Aftermath (Book 1): Only The Head Will Take Them Down (16 page)

Pushing the doors open and moving back into the warm afternoon air, Donald saw the passenger side door of his truck slowly close over, his partner clearly ready to head out, and so quickened his pace towards the Toyota. Little more than a second later though, he saw the figure in the truck duck down, their seemingly bald head moving into position underneath the steering wheel, along with the rest of their upper body. Donald paused for a moment in confusion, but was brought back to reality by the abrupt sound of the Hilux’s engine kicking into life. Someone was actually
stealing
the truck.
“JOHN!!!”, Donald yelled, raising his M4, “IN THE TRUCK!”.
He knew – despite having yet to fire it – that the rifle was a fantastic weapon, but he also knew that from this distance he had little chance of hitting his target without doing serious damage to the truck itself. Unfortunately for everyone involved though, he had little choice, he would not let someone else take his property, especially when all of their supplies were packed away inside of it. Donald closed his left eye, lining up the shot, and placed his right finger over the trigger ready to fire.

Before he could though, a streak of disturbed air became clearly visible from behind the shop wall, right across to the truck, as a single bullet fired quickly across the gap, obliterating the rear window of the truck, and penetrating with immense speed into the rear of the man’s skull, just as he sat back up into the chair. Within milliseconds the noise followed, an immense cracking sound serenaded by echoes on buildings seemingly miles away, the unmistakable sound of an M14 reverberating around every part of the local area.

Next to the far side of the building from Donald, John knelt on one knee, his scope near filled with the outline of the man’s bald head, his finger poised on the trigger, ready to fire again should he see the slightest form of movement, but quickly noting that all seemed quiet. That was, except for the sudden revving of an engine from further along the road, as a sedan that had appeared to be parked just like all the other vehicles, suddenly burst into life and sped off away from the gas station, towards the outskirts of the city. John’s position remained unchanged, only his eyes had moved to locate the source of the noise, occasionally looking back down the scope to check once again that his target was indeed down, before looking back to the sedan, ensuring that it was in fact heading away from them, and not turning round.

“What the hell was all that!?”, Donald’s voice rang out as he came sprinting around the corner, his gun still raised and pointing at the now motionless truck.
“No idea”, replied John. “Guy came out of nowhere, figure he must have been with whoever was in the sedan”, he said, nodding to the trail of dust clearly visible some distance down the road they had travelled in on.
“Jesus Christ. Here I was thinking we might just be the only living folk left in this city”, Donald said, clearly frustrated. “Good shooting anyway, let’s go see what you bagged”, he said hurriedly, aware that the gunshot had no doubt attracted some unwanted attention.
John stood up but did not immediately advance to the truck as Donald did. He took no pleasure in ending the life of another person, whether they were acting against him or not, but in this instance it had to be done, and after he finished reminding himself of that fact, he eventually began walking over to the truck.

“Looks like you got yourself some white trash”, Donald said as John arrived to the sight of a body being pulled out of the truck and onto the floor, his yellowed teeth and bad tattoos sprawled across his arms and body, clearly visible now as he lay lifeless on the ground.
John stared at the man, giving him a few moments of respect, just as Donald instead chose to rummage through his pockets, looking for anything that might make the experience work in his favour, before eventually coming up empty.
“Nothing on him, waste of a god damn bullet if you ask me”, Donald said, standing up from the body. “Great shot though”, he added.
The shot had been perfectly placed, and the bullet had become lodged in the head somewhere early enough to slow it down, meaning that other than a single smash to the rear window of the truck, there was no damage, and only a small volume of blood to clean up.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got this”, Donald said as he began wiping the seats of the truck with some tissue paper he’d pulled from the glove compartment. “Wonder what he thought he was doing? His friends didn’t seem to care much”, he remarked.
“Probably testing him, maybe a gang initiation or something”, John said, as he gave one last look to the body of the man, before walking round to the passenger side of the truck and climbing in. Now he simply watched Donald, as he gave the seat a last few scrubs and stuffed the exposed wires used to hijack the truck back into the space under the steering wheel.

From the outside looking in, both men’s acceptance of death and murder must have seemed barbaric, but each had experienced it too much to give each instance the sort of attention your average person would. Instead, Donald too climbed back into the truck, started the engine, and then moved off, just in time to see the nearest alerted biter make its way past the gas station borders.
“Get anything in there?”, John asked as they drove away.
“Not much, couple Twinkies and some smokes”, Donald replied, “Hoping we find better at the hospital”.
“You sure it’s a good idea to go there after that?”, John asked, surprised that Donald still wished to go further into the city.
“Course!”, he replied without hesitation, “This place could be a gold mine, I aint’ letting a couple hicks and a beat up old sedan scare me away”.
“And what if the whole city’s like this?”, John asked, “Overrun with bandits, ransacked clean of anything useful, but full of people willing to kill us for checking anyway?”.
“Then that aim of yours is gonna’ be a freaking god-send”, Donald said chuckling, as he drove towards the city centre.

*
      
*
      
*

Eventually, the city hospital came into view, a dirtied multi-storey building that looked like it had been overrun at the height of the infection, so many thousands of local residents no doubt having made it their first stop after contracting the disease. This theory was confirmed by the sight of bodies, hundreds of bodies, each wrapped in body bags – some no more than trash-bags taped around the head and legs – and laid out in lines, most likely done back when it was thought that the infection was only a temporary problem. As the truck drew closer though, the alternative measures came into view. Even more bodies were piled high on both sides of the hospital, mountains of kindling ash representing so many lives that had been lost, now no more than two mounds of burnt death, at various stages of decomposition.

It was a view that brought even Donald close to gagging, a sight reminiscent of the many mass graves of the past, the perpetrators of which long since convicted of severe war crimes. Here though, it was a desperate last act to eradicate a deadly infection, an act encouraged by just about every law enforcement agency in the country, and probably the world. Nobody would face action for what had happened here, because it had happened everywhere, and it might just have stopped a few thousand more biters from emerging out of this very hospital.

“Looks like the main entrance is blocked”, John said, as his focus shifted from the black mountains of death to the numerous biters wandering around in front of the hospital, their bodies so deprived of energy that they barely managed to look over at the truck slowly creeping past nearby.
“Good eye”, Donald said, “We’ll try the side”.
“Got it”, John responded, concerned somewhat that the biters at the front might also indicate a likely presence of them at the side, as well as inside the hospital itself.
Rounding the corner however, John was happy to see that the side entrance to the hospital appeared much clearer – other than the bodies of a few people who appeared to have long since passed on – and that the entrance itself was neither barred nor chained shut.
“Looks good”, Donald announced as he looked towards the double doors on the side of the Hospital, “Good as we’re gonna’ get anyway!”, he added.

As the truck pulled up outside, the pair jumped out, and Donald quickly swung his M4 upwards, focusing on the rooftops around them. John meanwhile opted for his Remington, grabbing it from the rear of the truck before doing a quick sweep of the bodies nearby, ensuring each was well and truly dead. The pair made every attempt to be as quiet as possible, extremely conscious of the low noises of lifeless movement that could be heard from over the nearby wall, coming from the small but nevertheless deadly presence of biters in front of the Hospital. The two spent several minutes checking every inch of the area they could, and eventually, with John certain there was no threat on the ground, and Donald sure that nobody was on the nearby rooftops, John crudely slotted the M14 between the straps of his backpack, and joined Donald to take position on the door, Remington in hand.

“On three”, John said, Donald happy to follow the man he felt had probably done this plenty of times before. “One”, John began, flicking on the torch of his shotgun, “Two”, he continued, placing his hand onto the door on his side, as Donald did the same on his, “Three!”.
The pair each pushed their respective sides of the old and crooked double doors open, each of them swinging back on their hinges as the pair stormed through the doorway, guns drawn, pointing down each end of the hallway they had barged into. John’s torch illuminated the dark and dust filled air to the left, while Donald attempted to see into the darkness on the right, using what little light came in through the boarded up windows as his only guide.

“Clear”, John whispered to Donald, content that his side of the hallway posed no threat.
“Here too”, Donald replied, his eyes now adjusting to the blackened hallway, a wall clearly visible past a series of benches and a set of fire doors, “Dead end this way”, he added, noting the ironic presence of chains around the fire escape.
“Then let’s go this way”, John instructed, leading the way along the dimly lit hallway, as his military grade flashlight pierced the darkness in front of them, assisted by whatever dwindling light the setting sun outside still provided.

*
      
*
      
*

“Daddy!”, came the high pitched voice of a young girl as the sound of boots pounding along the wooden floorboards rounded the corner.
“There she is!”, replied the wearer of the boots, who quickly reacted to his daughter jumping by catching her into his arms and holding her in the tightest of embraces, “You have no idea how glad I am to see you”, he said.
“Andrew!”, came the voice of Andrew’s wife as she too came running over.
“Thank God”, said Andrew, clearly relieved that his family had survived without him, and that he could finally stop worrying about what may or may not be happening to them.
“We’ve been worried sick”, said Andrew’s wife, as she tried to assert some firmness to her voice, a task she found difficult thanks to the overpowering sense of relief she felt at seeing her husband alive.
“I’m sorry Sarah I really am, it took longer than I expected but I’m back now, and I’m staying”, he said, hugging his wife close.

Eventually releasing himself from the family embrace, Andrew dropped his bag onto the bed, taking out of it the few tins of food and bottles of various drinks he’d managed to scavenge from the fuel stop on the way to Apple river, minus the share he’d given to the guards upon re-entering the motel. Andrew stood there, looking down at his pathetic haul, a sense of shame creeping over him that he’d managed little more than a couple of days’ worth of supplies, despite being out for just as long himself. That said, at least it was better than nothing.

“Andrew”, interrupted Sarah from behind, “Did John make it back okay too?”, she asked.
“John’s still out there”, he replied, “We parted ways this morning, he wanted to keep going, but…I wanted to come back”.
“You…you left him out there alone?”, Sarah asked.
“No!”, Andrew responded, almost offended at the judgemental look his wife was giving him. But he wasn’t rushing to divulge the full details of what had happened the very first second he got back, or at all in front of his daughter for that matter, and so he shortened the story, “He’s with someone else, another guy we met along the way, he’s fine”, he said.
“Well, okay then”, Sarah said, seemingly satisfied, “It’s just, they’ve had to shoot a few of those things outside, I think we need all the people we can get, they’ve been getting closer”, Sarah explained.
“Closer to the Motel?”, Andrew asked, looking over to the boarded up window of their first floor room.
“Yeah, it was just one at first, but the gunshot made more come, today they’ve shot at least five or six”, Sarah continued.
“Don’t you worry”, Andrew said, lighting a candle before once again pulling the whole family in for another warm embrace, “Nothing’s getting anywhere near any of you”, he said.

From inside that room it was a perfect sight, a modern American family enjoying nothing more than each other’s company, no care in the world beyond the room they stood in. From outside the window though, as the sun finally set over the trees that surrounded the Motel, gradually coating the building in a thick layer of darkness, the family embrace was of little interest. That was of course, save for the thin sliver of candle-light that broke free of the boarded up windows, and shone out into the dark woodland, across the path of the horrifying horde of biters that had gathered nearby. Until now they had simply been wandering aimlessly through the midst of the trees, aiming for but never finding the source of gunshots they had all heard. Now though, as a small beacon of brightness suddenly attracted their attention, they set their eyes at its source, the motel’s first floor.

Chapter 18: Open Fire

“I can’t see shit!”, rang Donald’s voice from John’s rear.
“Quiet!”, John whispered sharply, as he paused to make sure nothing stirred in the darkness, perhaps having heard Donald’s low but still very much audible voice.
The pair had managed to navigate most of the Hospital’s bottom floor very quickly, assisted greatly by the common occurrence of doors that were boarded, barred or chained shut, no doubt in an effort to keep people out, or worse, to keep
something
in. Whatever the reason though, it helped to guide the pair through the building, in most cases only giving them a single path to follow, which eventually led them – along numerous empty hallways and echoing corridors – to the stairwell.