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

by Duncan McArdle

  John took a step back, and turned to inspect the front of the store once again, another enthusiastic biter now getting to its feet, having successfully breached the front entranceway. John turned on the spot and stepped firmly towards the hard, metal door, his foot rising into the air and then crashing forwards towards the doors left side, using every ounce of strength in his right leg to try and break it off of its lock. To John’s dismay though, there was no luck, the door stood strong, unwilling to relinquish its heavy duty metallic lock from just one kick in the right spot. John retreated once more, coming down again with all of his might, only to be left standing on the spot, his foot throbbing from two consecutively failed attempts, as the low groan of an approaching enemy reached the back of his ears.

  Turning to face it, John quickly sized his next battle up. The creature was smaller than the last, most likely female from what he could tell, though at this point most of them were so deformed and covered in God-knows-what that gender was often indeterminable. In any case, he chose not to take any chances this time, confronting the biter head on and plunging his blade directly into its forehead, withdrawing the blade milliseconds before it started its deadened descent to the hard-wood floor below.

  At this point, a small group had ambled through a much bigger hole that had formed in the main window area, marking what John felt was his last chance saloon for an escape, knowing only too well how difficult they could be to bring down when a large group of them worked together. With that in mind, John turned one final time to the exit, this time firmly gripping the shotgun in both hands, and fired off a shell almost point blank to the doors lock. Instantly, the entire mechanism – along with a large portion of the frame itself – blew clean through and out into the night, followed by the door, which swung violently open. Immediately afterwards came John, relieved at finally being able to exit the now overrun store, and quickly moving through the newly created passageway.

  Out in the open air once more, John looked round for signs of any further complications, sighting two biters straight away as they moved slowly in from the right hand side, blocking the path John had hoped he might take back to the road. It was of little concern though, as John knew he could go to the left instead, opting at least to avoid the potential group of undead that might have been following close behind the two. In any case, going left allowed John to circle back at a bigger radius, hopefully meaning that he drew the biters at the entrance to the gun-store further away from the Toyota parked out front.

  Moving along the rear of the various stores that lined Tomah’s main road, John shone the shotgun torch at every available crevice, keen to ensure no surprises came lunging out. But what he saw instead, just three doors down from the store he had emerged from, caught his eye much more.

  “For food deliveries, ring buzzer on right”, read a sign taped to the door.

  That one word, “Food”, was enough to send shivers of hope through John’s already tense spine, as the prospect of food – or water for that matter – in even the smallest of quantities, filled his mind.

  John reached for the door handle, hoping and praying that it might have been left open, but there was no such luck, and so John was once again faced with a difficult decision. Looking back where he had come from, he saw the first two biters, who had as he had expected been followed close behind by a number of friends, all of them now approaching the rear of the gun store. Clearly none of the group were capable of much speed though, and so John raised his Remington once more, taking aim for what he hoped was the last time today, at the metallic lock of the rear door. The round fired the lock clean through into the inside, the shells contents hitting the door with such impact that it was severed from the top hinge, and now hung loosely on the bottom joint, swinging open and closed slightly with an almighty creak.

  Pulling it further ajar, John clambered in through the mess, and tried unsuccessfully to close the mutilated door behind him. Eventually disregarding it, he turned his attention to the building he now stood inside of, his torch shining on rows of what seemed unfortunately to be empty shelves. Undeterred, John pushed forwards, entering into the main shop front of what appeared to be an independently run supermarket of some sort, its contents trashed and thrown around in what was at this point considered more or less the norm for all remaining buildings. Nevertheless John hurriedly inspected every inch of the small store, looking into every corner, turning out every abandoned box, grouping together every scrap of usable food and drink he could find and stuffing them all into his backpack, finishing his ransacking of what little remained just in time to hear the familiar sound of the undead colliding with a doorway to his rear. John knew that this meant it was time to leave, and so with that in mind, he turned his attention to the front entrance, which, mercifully, appeared to actually house the keys to John’s exit, still lodged in the old wood bodied keyhole.

  Outside the entrance, the street was relatively clear, aside from the odd straggler only now making its way into the gun shop, still seeking to investigate the commotion, something that had worked exactly as John had hoped. Three stores down from the where the Toyota was parked, the door of “Tomah Essentials” slowly swung open, John’s tall well-built figure emerging from the dark unlit insides into the barely lit moonlight of the street, the tip of his AK47 – still lodged inside the straps of his backpack – knocking gently against the doorway as he moved outside. Finally he was free of the biter infested shop fronts that had thwarted his every move along this brief stop, his face now able to show the sheer joy he felt at having made it back out alive.

  Strolling out onto the pavement, John began inspecting his surroundings, before quickly reminding himself that the double storied buildings that lined the street still presented as much of a danger as ever to John’s exposed position. Bearing that in mind, John opted to stop the expedition here, and instead hurriedly moved over to the Toyota, his weapon raised and aimed at the front of the gun store, knowing only too well how apt the many creatures inside were at sensing the presence of their nearest meal.

  Arriving at the truck though, John was relieved to see that only as he threw his backpack and weapons into the passenger foot-well, did any of the biters inside the store begin to realise what was going on, at which point it was already too late. The Toyota’s engine roared into life, speeding away from the town centre in exactly the opposite fashion as it had arrived, no longer needing to obey any kind of stealthy tactics. Suddenly John felt almost comforted, at the thought of leaving behind the God forsaken, biter infested town, of Tomah.

  * * *

  Before long John was driving back up the path to the truck wash, the large metal door rising into the air as he approached, Donald clearly having kept an eye out for his arrival. For a moment John felt almost cared about by his companion, though he knew only too well that had he not been out gathering supplies – and in Donald’s own truck no less – he probably would have returned to an empty, ransacked building. If nothing else though, at least Donald understood how to survive in this world, releasing his grip on the chains he had manually operated, to slowly and quietly lower the door back into its closed position, before flicking on some of the smaller interior lights of the building.

  “Well, you’re not dead”, Donald called across as John got out of the truck, “So that’s a good start, I guess”, he added, beginning a slow limp over to the truck.

  “Funny”, John replied bluntly.

  “Aww c’mon now sunshine don’t be mad. Come on over and tell ‘ole Donald what you got”, Donald said.

  John rounded the front of the truck and lent through the passenger side window, pulling out different items stashed in his rucksack, describing them each before placing them onto the hood of the Hilux.

  “Water…snacks…chocolate…and of course, our personal favourite, tinned crap”, he said, taking out the last few items.

  “Well, looks like we’ll dine like royalty tonight…”, Donald responded sarcastically.

  “Oh, and
this”, John continued, ignoring Donald’s comment, and instead pulling out the AK still entwined in the straps of his rucksack.

  “Well well well, what do we have here?”, Donald asked, taking the weapon from John’s hands.

  It was the first time John had seen the weapon in the light, his eyes now drawn to the immaculate condition the body was in, its waxed wood gleaming away courtesy of the overhead lighting above, and the metal of it both unscratched and unscathed, giving the impression that it had been very well cared for, if ever used at all for that matter.

  “Got a couple mag’s for it too”, John added, holding the pair of magazines he had found in the store out in front of him, before placing them with the remainder of his haul.

  “Not bad Parker, not great, but not bad, I think you’ve earned the rest of the night’s sleep”, Donald said, turning and hobbling back to the office, still fully engrossed in inspecting the AK.

  Chapter 24: Home Comforts

  John awoke to a noise he had almost forgotten, one that was so commonplace before the infection spread, and yet so rare ever since then, that it almost felt like a dream. It was the sound of a shower, a huge one, but a shower nonetheless, something that John was certain he would never experience again. Quickly he got to his feet, keen to investigate, and almost straight away caught sight of steam covering the windows in front of him, the main area of the building almost completely obscured by its greying affect.

  “Morning sunshine”, came Donald’s voice as he walked into the side area through the central double doors, wearing no more than a ragged towel around his waist.

  “You’re kidding me right?”, John asked.

  “I turned the soap off, it’s just good old hot water, comes out pretty hard but it does the job, got me good and cleaned up”, Donald explained.

  John simply stared back at him, unconvinced.

  “Towels are on the side in there, you don’t want to you don’t have to, but I guaran-damn-tee you won’t get another chance any time soon, and believe me, it feels good”, Donald said, turning to walk into the office.

  John shifted his stare to the main area of the building, the steam tumbling out of the open doorway. It was almost certainly one of the most ridiculous ways of getting clean he could think of, but Donald was right, it was more than likely the last one he’d get, so John slipped off the ragged old clothes he felt like he’d been wearing for years, and walked out into the steamy abyss.

  * * *

  “You ready yet?”, called Donald’s voice from the truck, which was parked in the main area of the truck wash, ready to go.

  “Almost”, John replied, as he re-packed the supplies he had left behind during his run into Tomah, not bothering to check if any was missing, knowing full well that he’d be unable to confront Donald about it even if there was.

  John was in high spirits though, especially now he’d been able to shower for the first time in months. He was well and truly ready, and knew that this would be the final leg to being reunited with his family, especially now that he had obtained enough food and drink to keep Donald happy for a while – the AK47 being the cherry on top of course.

  “Finally”, Donald called out from the passenger seat, as John walked over to the truck, flicking the switch to open the gate as he did.

  Over the next few moments, the building began to slowly fill with the natural light of the day, flooding in through the increasingly open gateway to the outside world, the town of Tomah becoming visible just a few miles down the road. It looked hugely different in the light, friendly almost, but John had experienced it at its worst, and knew it for the biter infested death trap that it really was.

  “C’mon, got a busy day ahead of us, and we’re already late”, Donald said.

  “How in God’s name are we already late?”, John asked as he climbed into the truck.

  “Well if it were up to me we’d have been out at first light, but you looked like you needed the rest”, Donald started, “And you smelt like you needed the shower”, he added, smirking.

  “Funny”, John replied sarcastically, as he turned the key and brought the Hilux to life.

  To John’s surprise, the Toyota was faring well, its engine in particular sounding healthier than ever – perhaps rejuvenated by the long runs it was suddenly being taken on – and the fuel line somehow now well above the three-quarters point.

  “You fill this up?”, John asked, driving the truck out of the building and back onto the gravelly side road that led up to the I94.

  “Yeah, used up the last of the canisters”, Donald said.

  “Will it last us to… wherever we’re going?”, John questioned worriedly.

  “Should do just about, but we’ve got a few more stops along the way, we can pick u-“.

  The truck skidded to a halt on the stone coated, uneven road.

  “A few more stops!?”, John barked, “I just got you some god damn food, I got you some god damn water, and a god damn weapon WITH ammo too, what exactly do you need from ‘A few more stops’!?”, he demanded.

  “Whoa, keep on like that and you’re gonna lose your navigator”, Donald replied.

  “My navigator has given me enough near death experiences to last me a lifetime, I think I’d find a way to get by without him”, John explained.

  “Oh yeah?”, Donald asked, “You gonna find a way to find your family too?”.

  John stared back at Donald, that most recent comment filling him with rage that was visibly about to spill over.

  Seeing this, Donald decided to break the silence first, conscious that although he had enough to make John do almost anything, he knew by now that eventually, John would draw a line, and the way in which he drew it might be a little worse than just saying no.

  “Alright”, Donald started, looking away from John’s face to the windscreen in front, “We do one more stop, a good one, and then I take you there, deal?”, he asked.

  John said nothing, still staring back at him, his rage refusing to subside while he mulled over the offer, before eventually replying.

  “Fine”, he said, looking away from Donald, and starting once more to drive, “Where?”, he asked.

  “Madison, couple hours South-East of here before, probably take about four or five now, then it’s a straight run to your family”, he said.

  The rage suddenly lifted from John, his mind now filled instead with thoughts of his family reunion, the idea that he might see them again by the end of the day blocking out every ounce of anger he had felt just moments ago.

  “Are they long from Madison?”, John asked.

  “You know I ain’t gonna tell you that Parker”, Donald replied, “You’ll find out soon enough”.

  * * *

  As the pair drove along the highways ahead – switching from the I94 to the I90 and back again as they did – the roads became less and less predictable. Often they would cover twenty or so miles without another vehicle in view, but occasionally, they’d hit another crash-site, and suddenly their progress would be cut down dramatically, as they attempted to navigate around – or sometimes through – the complicated messes of entangled metal left behind by the hasty abandonment of vehicles, something that had become so very common. Much to John’s disappointment, the problem even began to intensify the further they went, something he attributed to their proximity to Chicago, that illusive city that the passing road signs indicated they were getting closer and closer to.

  Ever since Donald had first mentioned Chicago, John had wondered if his family might in fact be there. So far though, Donald had made only minimal effort to check on the broadcasts, something John was sure he would have been doing if that was in fact their destination, and so he had discarded it as an option. Still though, it remained the most likely place for John to take his family once they were reunited, an idea that was solidified by the radio, as John switched it on once more to confirm that the message had been updated.

  “You really want to make it to Chicago one day huh?”, Donald
asked.

  “From what I can tell it’s about the best option”, John replied.

  “Well let’s say it’s the best place to be in the whole world…for you anyway. How you figure you’ll get there? They got walls Parker, big walls”, Donald explained.

  “I’ll find a way”, John insisted.

  Donald simply chuckled quietly in response, clearly doubting John’s intentions.

  “What about you anyway, what are your plans?”, John asked.

  “Keep doing what I’ve been doing, building up supplies, touring between camps”, Donald replied.

  “Don’t you feel like settling somewhere? Like Chicago? Believe me I’ve been living your life since the start, but first chance I get, I’m opting for something a bit more civilised”, John explained.

  “Places like that don’t appeal to me, best thing all this mess gave us was freedom to do what we want, you won’t catch me running back to some oppressive regime anytime soon”, Donald replied.

  “Oppressive regime? What were you before this, a convict or something?”, John asked.

  “I did a couple stints down South sure, nothing major though”, Donald responded, “I just aint’ a fan of living under someone’s thumb, I like doing my own thing. It’s about the only good thing this new world gave us and I for one plan on keeping it”, he added.

  John paused for a moment, as he slowed up ahead of the next road-block, his eyes looking for the best route through the stopped traffic. “What you do time for?”, he asked.