The Wanderers (34 page)

Susana went to one knee to give her shots more accuracy.

“
Jose! The warehouse door!”

“
Understood!”

They formed a protective flank to allow the rest of the survivors, who were advancing behind them, to pass through. There were some very intense moments that required both shooters to have extreme reflexes. All of the windows of the wall were broken, and the specters burst in through them like a flood.

When the stretch that separated them from the warehouse door was clear, Aranda quickly rushed to open the door. For a second, the image of a decomposed face hurling itself towards him crossed his mind but it did not happen. The warehouse was as empty as he could have expected it to be.

“
Uriguen, you bastard!” Jose shouted while he continued firing at the zombies.

“
I’m almost there!” yelled Uriguen, who was entering the warehouse to fetch his rifle. Aranda had taken a few more and was distributing them among the other survivors. It did not matter anymore if they knew how to shoot or not; any help would be invaluable.

“
My God, we’re going to make it,” said one of the men with tears in his eyes, while he watched them shoot down one specter after another.

But then Susana fell backwards, as if someone had given her a phenomenal push. Her back hit the ground, and her rifle fell to a side, bounced on its butt and lay there, inert and useless.

“
SUSANA!” Jose screamed. A chorus of surprised and fearful exclamations went over the rest of the group that waited behind them and was located between the stairs and the warehouse.

Jose moved sideways towards Susana, without stopping his shooting. His eyes were constantly flitting between her and the assailants. Aranda also ran to her. While they did so, Susana made an attempt to sit up, but she gave up almost immediately, raising a hand to her chest.

Aranda was the first to arrive, kneeling to her side, not knowing what had happened to her. But when he took her hand it was very evident; a dramatic bloodstain had dyed the whole left clavicle area.

Juan looked at her, not understanding, but when she returned his gaze and squeezed his hand, he understood everything. She had been shot, and he knew very well by whom. He turned, his face red with rage, searching among the zombies and beyond them.

“
What happened?” Jose asked. Another man approached Susana and placed his hand underneath her body, carefully feeling around. Finally, he exhaled a sigh of relief.

“
There’s an exit wound, thank God. We have to plug the wound!”

By then, Uriguen had already positioned himself next to Jose and was shooting as quickly as he possibly could. Three other men were doing the same, but their shots were erratic and too spaced to be of any help.

While Susana was being cared for, Juan stood up, frantically searching for the priest among the ranks of the living dead. Moses, who had seen it all from his position on the stairs, had also guessed that the priest had shot Susana and was desperately searching for his face. He felt that time was running out. If the priest managed to eliminate Jose as well, the situation would become terribly compromised.
Where are you, son of a bitch?
he repeated in his mind. He straightened up as much as possible, above the horrifying amalgam of cadavers, trying to see the back of the room. A small metal clock marked the passing time with ringing bells. Its second hand had the shape of a scythe.

Chapter 37

The infirmary was a tomb, gloomy and silent. The lights had gone out, but they were not completely in the dark; weak light filtered in through a small window opening in the wall, near to the ceiling.

Nobody said anything. Jaime was still sleeping, breathing regularly, oblivious to what was happening. Carmen concentrated on his rhythmic breathing in an attempt to not think about her current situation. From time to time, a noise could be heard behind the door, although they were never able to determine what it was.

While they waited in silence, Dr. Rodriguez had embarked on somber thoughts. On one hand, he asked himself how the others were, if they were also in danger or if they had controlled the situation. He had faith that it was so; he had already seen the guys in action, and they knew how to handle themselves. On the other hand, he could not stop thinking about last night
’s hunt; had they managed to capture the mysterious priest? Had they even managed to return to the compound? Was it related to the fact that there were now zombies on the premises? Was it the priest attacking them? He longed so much to analyze the priest’s blood, his cell tissues, all of his secrets. If they could manage to figure out how to walk among the zombies, it would be the end of the age of terror they were living through. They would not need to hide. Given enough time, they could clear the whole city, reconquer the whole world. Another part of his mind was worried about his improvised laboratory. He had vials there containing several strains he had been able to extract by culturing tissues taken from the cadavers he had examined. If they were lost, it would take him at least a week to recreate them.

Then, a sudden blow against the door dragged him from his thoughts. It was a strong blow that made the door shake in its jamb. Incapable of containing her fear any longer, Carmen screamed. Dozer looked at her with petrified eyes
—she had just raised a red flag indicating their position to whoever was on the other side of the door. At that very instant, Jaime opened his eyes, still lulled by his drug-induced sleep. He said something unintelligible and slowly closed his eyelids again, letting himself be overcome by his somnolence.

They remained silent, alert, barely conscious that they were holding their breaths. Then there was a second blow, equally severe, followed by a third and a fourth in rapid succession. Carmen broke down in tears, embracing herself with both arms and retreating a few steps. The fact that the doorknob had not yet turned showed them, very clearly, that it was one of the living dead on the other side.

Suddenly, his brain processing thoughts at a frenetic pace, Dozer had an idea.

On the other side of the door, three zombies were dragging themselves around with exasperating calm. One of them had become entangled with its own feet and fell face forward into the door that separated them from the room where Dozer and the others were living some of the worst moments of their lives. The noise awakened the interest of the zombie that had been following it. Its neck was broken on one side, so its head wobbled as it moved close to the door and in a sudden fit of rage hit the door twice with unusual force. Those very blows, in turn, made the third specter turn around with an inhuman grunt and charge at the same door. In just a few seconds, the three cadavers were concentrated on landing their fists on the wood, which was vibrating violently. The outer lintel piece fell on them, ripped from the small screws that had held it in place.

Finally, one of the doors yielded, pushing the bed that held it back. It slid slowly across the room with a squeaking noise. The zombies burst into the room, running their dead eyes over the chamber. But it was empty. They wandered about inside, around the unmade beds, scrutinizing each corner and the fittings with inexplicable hostility. While passing by the cabinet, one of the specters gave it an unexpected blow with its whole arm, causing it to shake. The boxes of bandages, injections and medications fell to the floor making quite a racket. A second blow made the cabinet fall forward, where it smashed to bits with an unnerving sound. The zombie screamed, shaking with intense spasms, and finally seemed to enter a much calmer state again.

Dozer and the others, hidden underneath the beds, remained as quiet as possible. Jaime was awake; he had opened his eyes when the doctor and Carmen moved him underneath. There was an obvious risk of him reopening his wounds, or something even worse, but if they had left him on the bed, they were sure he would end up devoured or ripped to pieces as soon as those things laid eyes on him. Dozer was able to get down on his own; he discovered with grateful surprise that his side did not hurt him as much. Crouching to lie down, and afterwards dragging himself underneath the bed was a different story; the pressure on his chest was tremendous, and that small effort left him tired and his breathing labored.

When the specters managed to breach the doors, they were already underneath the beds; two under each one. Dozer kept Carmen at his side, with a hand covering her mouth. He felt the warm tears falling on his fingers, but for the moment he could not do anything for her; they could not risk her letting out another scream.

They waited, terrified, watching the feet of the three zombies revolve around them. Dozer told himself that he would never go anywhere again without having at least a small pistol with him, certain that things would have been very different if he
’d had one.

After a few endless moments, one of the zombies finally left the room. The second one exited behind it, dragging one foot. It was not wearing shoes, and the flesh on the sole had been scraped off long ago, revealing an atrocious spectacle. It became lost in the corridor, zigzagging from one wall to another like a drunkard.

All eyes were concentrated on the third zombie. It had remained still the whole time, its feet not moving at all. Dozer looked at Jaime and the doctor lying under the other bed, and he could almost smell the tension that they were all experiencing. They waited for a good while, immobile, not daring to move a muscle. At his side, Carmen continued shivering, and smelled strongly of warm sweat.

The next time he looked at the other bed, Dr. Rodriguez was searching for him with his eyes. He made a doubtful gesture, asking by his expression what they were going to do next. Dozer shook his head; it was not a good idea to try anything.

They were trapped.

Chapter 38

At the same time Ivan was startled awake by his nightmare, Peter was climbing up onto one of the towers located on the fields, about six-hundred feet away from the main buildings. He was wearing a dark-colored raincoat and enough warm clothes to spend the whole day without being bothered by the cold. He also had a thermos of warm tea and, hidden inside his socks, a pack of cigarettes. Naturally, no one in the encampment had prohibited him from smoking, but it was an old habit that was very hard for him to break.

He did not mind the job too much. Although he preferred tasks in which he could speak with someone else, once in a while he felt like spending some time alone, and boring watches like this were perfect for doing so. He did not like the rifle much; as soon as he was settled, he left it leaning up against a corner. He was not very good with it either, although given his age, his hand turned out to be steadier than that of many young people. He liked to listen to Dozer saying that if he had been twenty years younger, they would have taken him on their incursions; it made him feel useful.

He took a cigarette out and lit it, taking three small and hasty drags. It was a ritual that he loved deeply, the first cigarette of the day. It made him cough, of course it did, but it filled him with a feeling of relaxation so comforting that he could not do without it anymore.

He exhaled a good mouthful of smoke.

“
This one’s for you bastards,” he said, looking at the rows of the living dead. Suddenly, he stared at them as if something was out of place. Wasn’t there? Yes, that’s what it was... weren’t there
too many
that morning? It was like attending the damn yearly City Race. They were crowding up against the fences, forming a shapeless mass that moved like a choppy sea on a windy day.

“
Jesus,” he said, clearly disturbed.

He turned around, following the rows of the dead, and then he let the cigarette fall, where it was almost immediately extinguished upon contact with the wet wooden floor. It was the
zombies
... they were entering the complex.

How had it happened? He had passed through there not even three minutes before. They were hardly a dozen, but their numbers were multiplying in a clearly geometric progression as they passed through the access doors. He did not even remember having seen those doors open since he had been in the compound
—they always used the sewers for traveling.

Peter considered his options. He thought of going down, but by the time he arrived, the dead would have already reached the main entrance; there was a more than considerable number invading the premises and spreading like fire in a pile of hay. He took up his rifle, his stomach contracting, and positioned himself on the railing.

He shot three consecutive times, trusting that the sound of the shots would alert the others. But them he reminded himself that, as well as the heavy downpour, he had the wind in his face. They were unlikely to hear anything inside the building.

Then, propelled by the overwhelming need to react in some way or another, he aimed at the zombies. They walked hurriedly, quicker than usual, but he would try to gun down the ones that were closest to the door, to give the folks inside as much time as possible. The first shot ripped one
’s ear right off and tiny pieces of flesh flew off in every direction, but that did not seem to stop it. The second shot lifted a good piece of flesh off the back area, the torn piece left hanging like a half-cut steak. And the third shot passed too far above it and crashed into the wall.

Infuriated with himself, Peter opened his legs a little more to steady his aim. He held the rifle more firmly and looked through the scope again. They had not trained him to correct the trajectory taking into account factors like the rain or the wind, and in fact, he had not had the opportunity to practice much, but he swore to himself that he was going to take that son of a bitch down. He fired a fourth shot, and this time the impact blew its head off, scattering its contents in a horrific cloud. The zombie collapsed as if someone had flicked a switch. That made him feel a little better. He aimed at another one, and this time he only needed two shots: again, its body lay on the ground, completely immobile.