Aftermath (Book 1): Only The Head Will Take Them Down (36 page)

“Hooollllyyyy shit!”, John cried out as they arrived at the far side of the ground floor, his eyes wider than they’d ever been before, staring down at the huge number of M16’s, M4’s, pistols and various magazines that had been laid out in long lines across the back wall, “Are you kidding me!?”.
“Told you”, Lester replied smugly.
“How did… I don’t…”, John struggled to ask
“Whoah!”, Andrew exclaimed as he too arrived on scene, the truck parked by the exit, and his family stashed safely in the rear of its cabin.
“They sent so many soldiers into the city that we ended up finding decent guns on every other biter for a while, so many of ‘em turned with weapons still in hand”, Sonja explained.
“Well thank God for that”, John said as he placed his useless-at-range shotgun onto the floor, swapping it instead for one of the longer barrelled M16’s, and picking up as many STANAG magazines as he could stuff into his pocket, “We’re gonna need ‘em”, he said.

Suddenly the youngster Tommy arrived, himself also reaching for an M16.
“Boy what in the hell do you think you’re doing”, Sonja cried out, grabbing his wrist.
“I want to fight!”, Tommy replied.
“You lost that privilege when you started this mess, get your ass up those stairs, we’re gonna’ need a runner to carry messages down from the upper floors”, she explained.
“To hell with that, I’m not being no runner!”, he replied, shaking off Sonja’s grip on his wrist.
“Tommy”, Lester said, his low tone suddenly more terrifying than any biter, something that was evidenced by the boy’s sudden change of heart, as he gave but a single look to Lester, before quickly scurrying up the stairs.

“Now then, you ready to shoot, boys?”, asked Sonja as Andrew too partook in selection of an M16.
“Today’s as good a day as any”, John replied, a smile creeping across his face as he spoke.
Despite everything, despite every dark element to the situation, and even despite the overwhelming likelihood that they may be overrun, not a single one of them, bar perhaps Andrew, could hide the fact that what was about to happen was more than likely going to be sickeningly exciting. With that said, and with the clicking of magazines sounding out across the empty space, and the distant sound of moaning beginning to filter in from outside, each of them turned to the entrance, readying themselves for what both John and Andrew knew would be their most difficult battle so far.

Suddenly figures began to stumble in to the car-park, the headlights of the truck acting as the perfect spotlight, illuminating them even at distance, just enough for everyone to line up a decent shot.
“Give it a minute”, John said as he saw both Lester and Sonja place their fingers on their respective triggers. “No point wasting ammo, wait till they’re a little closer, go for perfect headshots and don’t waste a bullet”, he instructed, his commanding tone convincing enough to have both Lester and Sonja lower their weapons slightly.

Slowly the numbers began to grow, and in turn started to turn towards the group, their slow shuffle gradually bringing them closer towards the middle of the space.
“You sure you don’t want them upstairs?”, Sonja asked of Andrew, as she caught sight of the two faces in the back of the Ford.
Andrew’s family were under strict instructions to remain in the truck, and to leave if they felt it was necessary, with or without him in there with them.
“I mean no offence”, Andrew said, “But-“.
“I get it”, Sonja interrupted him, “You don’t know us from Adam, so I damn sure can’t blame you for not trusting us. But if you change your mind, we got people up there, mostly women and the elderly, no kids mind you, but they’d look after them”.

John’s heart sank. The words had been said as if they were nothing, but to him, they came crashing down with the full force of a hurricane.
“No kids?”, he asked, facing Sonja and dropping his weapon to his side, “None at all?”.
“Not anymore”, Sonja replied, clearly concerned by some past incident that had rid the place of children.
John was almost slain right there and then by the response, by the sudden confirmation that even here in this last shelter, where finally they had found a place where other people were apparently housed, his family were still nowhere to be seen. Quietly he struggled to find some form of composure, but he was, or at least had been, a professional, and so he threw his emotions to the side, and raised his weapon once more, a single tear forming in the corner of his left eye as he did.

Soon after, John pulled hard on the trigger, and the volley of gunfire began.

The first few bullets did little in terms of stopping the advance, the majority of the rounds either sailing clean over the heads of the front attackers, or burying deep into none vital areas. That was of course, save for John’s shots, some of which even managed to cascade through the head of its intended target, before continuing on into a second.
“Slow down”, John said as he noticed the firing of his fellow gunners, “Take single shots, aim and fire, don’t just fire”, he said.
Over the next few moments, while John began to blurt out a series of shooting range-esque instructions, the shots began to gain accuracy, if only slightly.
“Hold the butt firm in your pit, keep your elbow down to your side, don’t point it out like you’re in some stupid ass video game!”, he barked while his soldiers began to make more and more headshots.
“That’s it”, he called out, noting the increasing number of bodies dropping to the floor, “You’re getting it”, he shouted, before firing off a few shots of his own.

Before long it was clear that the bulk of the biters were finally inside, the front line of attack slowly closing in on the ramped end at which the group stood, but the ever growing pile of bodies in front of them working well to at least slow their advance. It was however becoming an increasingly grim situation, and as the horde passed the half way mark, John could see Andrew’s head begin to look over to the truck intermittently.
“Keep your eyes on the target Andrew”, he called out, “They’re getting close, but that’s a good thing, easy pickings at this point”, he yelled. “Aim for the neck now, the gun’ll shoot a little higher at this point, so aim for the neck”, he added, the results of which becoming immediately apparent, as various splattering’s of blood erupted from the rear of several approaching skulls.

Eventually, the number making their way through the entrance stopped, and John’s key piece of motivation began to roll out.
“Nearing the end now, no more coming in so we just gotta’ finish these ones off”, he yelled, as the front row breached the thirty metre distance, something that would have caused real concern to all involved if not for John’s words of both reassurance and encouragement. Although he hadn’t wished to say it, John was fully aware that retreating wasn’t much of an option. The ramps of the car-park were present at each end, and were accompanied by what appeared to be an open stairwell. This, John was sure, meant that if the biters made it to one end, they would pretty quickly move up to the floors above, where John assumed was the location of the unknown number of survivors also holed up in the building. As such, he was adamant not to let them get there, and so he switched out his magazine, and began to fire once more, quickening his pace slightly, but still taking a moment between each shot to make every bullet count.

Despite the length of time the biters had presumably been left dormant in the museum, there was occasionally still a runner. Their speed was extremely diminished, but they posed enough of a threat to need putting down immediately. Usually this was at John’s hand, as he continued to be quickest to the draw, but eventually his companions began to pick up the pace, often beating John to the shot. Sometimes this was as John was stood reloading, other times they’d simply seen it before him, but not a single occurrence caused John anything but pride, as he watched his shooters develop their skills right there in front of his eyes.

After several minutes, and countless empty magazines, the horde began to thin, and gaps slowly began to form between the ambling bodies, the piles of corpses behind them now coming into focus. Despite the carnage, thoughts of success and triumph gradually began washing over each of the group. Even John struggled to maintain his professionalism, letting out the odd yelp of success as he watched the numbers slowly reduce, until eventually, the once huge and horrifying mass of undead was reduced to nothing but a pile of flesh and limbs.

The abrupt halt of gunshots was almost harrowing in itself, as each of the shooters went from listening to a constant barrage of small explosions, to all but silence, save only for the heavy breathing that each of them exerted. That was of course, until a series of shots from above sounded out.
“What the hell?”, Lester yelled, confused.
“Some must have made it upstairs at the other end!”, Sonja yelled as she turned and ran for the stairs, followed closely by Lester and John, who stopped only to look back at a hesitant Andrew.
“Andrew”, John started, “Either bring them up with you, or stay down here, but either way, you stay right by their side!”, he instructed, to which Andrew nodded, and proceeded to run over to the parked Ford, as John turned and followed the group upstairs.

For almost every step that John took, another bullet sounded out, separated only by inaudible shouting from whoever was defending the first floor. Eventually John arrived at the landing area, and saw both Lester and Sonja sprinting towards the other end where, in the distance, two figures stood in front of ten or so undead. By the looks of it, the first figure – who John took to be the sniper he had seen earlier – was opting for the clever option, staying back and taking shots from a distance. The other figure however – who based purely on the stupidity of their actions, John guessed to be Tommy – was right in the midst, swinging inaccurately at the figures with some sort of bat, occasionally breaking off to shoot another with a pistol he had somehow obtained.

Up ahead, as Sonja arrived on scene followed closely by her male companion, she began to assist. Firing as John had instructed, holding her ground and taking her time, she began shooting only for the guaranteed kills. But Tommy was making it difficult, swinging wildly and moving so frantically that it became more and more difficult to avoid shooting him instead.
“Tommy!”, she yelled eventually, “Get out of there, let us take care of them!”.
“No way, I got this!”, he answered, as he brought the baseball bat swinging round for another chest shot on his nearest foe, who was almost completely unfazed by the none critical hit.
Clearly to John, who was just twenty or so metres away at this point, Tommy had received even less training than his companions, who had perhaps felt – and justifiably so – that he was too immature to be taught any kind of fighting abilities. In any case, his stubbornness had led to him getting into the thick of it once more, which just about everyone there except for Tommy knew, was going to cost him his life.

As John arrived, he raised his M16 and squeezed off a single shot, pumping a round into the head of a biter that was just centimetres to the rear of Tommy, who had apparently been blissfully unaware of the approaching enemy until now. Barely acknowledging it, he continued his charade until eventually, thanks to the suddenly increased number of guns on scene, the last biter dropped to the ground.

“What happened?”, demanded Sonja.
“You tell me, they just came running up the stairs over there, must have figured out there were two entrances or something”, the sniper replied.
“Figured out?”, John asked, “These things don’t figure things out, they know three things, sound, sight and smell, they don’t figure things out”, he explained.
“And who the hell are you to tell us all this tough guy?”, replied the sniper, his grip visibly tightening on whatever military grade rifle he held in his arms, apparently disgruntled by the newcomer suddenly being allowed in amongst the group.
“I’m the one that just helped save your ass!”, John yelled back at the man.
“Yeah well you know what, next time don’t bother!”, he replied, as tensions abruptly rose.

Quickly things escalated, as a sea of angry voices clashed repeatedly, blending into a mess of yells and shouts that were barely audible, as John and the unnamed sniper bickered on, kept apart only by the hands of Lester and Sonja who attempted to calm the situation. Quickly the volume of their debate rose dramatically, until eventually, Tommy interjected.
“It was me!”, he yelled suddenly.
“What?”, John asked, loosening his own grip and giving one final look to the sniper, before turning his attention to the young boy.
“I fired some shots from the roof”, I was trying to help.
“Idiot!”, Sonja yelled at the boy, who proceeded to hang his head, even he himself knowing how stupid he had been, “You put the whole damn camp at risk!”.
“I know”, he replied, “I’m sorry”.

Suddenly a series of footsteps behind indicated that Andrew and his family had arrived, Andrew having apparently decided that they would be safer with others, despite their now vastly reduced chance of a safe escape in a vehicle.
“Oh Jesus”, he said as he stepped into the circle of survivors, “One of ‘em get you?”, he asked.
It was a surreal moment, each of them looking down over themselves, analysing and inspecting every limb, every exposed piece of skin, every dirtied item of clothing, searching for the tell-tale signs of a bite, a scratch, or whatever it was that Andrew had seen. But none of them found anything, until eventually, they all realised that just one person had remained still in response, and that that person had a small trickle of blood, dripping off the tip of their right hand, unnoticed till now thanks to the commotion the argument had caused.

“Tommy”, Sonja said, almost in disbelief at having to say the name yet again, “Tell me that’s not a bite”, she pleaded.
“It’s just a scratch!”, he said, backing away slightly, “No bite see!”, he added, raising his arm to reveal a long, deep gash running along the rear of his arm just above the elbow, “I’ll be fine!”.
A moment of silence passed like this, nobody wanting to say the words, but everyone knowing exactly what they were, until eventually, Lester stepped up.
“Buddy you know that’s enough, you know that”, he explained, the anger he had so recently felt towards the teenager suddenly disappearing.
“C’mon, don’t be like that”, Tommy begged, stepping yet further away as he did, “I might not turn, I might be fine! Give me a chance and I’ll show you alright? Chain me up or something, you’ll see, I’ll be fine! It’s just a scratch, it won-“.
Tommy was cut short by a single gunshot, fired from the still unnamed sniper’s pistol, straight through the side of Tommy’s head, ripping the life right out of him in a single millisecond. The shot was so fast he wasn’t even able to finish the word on the tip of his tongue, and was swiftly followed by the sudden drop of his now lifeless body, falling flat to the cold, concrete, blood splattered floor below.