The Decline
Page 28
The two locked eyes as the creature licked its tattered lips and hissed.
Madison screamed as the thing suddenly exploded, its body shuddered as the balance of its skull burst from the heavy blow of the .308.
Anders smashed his ghoul’s face into the vehicle a final time before he forcefully pinned it to the ground. Keeley drove her knife into the base of the creature’s neck, angling it upwards into the brain as Anders kept the creature subdued.
Sully hopped from the truck and Isaac rushed past to where Jacob battled with the ghoul. Its teeth continued to snap and gnash. Unable to find a clean shot, Isaac lowered the Glock and delivered a strong kick to the ribs of the creature. The strike did little actual damage, but it did knock the ghoul off balance – Jacob seized the opportunity to roll the ghoul off of him and he now found himself on top. He cleared the arms and fumbled for the hilt of the blade. Isaac stomped on its head once before Sully brusquely pushed him aside and brought the butt end of the rifle crashing into its skull.
After the second blow, the skull collapsed and the creature went limp.
Jacob sat back on the ghoul’s stomach and gasped for breath. His head swam but he managed to pull the kitchen knife out from the corpse.
Keeley wrapped her arms around Madison’s shoulder as she slid from beneath the vehicle and helped her up. Tears welled in the corners of her eyes, but otherwise she seemed none the worse for wear.
Emily stood, useless. Anders checked her over.
She quivered at the sight of him and the violence he had wrought.
He wrapped his arms around her and laughed.
‘Thank you,’ he bleated in accented English, ‘I knew you wouldn’t leave us!’
Emily managed a stunned smile as she returned the embrace.
Keeley noticed something subtle in Madison but couldn’t place it.
Anders thought he caught something fleeting as well, but he didn’t care. He was too relieved to not be trapped in the back of that truck.
Jacob shakily came to his feet; Isaac gave him a hand.
‘We need to go,’ Sully stated flatly, ‘we’re exposed here.’
‘We made a lot of noise,’ Jacob agreed, ‘coulda heard that for miles.’
‘Jennifer,’ Keeley begged, ‘the corporal… we have to wait for her!’
Several incredulous pairs of eyes fell on Keeley as she recounted an abridged version of events.
‘…would she have survived that?’ Madison asked.
Isaac’s expression turned grim; Madison didn’t miss it.
He didn’t speak.
‘Fuck her,’ Anders spat, either unable or unwilling to hide his disdain.
Sully nodded his agreement.
‘Good riddance.’
Keeley was stunned by their apathy; her mouth hung open to protest only to have the words escape her. Isaac considered their options but thought it best to not alienate the only survivors he knew yet stood.
He reached for Keeley’s hand.
‘Come on… let’s go.’
She stared back at him.
‘Where?’ she stammered, already feeling the sting of their betrayal.
Isaac surveyed the ruins of the barracks and the pillar of smoke and flame pouring from it.
The moans of the dead, real or imagined, echoed from within the structure.
Emily huddled into Anders.
Jacob and Madison looked expectantly.
Sully cycled the action on the .308.
‘Anywhere but here.’
Epilogue
Smoke continued to blacken the sky.
Quinn lowered the binoculars and passed them back to the spotter without looking at him. The explosion earlier in the day echoed through the vacant streets, stretching out for miles. He could swear he yet heard traces of it, bouncing between the empty buildings of the Uptown.
From the nest, Quinn surveyed the grounds beneath him.
It was only a matter of time.
The explosion would have called out to everything nearby.
A great and terrible dinner bell.
When the hordes come…
If the walls were tested, they would fail. They didn’t have the manpower.
As Quinn went to rise, the soldier saluted him.
Consumed in thought, Quinn scarcely noticed.
As the salute was lowered, Quinn recognized something in the soldier.
Something he felt he had lost.
Determination.
Unflinching, unyielding determination.
Quinn studied the man for a long moment.
Regretting his earlier indiscretion, Quinn turned square to the spotter and offered his hand in genuine admiration.
***
Quinn had hidden as many survivors and as much material as he could fit in the nests before ordering the rest to hole up in the upper floors of the civilian quarters. He pulled his men from the shooting platforms and ordered no shots be fired until absolutely necessary – loosely defined as when the walls were overrun and the infected were in the complex. He had emptied the armories and distributed bullets, weapons and whatever other gear they could muster as equally as possible. None were to be outside except runners, and even then only until the dead were in sight of the spotters.
They would try to wait it out.
Any who wanted to leave in advance of the pending siege were welcome to.
If the walls were compromised, the chain of command would be unreliable. Each man and woman who remained – soldier and civilian alike – would need to make their own decision on whether or when to break and flee. Quinn retained a small group with him in the command module, to guard the radio and the vital equipment of the infirmary. He’d also have the option of sending a runner between posts if he determined the site was lost.
Andrew was feverishly running through his script over and over, desperate to raise someone.
Anyone.
The plan was as good as it was going to get.
Satisfied his assets were deployed as best he could muster, Quinn produced some paper from his desk.
As she watched Quinn begin to write, Lynn chewed her nails and her leg shook nervously.
It was possible the ghouls would find no incentive to stop their march at the Coast Guard site, so long as they found no stimulus that overpowered their initial instinct. It was possible, if they were lucky.
Luck had been in short supply.
***
The door to the command module swung open.
Quinn raised his eyes to meet the intruder, but he didn’t need to ask for the report.
The infected army had crested the hill; it now descended towards them.
Their path to the source of the explosion and the plume of smoke would take them right outside the gate.
Behind the soldier and through the door Quinn could see a huddle of terrified faces, each looking to him for direction.
Quinn placed his pen on his desk. He stared intently at the pages.
An honest assessment of their struggle.
His final report.
Their eulogy.
Satisfied he had told their story without whitewashing the details, he carefully placed the pages inside a manila folder and positioned it prominently on his desk.
***
They trudged through the forest.
The snow was uneven; occasionally they would slip and plummet into the slush and grime beneath. With feet soaked and spirits low, the mutinous silence between them deepened.
They abandoned the city with little true direction, knowing only they had to leave that forsaken place. They walked through the night, putting as much distance as they could between them and the bitter memories of the Uptown.
Their salvation would be somewhere beyond its borders.
As the troupe stopped to rest, Keeley looked around at their company.
Emily nestled into Anders; the fair-skinned foreigner had his arm wrapped around her shoulders. Though his face was scarred and his jaw hung awkward, his boyish good looks did little to hide the fact he was yet a kind-hearted soul beneath. They’d made fast friends – a reflection on Anders’ personal magnetism, she supposed. Keeley’s mind drifted to the moment she had seen him in the courtyard, his hood removed, how battered and broken he had been. So overwhelmed by the memory, Keeley didn’t notice he had caught her staring. He smiled and shot her a wink before returning his attention to Emily.
Jacob was unsteady; his face was pale and he shook visibly. He sat on a log, hands on his knees, struggling to keep himself upright. He had obviously overexerted himself. He needed rest now, more than any of them, but they couldn’t spare the time… and he knew it.
He would fight through it.
Madison checked over Jacob’s stitches and frowned. They had torn again and were seeping. She did what she could to clean and pack them before she set about filling a canteen with the cleanest bits of snow she could find.
Isaac worked his knife into a tree, seemingly intent on something. Keeley didn’t yet know how to react to Isaac. At times he was familiar, at others he was a complete stranger. She had always cursed his pragmatism when they argued. He was logical to a fault, often missing the ‘bigger picture’ by relying on it so heavily. She knew now he was capable of terrible things, but perhaps that capability had kept them alive this long.
There was always a duality in men, but she couldn’t yet reconcile the two.
Sully sat with his back against a tree. His eyes were closed as he leaned his forehead into the barrel of the .308. His breath came deep and rhythmic, almost pensive. Keeley couldn’t know for certain what thoughts plagued him, but she could guess. She hoped he could keep it together.
Gruff as he was, goddamn if he wasn’t reliable.
Keeley gripped the strap of the messenger bag tightly. They had an incredible supply of medicines, but that alone wouldn’t keep them alive.
Or safe.
She wondered if such a thing even existed anymore.
‘Anyone hungry?’ Isaac asked.
He wedged a chunk of rotten wood away and motioned to the gash in the tree. Several small grubs wriggled within. It would be far from appetizing, but they had little choice. They would need to conserve what little canned food and water they had left. They needed to scavenge on the move, and though none could truly afford to miss the calories, the thought of eating whatever the hell those were proved too much for most.
‘Best not to pass up the protein,’ Isaac urged as he popped one of the larvae into his mouth.
He turned away so the others wouldn’t see his disgust.
The road would be long.
Copyrights
This is a work of fiction; the names, characters, places and events described within are fictitious. Any resemblance or similarities to actual events, places or persons - living or dead - is purely coincidental.
The Decline
Copyright © 2017 by Christopher Jessulat
Cover photography by Bryn Robinson
Instagram: @brynphd
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.
Tellwell Talent
www.tellwell.ca
ISBN
978-1-77302-467-7 (Paperback)
978-1-77302-466-0 (eBook)