The Human Condition a-4

by David Moody

  Carlton was about to leave the kitchen when he stopped. Something in the rubbish under his feet had caught his eye. He bent down and pushed a pile of plastic food trays out of the way. It was a lifeless hand, reaching up for help through the garbage. Working quickly but quietly he cleared pots, pans and other rubbish away from the immediate area around where he was standing. He gradually uncovered the body of Lynn Price. Price had been the officer in charge of the kitchens. The poor bitch had a bread knife buried deep in her right kidney. Huge amounts of blood had spilled out over the kitchen floor underneath the layers of rubbish. In places it was still tacky but most of it was dry. She'd obviously been dead for several days.

  Nerves threatened to get the better of Carlton. Did he continue to push further into the base, or did he turn back now and scuttle away to the relatively safety of his dark tunnel hideout again? Hiding was by far the easier option, but he knew it wouldn't have done him any good in the long run. If he didn't find food and water soon he'd be in serious trouble. He was already beginning to dehydrate. Christ, what he would have given for just a single drink of clear, ice-cold fresh water. The fact that he was standing in the middle of a kitchen, surrounded by pots and pans and discarded cutlery and crockery only made him feel worse. He pressed on.

  The kitchen was connected to the main mess hall. Carlton climbed through a wide serving hatch and took a few steps into the deserted hall. It was in just as bad a condition as the kitchen. It looked like there had been a riot. Furniture had been upturned and he could see the bodies of at least four more ex-colleagues buried in the mayhem. He was about to check the vending machines in the corner (which were obviously empty but which were still teasingly illuminated) when the sound of another hail of bullets stopped him in his tracks. That was close. That was too close. A moment of silence and then the sound of heavy footsteps thundering past the entrance to the mess hall. From his position he saw three or four unidentifiable figures rush past the door and carry on down the corridor. He waited for a moment before sticking his head out into the corridor and peering after them.

  `Carlton...' a voice hissed from out of nowhere. Carlton's heart skipped a beat and his legs weakened with nerves as he looked for the owner of the voice. He spotted a frightened face hiding in a doorway opposite. Who was it? It was difficult to see but he was too afraid to get any closer. He stared again. Was it Daniel Wright?

  `Wright? Wright, is that you...?'

  The figure on the other side of the corridor slowly stood up straight and then looked left and right before crossing over into the mess hall. Wright pushed Carlton further back into the shadows.

  `Where the hell have you been?' he asked, his voice hushed and secretive. `Haven't seen you for weeks.'

  `Been hiding,' Carlton replied.

  `Sensible. Best bloody thing to do around here.' `What about you?'

  `I was with a few others. Got themselves into a scrap and I took the chance to duck out and get away.'

  `What's happening?'

  `We're waiting to die, didn't you know?' Wright replied, his voice drained of all emotion. `Place is falling apart. Fucking people are falling apart. Half the people left down here are already dead, and most of them killed themselves.'

  Carlton was silent for a moment as he took in Wright's words. None of it had come as a surprise.

  `So what are you going to do now?'

  The other solider shrugged his shoulders.

  `No bloody idea,' he admitted. `Not a lot I can do really, is there?'

  Carlton didn't answer.

  The awkward conversation was interrupted by the sounds of more scuffles and fights taking place deeper within the base. Wright peered out into the corridor again, then quickly drew his head back inside.

  `Anything?' Carlton asked.

  `Nothing,' Wright replied, `but it's just a matter of time. Won't be long before this whole fucking place goes up in smoke.'

  `You reckon?'

  `Absolutely.'

  More noise. Getting closer. Wright started to shuffle uncomfortably.

  `Where you been hiding?' he asked, the desperation very evident his voice. Carlton thought for a moment before answering. What did he say? He didn't want to tell him. `Come on, man,' he begged as the noise in the corridor continued to increase in volume. `Let me come with you. I won't do anything to get you found, I promise. I just want to find somewhere safe where I can...'

  Soldiers appeared at the end of the corridor. More gunshots. A figure collapsed in a hail of bullets. More troops trampled the body as they ran for shelter.

  `Christ,' Carlton mumbled under his breath. He wanted to turn and run back to the service tunnel, but Wright would follow and he knew that he couldn't afford to let him. No matter what the other man said, having him with him would increase the risk dramatically. He had to find a way of getting rid of him, and quickly.

  `Come on,' Wright pleaded. `Fucking show me!'

  In desperation Wright whipped a knife out from his belt and held it to Carlton's neck. Christ, thought Carlton, not the suit. Cut me but don't cut the bloody suit.

  `I can't...' Carlton began to protest. `Show me where you're hiding or I'll do it,' Wright threatened, his face now close to the other man's. Carlton recoiled at the noxious smell of Wright's acrid breath.

  `I can't,' he said again, bringing his pistol slowly up from his side. Before Wright had realised what he was doing Carlton fired a single shot, ripping a bloody hole through his chest cavity and lungs. Wright collapsed to the ground and Carlton stepped over him, wiping dribbles of blood from his precious suit.

  He was about to step into the corridor when another group of soldiers thundered past the mess hall doorway, this time moving in the opposite direction to the first, moving back deeper into the base. More followed, then more. One of the soldiers straggling at the back of the pack tried to grab hold of Carlton and drag him along with him. Carlton instinctively recoiled and squirmed free from the soldier's grip.

  `Get yourself out of here,' the soldier in the corridor screamed. `Get out of here now. The fucking idiots are trying to open the bloody doors!'

  He couldn't afford to wait. Not caring who saw him Carlton turned and ran back through the mess hall and clambered quickly through the serving hatch and into the kitchen. Behind him a constant stream of desperate, terrified troops fled deeper into the bunker.

  Carlton ran back to his hideout as quickly as his tired, under-exercised legs would carry him. He threw himself into the service tunnel and scrambled around furiously in the darkness for his breathing apparatus. With hands trembling with nervous fear he put on his kit and melted back into the darkness and waited...

  At the entrance to the bunker a group of soldiers had fought their way through into the decontamination chambers. Their minds twisted and deluded as a result of weeks of hopeless isolation, two of them struggled to open the sealed doors while another three held off more troops who fought to prevent the base being compromised. Risks, priorities and perspectives had been distorted after spending months buried underground without hope. Perhaps the infection had finally passed? The men now struggling to open the doors and get outside genuinely believed that this was their last chance for freedom and life.

  The soldiers at the doors were being protected by their three colleagues who, whenever they saw the slightest movement in the corridor leading up to the chambers, unleashed a torrent of bullets. Those trying to stop them didn't stand a chance, such was the position of the doorway being defended at the far end of a long corridor. Explosives and grenades were useless too. Fire munitions of any strength at them this close to the chambers and enough damage would almost certainly be done to immediately compromise the base. A few desperate fighters continued to try and prevent the breach. Those who had been unfortunate enough to have already seen what was outside and who knew what was about to be let into the base. Those who had already fought hand to hand with the dead and who had witnessed for themselves their vast and unstoppable numbers. Those who would rather
be mown down by bullets than face the rotting crowds that were about to flood into the bunker.

  It was inevitable that the doors were going to be opened. It was just a matter of time.

  Carlton lay on his back in the tunnel and trembled with fear. The world sounded different from behind the mask, muffled and somehow distant and indistinct. It made him feel even more uncertain and scared.

  In the distance he could hear further battles raging. Bullets were flying and screams of pain and panic were ringing through the twisting maze of subterranean corridors and passageways. Even more than before it was now impossible to gauge the direction of any of the sounds. The noise seemed now to surround Carlton and come at him from every angle. The volume increased steadily and previously distinct sounds gradually merged into a single unintelligible cacophony.

  Then it stopped.

  A sudden silence so ominous that it made Carlton lose control of his bladder. He lay on his back in a pool of his own piss and lifted a shaking hand up to his mask. He wrapped his fingers around the breathing apparatus, ready to rip it off. Perhaps I should just do it now, he thought, just get it over with...

  He couldn't bring himself to do it.

  Sobbing with fear he lay still and waited.

  The silence continued for the best part of two days. In his cramped confinement Carlton listened intently to the stillness, hoping for a clue as to what had happened but too afraid to move and investigate. Weak with hunger and nerves, he waited impatiently. He didn't know which was worse, the physical or mental pain? Every bone in his body ached and he knew that if he moved some of that pain might ease. But he couldn't do it. He was too bloody scared to do anything.

  After endless hours, minutes and seconds of nothing he finally heard something. Had he imagined it? He held his breath and listened carefully, the rapid thump of his own frightened heartbeat ringing in his ears and threatening to drown out any other sound. What was happening? He'd begun to presume that the all-consuming silence of the last forty or so hours had been a good thing. Surely if the base had been invaded by swarms of decaying bodies he would have seen or heard something by now?

  There it was again. The bang and clatter of metal on metal. It sounded more like a random, clumsy crash than anything more purposeful or sinister. He had to do something now, he couldn't just lie here and do nothing. Moving as cautiously as he could he slid back down the service corridor to the junction with the second, slightly wider passageway. Once there he crouched down on his aching knees and listened again, keeping out of sight. More noise. This time even further away, still unclear and indistinct. He shuffled further forward again.

  Carlton stopped when he reached the next corridor. He glanced over at the kitchen door. The lights were lower than he remembered. The main power supply within the base must have failed and the structure was now illuminated only by the low yellow electric back-up lighting throughout. He retraced the steps he'd taken a few days earlier, tiptoeing carefully through the wreckage which covered the kitchen floor and trying not to make any unnecessary noise. He stepped over the fallen body of the officer he'd discovered last time he was here and then slid through the serving hatch and out into the mess hall.

  More distant sounds. He primed his pistol, cringing at the noise it made, and walked to the end of the hall. He was about to step out into the corridor when a figure appeared from a doorway to his far left. Christ, who was that? More to the point, what was it? It was dressed in a soldier's uniform, but it was so slow and clumsy. Whoever it was must have been injured, he decided. Maybe he should try and help them? Carlton chose instead to do nothing, preferring to wait until the solider got closer before he took any chances. You can't trust anyone these days, he thought. And, he quickly remembered, the advancing solider might be equally uncertain of him. One unexpected move and he might find himself staring down the barrel of the other man's rifle. The trooper was close now. Carlton held his breath, trying not to move for fear of giving away his position. Something wasn't right. Another sudden sound came from the other end of the corridor behind him but he ignored it, concentrating instead on the solider still approaching. The figure's head hung heavily over to one side and it seemed to be dragging its feet rather than managing to take proper, controlled steps. What the hell was going on? The soldier was now no more than a couple of feet away. It staggered into the dull yellow glow of one of the emergency lights directly overhead and Carlton recoiled at the creature's nightmarish face. What the hell had happened to this man? It was as if the life had been sucked out of him. His skin was white, almost blanched, and thick, dried blood had dribbled from his mouth, down his chin and onto his uniform. His eyes were dull and unfocussed, staring ahead but not actually appearing to look at anything. To all intents and purposes this poor bastard looked dead. Carlton disappeared back into the shadows of the mess hall. The soldier (or corpse or whatever it was) shuffled past him oblivious.

  It had to be the infection. That was the only explanation. The integrity of the bunker had been compromised and the germ or whatever it was that had done all the damage outside had been let in. His mind began to work overtime. If the rest of the soldiers are infected, he thought, then I have to get out of here. Christ, he'd seen for himself what the dead hordes were capable of when they'd forced the military back and entered the hanger almost seventy days ago. And now he found himself trapped on the wrong side of the bunker doors with, potentially, anything up to a hundred of the bloody things. He had to get out. He had to get out right now. He didn't know where he was going to go, but he had to try and make a run for it. He was going to die soon, that much was inevitable, but he wasn't about to let himself be torn apart at the hands of his former friends and colleagues. As weak and tired and frightened as he was, he wasn't prepared to end his days like that. One last burst of energy...

  Carlton stepped out into the corridor. The body of the soldier continued to trip away to his right. It must have heard him but it didn't react. To his left the passageway was clear. Leaving the safety of the shadows he limped further down the corridor, passing the door from which the body had emerged and eventually reaching a T-junction. Left or right? All the corridors in this damn place looked the same � white-grey and disappointingly featureless. Carlton was disorientated and in pain and he couldn't remember the way to the control room. If he could reach the control room he was sure he'd be able to then find the communications room. Once he'd managed to reach the communications room he knew he'd be able to find his way back through the maze of tunnels to the decontamination chambers. That had to be the area he aimed for. If he could reach the chambers then, providing there wasn't still a flood of rotting bodies trying to force their way inside, he'd have a chance, albeit a very slight one, of getting out of the base alive. What happened after that, however, was anyone's guess.

  He turned left. Damn, the door to a ransacked equipment store and a dead end. He turned back again and began to move down the corridor in the other direction. Movement was gradually becoming easier and his joints were feeling less stiff. Now all that he had to do was... Shit, another one of those creatures right in front of him. He looked at it and wondered if he could see who it used to be. To keep moving in the right direction he knew he had no option but to try and pass it. For a moment he stood helpless in the middle of the corridor, completely still and completely useless, unable to decide what to do. He watched the shabby figure as it tripped towards him and he poised himself for its attack. Three meters between them and he held up his pistol.

  `Stop,' he commanded. `Stop or I'll blow your fucking head off.'

  The body continued its lethargic advance. He had no option but to shoot. He closed his eyes and squeezed the trigger and winced as the deafening sound of the gunshot echoed throughout the whole of the underground complex. When he dared to look again he saw that the soldier's corpse had crumbled to the ground in front of him. The back of its head and the contents of its skull dripped red from the grey corridor walls. Carlton was so preoccupied with the bl
oody fate of the first body that he failed to notice another two approaching until they had almost reached the cadaver on the floor. Without stopping to consider his actions he lifted his pistol again and fired another two shots at close range.

  Control room. He'd found it. Carlton weaved around the empty desks and past dusty, lifeless heaps of long-since redundant computer equipment on his way through the room. Another body staggered towards him but, rather than waste precious time fighting it, he instead simply stepped out of its way. The stupid thing blundered past. It hadn't even seen him.

  Out of the control room. Another left turn, down the corridor and then right. Jesus Christ, yet another body. He shot this one in the face � the corridor was too narrow to risk taking any chances. He stepped over the fallen corpse and pushed through the door into the communications room. And then he stopped. Another couple of hundred meters or so of corridor and he'd be outside the decontamination chambers. Did he really want to do this? Could he do it? More to the point, did he have any choice? Carlton's ever-decreasing alternatives were continuing to rapidly deplete. His final choices were now appallingly grim � stay underground with a hundred dead soldiers for company, or try and get up to the surface and have to face the possibility of having to deal with many, many more bodies up there. The thought of escaping from the relentlessly grey and enclosed confines of the bunker was the deciding factor. Okay, so it might not be any better (it might be much worse) above ground, but at least he'd be out in the open, if only for a few minutes. The choice was made.

  Carlton paused for a second longer to catch his breath, and then pushed through the door out of the communications room. He ran headlong into a crowd of seven bodies, all struggling to make progress down a corridor which was only wide enough for two. Instinctively he began kicking and punching at them, smashing them out of the way and knocking them to the ground. They offered no resistance as he angrily battered his way through them.