by Mark Tufo
“Everything all right down there?” Kirby spoke through the radio.
“Good to go,” Winters responded.
“Jason here is losing his shit with the door open,” Kirby announced, I’m sure loud enough for Jason to hear. I liked that he didn’t give a shit who heard him speak his mind.
We hadn’t made it a quarter of the way across when the little bit of light afforded us from behind winked out of existence. Jason had shut the door; I shouldn’t have expected anything more from him. He’d shown his true colors early on and had never deviated from that path. Didn’t matter; it was plenty bright in there with all the flashlights bobbing up and down.
“What’s that dumbass hope to accomplish? He can’t lock his side without the key,” BT grumbled. It wasn’t the optimum set up. Once we opened up to the mall, we would have to shuttle the one and only key back to the church. I didn’t want to keep it on any one person in case we got separated or, well, the alternative. No, the only plan that made sense was to send it back and keep a guard at the gate, so to speak, to let us back in.
“At the door,” Stenzel whispered. “Don’t hear anything.” That didn’t mean much; it wasn’t like the zombies were known for their loud and boisterous rave parties. Still…something, though. As quiet as the door had opened in the bedroom, the converse happened here. There was an ear-grating squeal and the teeth gnashing sound of broken glass sandwiched between the bottom of the door and the floor, scratching deep grooves into the concrete.
“So much for a tactical entrance,” BT came through my earpiece. I was more than half expecting to see the bright muzzle flashes of Stenzel’s weapon; I was pleasantly surprised when that wasn’t the case. Harmon looked frozen in place.
“Private, get the key, bring it back to Kirby.” She didn’t move. “Harmon.”
She didn’t answer me, but she moved to the front and did as I’d ordered, glancing up at me as she went past and back.
BT shut off his radio before he spoke. “Mike, I don’t want to step on your toes here, but....”
“She’ll be all right.”
“She looks shell-shocked.”
“This unit is her last shot; she left her medical training.”
“Yeah, because she couldn’t handle the sight of blood. I’m not thinking this was the appropriate substitute career.”
“BT, if she doesn’t make it here, Bennington will set her outside the gate.”
“Don’t start guilting me Talbot, I’m not Catholic.”
“Not working? Baptists don’t have guilt?”
“I’m not Baptist.”
“Episcopalian?”
“You don’t know, do you? We’ve had this conversation at least a dozen times.” BT looked pretty mad.
“Seventh Day Adventist? Latter Day Saints…err, Mormon?”
He was shaking his head. “None of those and I’m more concerned with the added danger Harmon brings to this mission and to us, should she freeze up. Again. And LDS are Mormon,” he added.
“Really? And I’m aware of what’s going on, BT. I’ll keep an eye on her.”
He grunted before turning his radio back on; clearly, he wasn’t a fan of my decision. We waited in silence for the couple of minutes it took Harmon to come back. More than once I thought it possible she might not.
“Stenzel, we’re ready,” I said as Harmon came up alongside me. I watched the corporal’s light as it moved into the tunnel. There was a sharp intake of air.
“What’s going on?” BT asked her.
“Sorry. There’s a pizza restaurant out here.”
“And?” I prompted.
“Standard fare, thinner crust, New York style.”
“Corporal.”
“Sorry sir, it’s just, I haven’t had good pizza in so long. The chow hall puts spaghetti sauce and a piece of American cheese on top of an English muffin and calls it pizza.”
“I love that pizza,” Tommy replied.
I couldn’t defend his position; this was the same kid that ate rhubarb and mayonnaise Pop-Tarts.
“As good as having some authentic pizza would be, can we perhaps move on?” I asked.
“Reluctantly, sir.”
“Understood. You can file a grievance when we get back to Etna.”
“Duly noted. Just past the entrance to the restaurant there was a fight. Got six or seven dead zombies and maybe three or four people, hard to tell. There’s blood and parts everywhere.” Could hear the tinkle of brass being kicked aside or stepped on as she moved farther out.
Tommy was out next and was checking the hallway behind her. “Looks like an office here. All the glass and the doors have been broken out. Movement.”
“Stenzel–move back,” I said as I came out into the tunnel way. She was too far away if this was a trap and we needed to make a hasty retreat. BT was next out, his light trained toward Stenzel, watching her steady back-walk to us.
“See it?” Tommy asked. To be honest, the play of shadows with our flashlights made it difficult to see anything subtle. He kept his light trained on one specific part of the office window down by the bottom, while I looked like I was trying to paint the entire area with mine. Let’s be honest; I was expecting to see hundreds of outstretched hands and gaping mouths moving toward us. I mean, we were in an underground tunnel in the city; should pretty much be par for the course. Instead, when I finally stopped looking for the massive attack that wasn’t there, I saw something, though, I was having a difficult time saying what it was. It was right at the bottom of the window. I could just see something pop up for a second or two then dip back down.
Winters was moving alongside me. “You hear that, LT?”
“Shit.” I raced over to the busted-out window. There was a zombie on the ground. At one time it had been a woman office worker; she had her headset wrapped around her neck and a large file cabinet had been overturned on to the bottom half of her body, effectively pinning her there for all time. She snarled at me as I reached my barrel in and blew her tattling brains out. “We’ve got to move.” I couldn’t see much after the muzzle flash except a bright yellow blob in my primary field of vision.
“What gives?” BT was keeping an eye on the area.
“This one was letting others know we’re here.”
“No shit?”
“No shit. And you want to know what’s worse?”
“Not really.”
“She’s got gnawed-through body parts all around her.”
BT put it together. “She rats us out and gets a piece of the take.”
“Give that man a prize.” I was looking deeper into the office space.
“That’s some next level shit.”
We knew about the shriekers and the fact that the zombies as a whole seemed to be gaining in intelligence, but BT was right. This was advanced gameplay, for sure. She was calling to others, offering them our plump flesh, then collecting a finder’s fee.
“Onward or back,” BT asked as I kept looking for any others inside.
“No choice; we have to keep moving. Being stuck in the church does us no good.”
“Tommy, watch our back. Stenzel, you heard the man. Find us a safe route out.” BT was moving back toward the door, Harmon was just coming out.
I saw Stenzel run the tips of her fingers along the pizzeria sign as she went by. “There’s a bend up ahead.”
“Advance slowly. Let us catch up,” I told her.
“Got an odor up here sir, and it ain’t fresh pizza.”
“Going to have to let that go, Stenzel.” I moved quickly to get alongside her.
“I don’t want to.” She said it softly, hoping the radio wouldn’t pick it up. We both rounded the corner at the same time; the eye shine staring back was startling. There were six pairs, but they were too far away to see what was attached to the glinting orbs staring back at us.
“That people, sir?”
“Doubtful.”
“We shooting?” She had her rifle up against her shoulder.
<
br /> “A little closer.” I was fairly certain of what we were advancing on, but not entirely. I’d never be able to forgive myself if we took out a family seeking refuge in this subterranean corridor. “Make yourself known!” I yelled. Funny thing is…nope, don’t like that. Ironic thing, maybe? They did exactly as I ordered. Three broke for us instantly. Stenzel was quicker than I was and dropped two in the span of three steps. By the time I blew out the top of the third one’s head, the other three were coming, but we now had BT in the mix. It was a short firefight, but the rifle percussions in the enclosed space were exceptionally loud and the muzzle flashes excessively bright; I had two senses knocked down a few degrees. Even if my hearing was down to fifty percent, it would have been impossible to miss Tommy’s warning.
“Horde to the rear!” Then the staccato burst of his rifle, maybe Winters’ and Harmon’s as well.
“Back to the church entrance?” I was caught in indecision. There was a chance that we were being herded into the mouth of another group to the front.
“Won’t make it.” I could hear the bounce in Winters’ voice as he ran.
“Stenzel, BT, stay with me. Looks like we’re going to have to make a path.”
BT didn’t have to say anything; I could hear his heavy sigh. He was right. Moving quickly through darkened corridors without having any idea of what we were getting into was not a wise move, but we were being forced, plain and simple. We didn’t have the luxury of picking our way through carefully.
A light from behind swept over us.
“Going to need to move faster, sir!” Winters said. He wasn’t quite panicked but, yeah, there was an urgency there. Not sure he needed to say anything, as even over the exceedingly loud discharge of their firearms, we could hear hundreds of footfalls slapping along on the flooring.
“Mike.” BT’s flashlight was pointing into one of the offices on our left.
I turned my head to see zombies navigating around office furniture.
“Winters, Tommy, move! We got speeders streaming in from the side!”
BT stopped to place some decent shots into the throng.
“Contact!” Harmon shouted out; I thought my eardrum was going to rupture from the shrillness. She was sending three-round bursts downrange as quickly as she could pull the trigger. I was about to admonish her for her lack of trigger discipline, but it was effective fire.
Between the flashlights and the multiple muzzle flashes, the corridor was brightly lit. Unfortunately, it was not a view worth dying for.
“Mike, my man.” BT was looking for some direction. Obviously, he didn’t need help killing zombies; he had that part covered. The unspoken question was: where to? Backward was a literal dead end. To the right was a small coffee shop; we could head there and make a go at barricading ourselves in, but to what goal?
“Forward. Just forward.”
It seemed the more I shot, the more bobbing heads of the dead I saw. It wasn’t a dense pack like what was chasing us, but it didn’t need to be; there was enough to slow us down and that was enough. As my bolt popped open, I reached down onto my utility belt to grab a fresh magazine. I kept advancing as I performed the much-practiced routine of reloading. Used to be a time where I would have needed to stop everything I was doing, pull the rifle from my shoulder, fumble for the magazine release button, look down to grab the new magazine, make sure it was oriented correctly, then breathe before popping it up and into the magazine well. After slamming it home, I’d still have to watch where my thumb was going so I could hit the bolt release; then I’d second guess myself to make sure the bolt hit home before deliberately bringing the rifle back up to my shoulder to begin firing again.
It was a quick sequence; on a good day, maybe that routine took ten seconds, not horrible. But now I could keep moving forward, the buttstock never leaving my shoulder, drop a mag to the ground, reload, and be firing shots in under four. When every second counted, that was a hell of an improvement. All great and fine if I was looking at an infinite amount of ammunition. It’s times like this I wish I was in a sci-fi book and could get my hands on a plasma rifle or something that didn’t generally run out of projectiles. I mean really; what could be worse than hordes of the undead? No time like the present to wish for omnipotence.
Winters and Tommy were coming up quick, even though they were going as slow as they could and doing as much damage as possible on their way in an effort to keep us from being overrun. It was us up front that weren’t holding to our end of the agreement. Zombies were knocking each other away in a bid to get at us and it was jamming their progress; probably the only reason we hadn’t been laid into yet.
“Bulkers!” BT warned. If he hadn’t said anything, I would have assumed it was the NYC transit system back up and running.
“Got a door!” this from Harmon.
“Go! We’ll follow!” I told her. I had no clue if we were heading into a broom closet, the bathroom, or Bloomingdale’s; at this point it didn’t matter. We’d lost the area; our only options were to take the exit or stay and die. On the spectrum of possibilities, that one rated fairly low. Either the zombies were into self-preservation or the bulkers had sent a message for them to clear a path, but we could see tendrils of openings tearing through the horde like a knife dragged over tight fabric; the zombies parted, allowing the heavier, more destructive bulkers an access route.
“Locked,” came Harmon’s breathless reply. We were pulling into a tighter and tighter semi-circle as she fought with the lock. The thundering of the bulkers was making the ground bounce. We were firing into them, but it wouldn’t be enough. They were going to press us into the wall. Wouldn’t leave much for the starving zombies, as we’d likely be vaporized.
“Move,” BT told Harmon, bringing his weapon over his head. I heard the crunch of his rifle and the sound of metal hitting the tile. Had no idea if it was the door handle or parts of his gun. “It’s open.”
“Let’s move, people, inside!” I ordered.
“Harmon! Get your ass in there!” Stenzel shouted, I turned in time to see her pushing the private through the opening.
“Go sir,” Winters said. “We’re right behind you.”
Time for words was done. There could be no debating. I tapped BT’s arm and motioned. He went in, and I was half a step behind him. Stenzel and Harmon had moved a few feet farther in.
“Stairwell,” Stenzel said.
“Check it out–quickly,” I told her. Once Tommy and Winters got in we needed to move fast. The door would not lock, and getting a door open, even if they had to pull on it, was not above the zombies’ new skill set. The door was a stout steel one, set into a concrete and steel frame, and still, it shook. We could only hope that the bulkers would take a few minutes to clear away; right now they had a ton or more of accumulated weight pressing up against it.
“Stairs only go down.” Stenzel’s light was trained down the well. “It’s clear.”
Her definition of “clear” was a little different from mine. There were eight people on those stairs; they were in various stages of mummification. My guess was they had starved to death. Harmon let out a small scream that seemed to excite the bulkers, who were going to try and force their way through. Stenzel picked her way down cautiously.
“Lost my rifle.” BT looked dejected as he showed me an amalgamation of parts that had at one time been a deadly weapon.
We were making our way down and he was still holding on to it. “You can probably leave that. Here, buddy.” I handed him my 1911. Looked like a cap gun in his hands; I wasn’t even sure he’d be able to fit his finger through the trigger guard.
“Might as well toss rocks.” He was pissed.
“Door’s open.” Stenzel looked back.
“Hold on for some back-up. Tommy?”
“On it.” He pushed past.
Winters was still watching the door to our back.
“Mike, you realize this is most likely a dead end, right?” BT asked.
He was ri
ght; if the door downstairs was unlocked, that was because the people in the stairwell hadn’t seen any reason to lock it, meaning nothing was coming that way. So, if they starved to death because they couldn’t go out the way we had come, well, that question answered itself.
“Got other plans?”
“If this wasn’t a party line…” He left whatever he wanted to add unsaid.
“Looks like a maintenance tunnel,” Tommy replied. “About thirty feet long, bunch of pipes, shelving, that kind of stuff. Clear otherwise. Got some other unfortunates in here too.”
“Let’s go, everyone down.” It was what we needed to do, but being entombed with the dead was about as appealing as cuddling with Eliza. The bulkers made one final assault, then I could feel them moving away, which meant the smarter ones were going to take a crack at us.
We’d been in that small area for a few minutes and I’d looked it over a couple of times already, avoiding the four bodies huddled to the side as best I could, so I’d looked over at them ten times a minute, seen their decayed expressions at least thirty times. I was fairly certain there were no mystery doors to explore, no secret portals to another time and place. I had expertly painted us into a corner; just so happened that this paint job had teeth, lots and lots of teeth. The smell wasn’t as bad as it could be, but the way those faces were pulled tight, their smiles forever engraved in cringing desperation…they seemed to sneer at us and the trap we had run headlong into.