fucking wall!’

  With the door open to the elements, the report of the rifles was all the louder. Quinn knew immediately the direction of fire had changed – these weren’t rounds being snapped from atop the civilian quarters.

  That meant a new front had opened up.

  Quinn turned to his troops. The module normally had a dozen or so military personnel and a variable civilian presence; he had a full complement.

  ‘Get runners to the armory, the barracks and the civvy quarters,’ Quinn stared fiercely at the guardsman as he considered what pieces he had available, though he had no interest in speaking with the man. ‘Get me a firing option from the central nest; I want two damned useful shooters up there now and I need close combat ready to deploy. If the wall is going to be tested, I need options.’

  The runners broke for their assignments and rushed past the stunned civilian guardsman, who stared blankly from the doorway.

  Quinn drew a solemn breath and scanned the room.

  ‘I want two with me and two to the infirmary,’ he began. ‘Everyone else, lock this place down. Get everyone settled in until I know what we’re dealing with.’

  Quinn paused for emphasis, though it was unnecessary.

  The unshakable stillness in his voice only emphasized his authority.

  Two soldiers fell in to flank Quinn on either side.

  Quinn checked his mag and chambered a round.

  Quinn turned to one of the remaining soldiers. The words were calm, but his tone was ice cold.

  Motioning to the radio room, he added, ‘That kid with the radio doesn’t stop broadcasting or there will be hell to pay.’

  ***

  Lynn watched nervously as Quinn gave his orders. She couldn’t make out everything he was saying but she was confident she could guess the meaning. The panic of the guardsman had clearly signified something wasn’t right. Even though she was no soldier herself, she could tell the gunfire’s direction had shifted.

  Lynn’s eyes began to tremble uncomfortably, scanning the room without finding focus on anything at all, half taking in the scene as it unfolded and half searching through her subconscious. The soldiers present were gathered around Quinn while several of the administrators shifted about; they busied themselves to deflect the tension.

  What am I going to do?

  For all her physical persuasions, she hadn’t managed to land a protector.

  And this might be it.

  She began to feel utter loneliness set in.

  She had felt this before, before the end of the world.

  Lynn had always hidden from her insecurities through physical pleasures. She was attractive, and men wanted her; it didn’t matter if it was superficial.

  In many cases, it was preferable. She was a superficial creature, feigning depth as a means of getting what she wanted.

  In truth, she was empty, and she felt the sting of it now.

  Two of the uniformed men moved beside Quinn as he checked his pistol. Whatever was happening outside, he clearly meant to meet it head on.

  Lynn felt the hopelessness dam up her throat. Her tongue felt like sand in her mouth.

  If there was one person in this god forsaken place that made her feel safe, it was Quinn.

  With or without a handsome soldier as a bodyguard, if he was killed today – they’d all be lost.

  Lynn shut her eyes as tightly as she could and prayed they’d last another day.

  Chapter 11

  He stood motionless for several minutes and considered his surroundings.

  Shoulder pressed against the partially burnt out wall, he peered through a smoke and grime stained window and scanned the streets beneath him.

  He struggled to hear, but was now convinced that somewhere downwind he could make out the report of gunfire. The wind was working against him, and the jutted, burnt out buildings muddled the echoes, but he was confident of it now.

  He hung his hatchet in one of the loops on the hip support of his pack.

  There was some urgency to move quickly; he had made out the signs of a storm closing over their position in the southern peninsula earlier in the
day. They had made it this far by scavenging daily for food, water and supply through the neighbouring ruined buildings, but with a storm rolling in and the confirmation of commotion in the distance, he didn’t want to be caught away from his charge for any length of time.

  Certainly not for the night.

  He was being forced ever further out from their shelter; each day he would cover a greater distance to keep their little band functional. That meant each day he would leave earlier and be gone for a longer stretch of time, and each day he ran a greater risk of being pursued and unable to retrace his steps home.

  He could deal with a few ghouls. In his youth, Jacob had spent time training with an Air Cadet unit, 527 Simonds Squadron. Like many of his cohort, he had never taken the majority of it seriously at the time, but he always enjoyed the survival training. That enjoyment had carried forward with him throughout his early twenties in a love for camping and the outdoors in general. He could move comfortably in any surrounding, and was blessed with a keen sense of perception. Perpetually alert, he could process a scene quickly, infinitely quicker than the dead could react to him.

  No, what worried Jacob most was the living. He knew they would be out there in the wastes, and he knew firsthand of the evils that some men could do.

  Still, he found some solace in the knowledge someone, somewhere nearby still had some fight in them.

  Jacob turned away from the window and set his attention to the task at hand. He still had another unit to canvas in this building and hadn’t properly swept the kitchen in this one. He shot one last glance to the grey wastes of the streets outside before he turned and stepped over the bodies of two dead ones he had just put down; the shattered remnants of a young couple.

  The apartment bore all the telltale signs of being young and in love. Sparsely furnished with that cheap, shitty ‘some-assembly-required’ furniture, walls decorated with tacky framed photos of happy times together, and the kind of hand-me-down dishes and flatware that parents offload on their children as they finally leave the nest.

  Likely this was their first apartment.

  Likely they had just started their lives together.