“What’s that noise?” Hannigen whispered.
I hadn’t noticed the three of them had stopped walking in front of me and I barged into Smith’s back.
“Watch it, kid,” Smith muttered.
We stood still, listening.
“I didn’t hear nothing,” Smith mumbled.
“Shh! There it is again,” Hannigen hissed.
This time we heard the noise. It sounded as though somebody was dragging a heavy item across the floor but stopping their movements indiscriminately. McElroy waved the flashlight beam up and down the tunnel but we didn’t notice anybody or anything that could be making the sound. The dragging noise seemed to be all around us and it was impossible to tell in which direction the movement came from.
A sudden loud banging sound echoed through the tunnel, causing me to flinch.
“What the fuck was that?” I whispered.
The dragging noise seemed to have ceased but I was sure I heard whispering behind me. I turned and thought I saw a cloaked figure disappear into the darkness.
“Hey, Thomas,” I called. “Shine the flashlight back down the tunnel behind us. I’m sure I saw somebody moving around back there.”
McElroy shone the light both ways but still the beam didn’t light up anything or anybody.
“Come on; let’s just get moving, shall we?” Smith grunted. “I’m certain we’re going to run into a whole bunch of rats if we hang around down here much longer. And if that happens, I will start shooting, believe me.”
I noticed Smith’s facial expression was a combination of fear and bravado. I guessed my own expression was pale white and terrified. The spooky tunnel was scaring the crap out of me.
“Catch yourself on, Smith,” McElroy said, stifling a laugh. “It ‘aint our little furry friends you have to fret about, man. It’s those big hungry bastards about three meters above us that you need to concern yourself about.”
“Can we just keep going already?” Smith said, opening his arms out wide.
McElroy flicked his eyes to the ceiling, turned and carried on walking.
Smith was scared of the possibility of rats down in the tunnel but I figured something more sinister lurked in the darkness. I’d gotten used to the dead getting up and walking, impossible though it had seemed when it all kicked off but the supernatural, ghosts and shit was another matter entirely.
I felt myself breathe out a sigh of relief when I saw the door at the opposite end of the tunnel. Black paint flaked in patches off the door and it looked as though it was closed. I had a horrible feeling McElroy was going to say something like – “That’s strange, so it is. The door shouldn’t be closed. Oh, it’s locked and I haven’t got a key.” But thankfully, that scenario didn’t happen. He slowly pushed open the door and shone the light beam over another black, metal staircase.
“Okay, we’re now inside the famous Crumlin Road Gaol,” McElroy muttered. “I’m sorry to have to say that I was invited to stay inside here for a short period of time in my youth.”
“You’re not the only one to spend some time in the can,” Smith grunted. “Now, let’s get out of this damn tunnel and up that staircase, shall we?”
“Don’t be so hasty, Smith,” McElroy teased. “There may be some dead people up there. We don’t want to be walking straight into their outstretched arms, like lovers meeting after a long while apart, do we?”
Smith sighed loudly and impatiently, not amused by McElroy’s ribbing and stalling tactics. He obviously had thoughts of a ton of rats heading through the tunnel stuck in his mind and gotten a little jumpy. I’d take rats over zombies or ghosts any day of the week.
“My apologies, Smith,” McElroy said, laughing as he spoke. “I’m only faffin’ with you.” He smiled and started up the metal staircase.
“There’s a time and a place for kidding around, Thomas,” Smith huffed. “And this ‘aint neither the time nor the place.”
McElroy’s shoulders shook as he silently giggled. Hannigen and Smith followed him up the staircase and I tagged along at the rear, also glad to be out of the tunnel. The staircase led us up to ground level and I was glad to see daylight, even if it was shining through a slanted transparent roof above us.
We were inside a long, narrow room with stone brick walls on each side. McElroy turned off his flashlight and slipped it back into his jacket pocket. He slipped the rifle off his shoulder and held it at the ready at waist height.
“Where are these damn trucks then, Mac?” Smith asked.
“They were parked out back last time I was here,” McElroy said, pointing the way ahead. “I’ll take you to them. Be on the lookout, you never know if there are any dead stragglers inside the boundary.”
He led us outside into the prison grounds. The old gaol itself was a mass of block shaped buildings, constructed of large gray and beige colored stone bricks, with black, wrought iron railings running around the perimeter. A huge, circular brick built chimney towered above the buildings, casting a long shadow across the grounds.
“So…what were you doing time for in this place or shouldn’t I ask, huh, Mac?” Smith asked, as he glanced around our surroundings.
“Oh, I used to be something of a bad boy.” McElroy smiled as he spoke, recounting memories from his past. “We were in a gang that belonged to one particular side during the troubles. I didn’t do anything that bad but by association to the certain party was enough to put me inside as a political prisoner.” He nodded to Hannigen. “Mr. Hannigen over there was on the opposite side of the tracks. We came from different ends of the spectrum but ended up living in the same tower block. How’s that for irony?”
Hannigen grunted disapprovingly. “That’s all in the past now, Thomas. And it’s best if it stays that way.”
McElroy shook his head. “Just answering the big man’s question, so I was. No need to get yourself in a rage.”
The banter petered out and we walked across the prison grounds in awkward silence. It was obvious the two men had some sort of bad blood in their history and had simply banded together to survive. I didn’t think it would take much for their differences to resurface and boil over.
We walked through a courtyard and towards an expanse of open space where the asphalt ground was visible through the thinning snow. A high, concrete coated wall, at a height of around twenty-five feet stood at the far side of the area. I assumed we were facing the outer perimeter wall of the prison. McElroy stopped in his tracks when he studied the empty ground in front of us.
“Oh, shite,” he muttered. “Ah, no.”
“What’s up, Mac?” Smith asked.
“Those armored trucks I was talking about,” McElroy sighed. “They’re gone.”
I felt a sinking sensation in my stomach as I followed McElroy’s gaze into a vacant space, only occupied by snow and asphalt.
Chapter Sixty-Two
“Those trucks were right here,” McElroy wailed, waving the barrel of his rifle at the place where the vehicles had been parked. “Who the fuck would have taken them?”
“Take your pick,” Hannigen said. “Russians, police, people who worked as guides in the prison, anybody trying to flee the city. The list is endless. They probably thought the same as us, only thought about it sooner.”
“Ah, bollocks, man,” McElroy spat, lurching his head forward in frustration. “We’ve come all this way out here for nothing. O’Neil will never let us leave without some kind of transport to the docks.”
“How about that big old piece of crap right there?” Smith said, pointing behind us and to our left.
We all spun around to see what he was pointing at. A big, red open top bus sat in the shadows, directly beside one of the prison building wings.
McElroy sighed. “Ah, catch yourself on, Smith. That thing would be too slow and too noisy. Besides, it’s got no cover on the top deck and it’ll more than likely have a few feet of snow inside it.”
“Got any smarter ideas?” Smith said. “I’m all ears.”
&nb
sp; McElroy looked to the ground, huffing loudly. “All right, let’s go over and take a wee look.”
We plodded over to the bus and I noticed the upper deck had the words ‘Belfast City Tours’ emblazoned along the side.
“It must have been left here when the outbreak started,” Hannigen surmised. “It’s probably been left standing for the best part of a year.”
I cupped my hands against the driver’s window and peered inside the cab. I shrieked and recoiled at the sight inside the interior. The others instinctively raised their respective weapons and took a backward step from the bus.
“What is it, Brett? What did you see?” McElroy snapped.
My heart still pounded in my chest but I did my best to regain my composure and pointed to the driver’s window. “The guy, the driver is still sitting in there. What’s left of him.”
“Is he dead, as in dead or moving around dead?” McElroy asked.
“He looks pretty much dead… I mean as in terminated,” I stammered. “He’s nothing more than a skeleton.”
McElroy, Smith and Hannigen moved to the window and took a close look for themselves.
“He ‘aint going to be driving a bus no more,” Smith muttered. “Okay, so how do we find a way inside here?”
Hannigen pressed a button beside the door but nothing happened.
“I’m guessing the battery is as flat as a pancake, huh?” I asked.
Hannigen shook his head. “The system should work from an air compressor inside so the door should open. It doesn’t need to operate on the battery. The only thing I can think is that the driver disabled the pneumatic system while he was inside. He probably turned it off to stop any infected ejits from getting inside the bus.”
“Can we still open the door?” Smith asked.
“Aye, if we can get inside and turn the pneumatic system back on. The switch is usually by the driver’s control panel somewhere.”
“Even if we do get the door open, how are we going to start this bastard?” I sighed.
“Well, if the driver is still in his seat, I’m guessing the keys must be in there too,” Hannigen said, holding his chin in thought. “Why would he lock himself inside then throw away the keys?”
“Fair point,” I admitted. “But the battery will still be flat won’t it?”
Hannigen nodded. “More than likely but a mate of mine used to drive one of these things around the city. I remember him saying they used to carry a booster charger with them at all times. A broken down bus in the middle of Belfast would have caused chaos with the traffic. My guess would be they’d have kept it in the storage compartment there.” He pointed to a closed metal flap running along the side of the bus. “Only problem is it works on the same pneumatic system as the exit door. We need to find a way inside.” He glanced up at the open top deck.
“How high would you say that upper deck is?” Smith asked.
“Maybe twelve feet,” McElroy mumbled.
“Okay, so I’m six feet four and I’m guessing you’re both around the same height, right?” Smith pointed to McElroy and Hannigen, who both nodded. “If we all lifted a tall, skinny guy who’s around six feet in height, he may be able to reach the top of that deck, huh?”
“I guess you’re talking about me?” I groaned.
Smith shrugged. “Well, look at the three of us.” He circled his hand around McElroy, Hannigen and himself. “We’re big, heavy guys. You’re a little lighter than we are, Wilde Man. You should take that as a compliment.”
“All right,” I sighed. “Tell me what you want me to do once I’m inside the damn stupid bus.”
Hannigen went through the ins and outs of the pneumatic system once again and explained the switch or lever should be located around the driver’s area. I braced myself as the three big guys hoisted me up in the air, as though I was lighter than oxygen. They maneuvered their hands around so they cupped the soles of my boots. I tottered but kept my balance and leaned forward to grip onto the top edge of the upper deck. The guys all pushed upward in a single thrust, sending me up and over the side of the top deck. I landed head first in a pile of snow but still felt the full force of floor’s solid surface beneath.
I grabbed hold of a seat beside me and hauled myself to my feet. I dabbed my nose and mouth to check for bleeding and was surprised to see my hand was clean.
“Thanks a bunch, guys,” I groaned, turning around and looking down at the three men below.
“Quit whining, Wilde and open the damn door will you?” Smith barked.
“Some appreciation would be nice,” I muttered, trudging along the upper deck’s aisle.
I drew my Taurus handgun as I stood at the top of the staircase, just in case any undead were lurking on the lower deck. Taking the steps slowly and one at a time, I held the firearm pointing upwards and close to my chest. Puddles of water from melted snow drenched the lower deck floor and a musty stench of death and decaying flesh attacked my nostrils while I padded down the steps.
I trod cautiously along the center aisle, checking the seats and floor for any signs of hibernating zombies. The further I pressed forward I noticed the black rubber floor was coated with large blood stains, dried onto the surface beneath the water. A few discarded plastic bags sat on the seats, stuffed with tourist type items and leaflets.
Through the smoked glass windows, I saw Smith, McElroy and Hannigen approach the side door of the bus. They were talking to me but they were all gabbling at once so I couldn’t decipher what any of them were saying.
I drew near to the driver’s seat and glanced over the skeletal remains still sitting in place. There was no flesh left on the skull, which was fixed in an eternal grimace. A few long hairs still sprouted at the sides of the head and the driver’s uniform was still wrapped around the bony corpse. I noticed the front of the former driver’s jacket and shirt was heavily blood stained and wondered how the poor bastard had died. Obviously, his demise hadn’t been a peaceful one.
“Hurry it up, Wilde,” Smith yelled from outside. His voice sounded slightly muffled due to the acoustics of the bus interior.
I glanced out of the window then back to the long since dead driver, trying to ignore the rank smell of decay.
“Sorry, pal but you absolutely reek,” I whispered. “Maybe you should try changing your aftershave.”
I leaned forward, checking around the seat for anything that resembled a switch or a lever. Nothing looked obvious and I became a little frustrated. Smith and the other two guys still hollered at me from outside. I saw a silver two-way switch and clicked it in the opposite direction. Immediately, a hissing noise briefly rattled through the cab.
“That’s it, you’ve got it,” Hannigen shouted. “Don’t touch anything else in there.”
Hannigen hit the button on the outside again and this time the door slid open, sounding like a huge exhalation of air.
“Right, let’s see if we can open that compartment,” he said, breezing alongside me in the cab.
“Okay, but let’s get rid of our departed friend first,” I said. “He’s stinking the whole bus out.” I waved my hand in front of my nose for effect.
“Stand out the way, man,” McElroy said as he boarded the bus. “I’ll get the wee fellow out the way.” He grabbed the skeletal driver by the front of his blood stained jacket and hauled the body out of the seat.
I watched as McElroy then tossed the bag of bones out of the door. The driver’s skeleton hit the wall next to the bus and rattled onto the ground. Smith glanced at the skeleton then back at McElroy, shrugged and hopped onto the bus.
“Have you no respect for the dead, man?” Hannigen grunted.
“Great respect,” McElroy muttered. “But it’s not reciprocated.”
“Okay, so are we any closer to firing this damn thing up?” Smith asked.
“Just looking for the switch now,” Hannigen said as he bobbed his head around the driver’s control panel. “It should be here somewhere.” He turned and glanced at me. “Brett, go ou
t there and see if the outside panel pops open will you?”
I nodded. “Okay.”
“Give me a shout if it opens up.”
“Got you,” I muttered, heading back out of the bus.
I stood in front of the side panel along the side of the bus and waited as Hannigen tried pressing buttons and turning all kinds of switches. I lit a cigarette and smoked in silence to pass the time. Eventually, the panel did jut open slightly with another hiss of air.
“That’s got it,” I called out. “The panel has opened up.”
Hannigen muttered something from inside the cab but I didn’t catch what he said. I moved towards the panel and lifted it fully open. My breath seemed to be sucked from my body when I saw a scowling face lurch at me from the darkness of the compartment.
Chapter Sixty-Three
I yelled in shock and fear and jumped backwards, letting the panel slam back downwards. My back hit the wall and I nearly tripped over the skeletal driver’s remains. Smith and McElroy stepped off of the bus in time to see the panel opening up. A thin female crawled out of the compartment. She had long black hair covering her face and the torn remnants of a yellow summer dress barely covered her body. The woman hissed, baring her teeth as she crawled on her hands and knees towards us. Her hair flopped to the side and I saw her eyes were covered with the milky cataract like substance the undead possessed.
“She’s one of them,” I stammered, pulling out my handgun.
“What the hell is she doing in the bus compartment?” McElroy muttered.
“I don’t know,” I sighed. “I didn’t think to ask. Are we going to shoot her or what?”
McElroy glanced around and sniffed nonchalantly. “Aye, no need to waste bullets though.” He pulled up the leg of his combat pants, revealing a long bladed knife inside a sheath strapped around his lower leg. “You can never be too careful,” he said, sliding the knife from the sheath.
Smith and I stood back, allowing McElroy some space. He stalked forward in a crouching stance, holding the knife out in front of him. The female zombie growled and crawled closer to him, unaware her existence was about to end. McElroy struck like a cobra. He lunged forward and stabbed the knife blade deep into the side of the zombie’s skull. She twitched slightly for a brief moment then slumped face first onto the ground. McElroy withdrew the knife and wiped the excess blood and brain matter off the blade, using the woman’s torn dress.
The Left Series (Book 5): Left On The Run Page 28