Aftermath (Book 1): Only The Head Will Take Them Down

by Duncan McArdle

  “What’s this one?”, Donald asked as he unzipped the pocket.

  “Map and a compass, just what you’ve always wanted”, John answered sarcastically.

  “Bout’ time”, Donald replied, in a tone much less happy than John had expected, but one that still showed he was at least relieved to have replaced some of the items he’d left in Andrew’s truck.

  “Well, now that that’s out of the way, whadd’ya say you get bandaged up, and I’ll try and get us back on the damn highway?”, John said, moving the truck off once more.

  * * *

  “I94, left”. The sign read exactly as John had hoped, a feeling of relief spreading across him as he turned off of the penultimate section of their improvised route, knowing that in a short while, they’d both be back on the road to finding John’s family. Looking across, he saw Donald sitting there, applying the finishing touches to his now heavily bandaged ankle. Both men knew that the bandages would do little for what was probably just a sprain, but at the very least it would reduce movement, and certainly help remind Donald not to put weight on it.

  “Anything else you need before we leave Eau Claire?”, John asked jokingly.

  Donald said nothing, looking sarcastically back at John instead, his bandage now fully applied.

  “Guns, first aid, anything like that?”, John asked again.

  “Those are two things we got ain’t they?”, Donald replied, clearly confused.

  “Sure is. Courtesy of that dead soldier back there, meaning there was no damn reason for us to have gone through all that hell back in the hospital”, John responded, now speaking more seriously. “So tell me, how many more stops are we gonna’ have to make before we get to my family?”, he asked.

  “I was planning on two, I think”, Donald said.

  “You think?”, John asked.

  “Well that friend of yours took my map, and I ain’t got acquainted with this new one yet”, Donald explained, “But last I remember, there were two more, bout the same distance as from the campsite to here for each”.

  “Some five hour drive this is turning out to be”, John noted, staring at the clock on the centre of the dashboard in front.

  “Five hours pre-infection I told you, I ain’t got no idea how long it’d take now, but we’re making my stops no matter what”, Donald replied sternly.

  “We?”, John asked, staring down at Donald’s ankle, “I don’t think we are doing anything anymore”.

  “Well if that’s the way you feel, I guess I can just send you in”, Donald said, a sickening smile spreading across his face.

  “Whatever gets us there faster”, John replied, meaning every word of the statement.

  * * *

  Andrew awoke to the faintest of screams, coming from a distant part of the motel. Instantly he jumped from the bed, taking out the M1911 he had stashed in the bedside drawer and clicking a lighter into life, instantly illuminating a portion of the room so that he could ensure his family were okay. In doing so however, he heard nothing more, other than the sound of rain clattering against the boarded up windows, and the occasional clash of thunder outside of the motel, signs of a storm slowly moving in.

  “What is it Andrew?”, Sarah asked of her husband, herself now stirring from slumber.

  “Not sure, probably nothing. Go back to bed”, Andrew replied, attempting to sound reassuring as he did.

  The sound of a scream fed quietly into the room once more, so quiet it could easily be missed, but loud enough for Andrew to start to worry, and for Sarah to stir once more.

  “Did you hear that?”, Sarah asked, clearly concerned, “What’s going on?”.

  “I don’t know, I’ll go check it out”, Andrew replied quietly.

  Opening the door, Andrew initially saw nothing, the dark hallway devoid of any light, save for the small amount that escaped from the lighter held in his hand. Down the hall, Andrew noticed at least two other doors open ever so slightly, the other residents clearly also concerned about the noises they too had heard. In the distance, Andrew heard yet another scream, this time in a different tone, and followed closely by the yelling of a much deeper voice. Something was happening on the far side of the motel, and Andrew knew there was no way they were getting out of their room’s boarded up windows in a hurry, if that something spread to their side.

  “Everybody, get up, pack your things”, Andrew said as he stepped back into the room, closing the door behind him.

  “Oh God, what is it?”, Sarah asked.

  “Don’t know yet, but let’s get ahead of it whatever it is, pack, quickly”, Andrew instructed, “Pack my stuff too, I’ll be right back”, he added as he lit a candle with the lighter.

  Andrew stepped back out into the hall, the light from the candle now spreading much further down the hall, and the sounds of a commotion becoming clearer and clearer as time went by, as if spreading closer to their side of the motel. More doors began to open as Andrew moved, heads now poking fully out to look for clues as to what was happening. But nobody dared to step out at this time of night, pure fear long since having taken over – few if any of them had ventured out since the outbreak – something that showed on each face Andrew was able to briefly glimpse.

  Andrew arrived at the end of the hallway, weapon still drawn, and moved slowly around the corner, the stairwell now coming into darkened view. With it though came something less welcome, the sound of gunfire. It was the sound of a rifle, firing numerous shots from on top of the roof, its muzzle flash briefly illuminating the area outside the nearest window. Making his way quickly over to it, Andrew looked out into the darkness, able to see no more than a metre or so into the night thanks to the small amount of light his candle provided. As he looked on though, the shooter fired again, this time into the woods ahead of Andrew’s view, the flash of the weapon showing Andrew just exactly what was happening.

  “Are you ready?”, Andrew asked as he abruptly barged back into the room.

  “Almost, have a few more thi-“.

  “Leave them”, Andrew said, cutting his wife short, “We have to go. Now”.

  Jumping to her feet, Andrew’s daughter slung her backpack on and headed over to the door, Sarah quick to follow and guide her out of the room, turning briefly to Andrew to ask just a single question.

  “How many?”, she asked, her face coated with worry and fear.

  “Too many”, Andrew replied, as he moved in front of his daughter, and began to lead them all down the hallway, the faint outlines of hundreds of biters just barely visible as a strike of lightning roared once more across the sky outside, “Too god damn many”.

  Chapter 21: The I94

  “This message will be repeated constantly. The current date is…Monday the fourth of August, twenty fourteen”, said the radio, as it prepared to loop back round once more.

  John leant over and clicked it off, concerned that the rising sun in front of him was in fact the morning of Tuesday the fifth, the message having apparently not been updated. The obvious reason for this was simply that those manning the radio were still asleep at this early hour, the more worrying reason being that they may have been overrun, but John tried to remain optimistic.

  Next to him, Donald slept soundly, not a care in the world. John couldn’t help but feel that should he have been awake, he’d probably still care very little for the fate of a city he’d no doubt resent for being too civilised anyway. Regardless of Donald’s opinion though, it was very much a place John could see himself settling down in, the big walls and lake acting as perfect barricades against the undead, giving the ideal place to rebuild lives. Of course he’d need to get word to Andrew, perhaps even mount an effort to go and get him, but John needed his own family first, and that was his current priority, Chicago could come later.

  John softly stroked the ridged skin that formed the bullet track along his cheek, the pain of the wound resurfacing long enough to notify John that it had far from finished scabbing over. Thankfully it didn’t seem to be infected,
but John was still glad to have found the med-kit he had scavenged from the soldier the previous day, itself appearing to contain some form of anti-biotic just in case. The wound however didn’t seem to need it, it simply sat on the side of John’s face, a constant reminder of a companion he feared he may never see again, and a red flag to every new person he met that he might not be the nicest of folk, perhaps even a bandit. That was of course far from the truth, but for the average person, it was only fair to assume about a man wearing the scars of a gun battle.

  * * *

  After several hours on the road, ducking on and off of the tarmac to avoid wrecks, roadblocks and the odd roamer wandering lifelessly towards the Toyota, John eventually felt the weariness setting in. It was no surprise, he had been up throughout the night, and that night had been one of the most eventful of his life. Looking over at his still sleeping companion though – who had barely stirred the entire morning – he knew that if he were to stop driving, nobody could take over, and instead they’d simply sit idly by getting no closer to their destination, something John wasn’t willing to do.

  “Don’t go veering off the road there sunshine”, came a voice to John’s right, much to his surprise.

  “What?”, John asked, his weary head barely able to comprehend the words.

  “I don’t want you crashing cause you’re so damn tired you can’t see straight”, Donald explained.

  “Well we ain’t stopping, and you can’t take over”, John replied, “So what do you suggest?”.

  “There’s a town up ahead, place called Tomah, was planning on just rolling through but looking at you…”, Donald paused to look up at the sky, before checking his watch, “And looking at the time, I reckon we might just be able to stay there a little while, check it out for supplies too”.

  “How many extra times are we going to stop now?”, John asked, clearly a little irate at the creation of yet another waypoint, and an unscheduled one at that.

  “As many as I think we need”, Donald replied, “But if it makes you feel any better, there’s a gun shop in Tomah, couple stores too, even a Hospital if I remember rightly”, Donald said.

  “We did a Hospital, remember?”, John replied, staring down at Donald’s ankle.

  “Yeah alright, just the other stuff then, first things first though, we get there, and we find a place to rest”, Donald continued.

  “Alright, fine”, John agreed, feeling at least somewhat more awake after having conducted his first conversation in several hours.

  Up ahead John could see numerous signs, which on closer inspection showed Tomah to be just a few miles ahead, and more importantly, showed that they were getting closer and closer to Chicago. If his family were in fact there, at least he’d be able to get to them and Chicago in one move, if of course John and Donald could actually get there, and find a boat to do so.

  “This message will be repeated constantly”, rang out the radio, which Donald had apparently turned on once more, himself seemingly interested in a daily check, “…Tuesday the fifth of August, twenty fourteen”.

  John smiled broadly, breathing a sigh of relief as he heard the words that confirmed the city still stood strong, his family hopefully holed up deep inside, not a care in the world aside from where John was, and he was coming for them.

  * * *

  “Tomah”. The sign appeared to come from nowhere, stirring John from what was, in hindsight, probably quite a dangerous level of incognisance.

  Up ahead, Tomah began to take shape, a small town with no more than a few hundred buildings, most of which appeared to be residential.

  “Head over”, Donald said, himself also apparently having noticed the town approaching in the distance, “Let’s check out that thing, maybe camp there for the night”, he added.

  Donald had pointed towards a warehouse-looking building across the highway, its large metal doors looking like as good a place as any to hide behind for a quiet rest. John slowed down to a crawl, and slowly turned off of the highways left hand side and onto the grass running alongside, the Hilux clambering over the numerous items of litter scattered across the central reservation before once eventually mounting a nearby dirt road, the building now coming into clearer view. It was a truck wash, and was coupled with a hotel a little further along, the two probably once very popular with the numerous truckers that might have passed through the area on the I94.

  John pulled the truck up outside the large metal front of the building, both men knowing that they stood a better chance in the truck wash than they did in the hotel. John couldn’t help but subtly look over to the taller building however, wondering if it might be occupied just like the motel he had come from, but seeing nothing stir.

  “This looks like as good a place as any”, Donald announced as he looked over to the smaller structure.

  “Guess so”, John replied, “Suppose I should go check it out?”, he asked, nodding to Donald’s ankle.

  “You get in and get that gate open, I’ll give what cover I can. Don’t go getting killed though, I’ll be a sitting duck out here”, Donald said.

  “Oh I’ll try”, John replied sarcastically, before stepping out of the truck and softly closing the door behind him.

  The building in front appeared surprisingly unaffected by the world around it. The structure itself seemed in good condition, the small windows dotted along the side still in one piece, the huge entranceway in perfect condition, and bearing no signs of forced entry, successful or otherwise. Quickly John made his way round to the more human sized door, just to the left of the truck entrance, Remington in hand, and prepared himself for entry.

  Slowly he teased the door handle from side to side, trying with all his might not to make more than the bare minimum of sounds, and for a moment, managing to remain almost silent. Eventually though, the click of the latch shifting sounded out, revealing at least that the door was not locked, at the expense of perhaps giving away his presence to whatever might have been inside. The odds still worked in John’s favour however, as the building did not appear to be occupied, and nor did it look as if anybody had ever attempted to change that, and so John gently pushed the door forwards, retreating down to one knee as he did. Instinctively he pointed his shotgun into the doorway, ready for whatever came at him.

  After some time though, it became clear that if anything was inside, it did not wish to come out, and so John got back to his feet, and slowly made his way inside. Soon he was greeted with a long corridor, stretching right up to the other end of the building around thirty metres away, and a series of window panes covering the wall alongside it. Each worked together to allow in just enough light from the rising sun outside to at least show outlines of the various objects inside of the structure. John had hoped it would be illuminated enough to avoid the use of his flashlight, but as the door softly closed behind him, cutting out all but the small amounts of light coming in from the tiny windows, he was forced to flick on the Remington’s torch, before beginning his initial sweep.

  Outside, Donald sat impatiently in the truck, just as reluctant as ever to be left alone in such an important situation, and hating every moment he spent not knowing exactly what was going on. But it wasn’t up to him anymore, his injury meant he was temporarily out of action, and that was something he was going to have to deal with, for now. Doing what felt like the hundredth survey of the buildings nearby, he was growing more and more disappointed with what he saw; a small convenience store that looked devoid even of the usual littered items found scattered on the floor, and a hotel that by the looks of things, had been ransacked even before the infection had spread. There was nothing worth looting out here, but he was sure there would be, further into Tomah.

  Donald’s attention was suddenly drawn back in front when, out of nowhere, the large metal door suddenly began to rise up into the air, a pair of feet becoming visible behind it as it did. The door continued to rise until the legs, torso and finally head of John came into sight, his arms pulling the chains attached
to the door as he finally got it to secure into its open position. Donald couldn’t help but smile at his companion’s progress, having been in for just a few minutes, it appeared he’d found them a place to stay, and done so without so much as a sound, never mind a bullet wasting gunfight.

  “Good job”, he said as John got back into the truck.

  “Thanks”, John replied, unsure as to whether or not Donald was being sarcastic.

  Slowly the Hilux crept into the confides of the truck-wash, the sunny outside world suddenly cut out by the embrace of the darkened warehouse.

  “It’s got a few chairs, full view of the entire building from all positions, easy to barricade doors…”, John began to list off the key features, like a real-estate agent for post-apocalyptic fortresses, “And the best part…”, he added, as he turned off the truck and got out, “Has got to be this”.

  Donald looked round to see where John was headed, his mind playing over the possible benefits of a building like this, whether it be guns left by the owner, or water supplies not yet combined with the various soaps they must have used here. His guesses couldn’t have been more wrong however, as his eyes were suddenly flooded with unnatural light from all directions, the blare of light-bulbs coming in from every angle.

  “E-lec-tricity!”, John exclaimed excitedly.

  The feeling was incredible, electricity had been something the world had used for well over a hundred years, but neither of the men had seen a drop of it – save for the amount the car could generate – since the start of the infection.

  “How in the hell…”, Donald started, clearly confused at what he saw in front of him.

  “Got its own backup generator, and the things damn near full!”, John said as he began to slowly lower the large metal doors closed behind the truck.

  “A truck-wash had a generator?”, Donald asked, still confused.

  “Yup, guess they weren’t too happy losing business if the power went out or something, who knows”, John replied.

  “Alright well, let’s get this turned off, we could use the fuel from the generator to-“, Donald stopped short as he saw John’s shaking head.