The Wanderers (35 page)

He lifted his gaze and saw that the dead were already arriving at the entrance door. He fired three more shots, but he missed them all, prey to his nervousness. Finally, when he thought that it was all lost, he saw someone closing the glass door at the very last moment.

“
YES!” he shouted, buoyed by renewed enthusiasm.

He tried to shoot at the zombies that were getting closer, but he was not able to bring them down. He left a considerable tear in the chest of one of the dead, which staggered a few steps back, but it regained balance and continued moving forward. Then, while he was letting the scope wander, trying to recalculate his shot, one of the windows located behind the specters unexpectedly shattered into thousands of pieces.

He lifted his head to better see what was happening. Peter had not seen how Father Isidro had fired against the glass, nor did he hear the shot from his position; for him, the figure dressed in black located in front the windows was no different from the rest of the dead. But he saw them hurl themselves forward, almost running towards the entrance, and that had been enough for him. He looked through the scope again and concentrated on the targets that were possibly close enough for him to hit them. In the next minutes, he brought down at least ten, shooting repeatedly while the sound of thunder undermined his confidence. The dead continued entering, relentlessly, and each time one passed through the window frames, his hope for those inside the building diminished.

He shot randomly at anything that ended up in front of his scope, when he finally realized he had already used up the second clip, and had only one more left. Then he stood up, exhausted, and looked down. The dead had extended through practically all of the sports fields. There were all over the place, around him, surrounding the main building and entering through the windows, which were all destroyed now, without exception.

Peter felt defeated. Nobody had left the building; not one person. He did not want to think what that meant, or imagine the horrible slaughter that could be happening in there. He clenched his fists and howled, a heartrending cry emanating from the desperation that besieged him. He shouted at the zombies down there, and he screamed at the turbulent skies, his face red and the veins on his forehead swollen.

Finally, not giving himself the time to think about what he was doing, he grabbed his rifle, covered his head with his raincoat, and began to descend the tower. The specters did not notice him until he was already on the tiled ground, but Peter ran as fast as he could, easily passing through the rows of cadavers.

When he had barely advanced a few feet be began to hear the shots; the sound of continued bursts of gunfire flooded him with sudden joy. They were fighting! The rifle flashes illuminated the interior of the lobby. When he got closer, the number of specters around him was larger; however, the sound of gunfire attracted them as a light bulb attracts moths. They all looked in the direction from which the gunfire emanated, and the incessant stream entering the premises walked forward forming a thick column that directed them towards the building.

He stopped, turning around to cover every angle, studying the reactions of the zombies that were barely ten feet around him. None of them seemed to have any interest in the hooded figure that was he; the sound of the shots was simply too loud, capturing their full attention. He held his breath and stood in the freezing cold torrential downpour while he considered his options.

Inside, Susana was being attended as well as possible, given the circumstances. While Jose, Uriguen and other brave men positioned at both sides of the improvised barricade brought down the specters, Susana was receiving a compressive bandage to her clavicle area, thanks to a small first-aid kit that had been found on one of the higher floors. They had cleaned the area as well as they could, and the bandage was working well, although the first layers were quickly drenched with blood. A woman named Angela mentioned something about pressure points on the main arteries to avoid excessive blood flow to the area, and she devoted herself to doing so with apparently expert hands.

“
CLIP!” Jose shouted from time to time, but he did not even stop to reload anymore; someone would pass him a fully loaded new rifle and he would continue shooting. His hair was drenched as if he had just gotten out of the shower; large dark stains outlined his armpits and back.

Meanwhile, Moses and Aranda were still concentrated on searching for the priest among the attackers. Juan knew that it was important to get him alive, but he was not going to risk anyone else on the team to do so, under any circumstance. He held a small pistol with both hands, prepared to empty the clip directly between the priest
’s eyes as soon as he was in front of him.

Suddenly, Moses shouted,
“THERE!” and Aranda turned to see the priest standing upon a pile of fallen bodies with his arms extended, pointing at some undetermined spot in the room.

“
PASS ME THE GUN!” Moses pleaded, without looking away.

Then a golf ball sized chunk of the wall located behind Moses flew off into the air.
Jesus, he’s shooting at him,
Aranda thought. Moses, however, remained impassive, not looking away, an accusing finger extended, and the other hand demanding the pistol.

Aranda threw him the pistol, and Moses caught without looking at it, brought it in front of him, held it with both hands and fired three quick shots. Juan looked forward, trying to discern something among the abominable faces of the specters that continued trying to reach them. Finally, he saw a figure running outside. He was wearing black, his white hair bouncing up and down. It was the first time he had direct visual contact with the priest. He suddenly felt a rare feeling of repulsion that ran over him like a shiver.

“
HE’S ESCAPING!” Aranda shouted.

Moses followed his trajectory, keeping the pistol in a straight angle, and pulled the trigger a couple more times. One of the shots hit a specter that got in the way, sinking into the bone between the eyes and revealing blackish and dried mucus. The second bullet was lost without hitting any target.

Father Isidro crossed through the broken windowpane, passing among the specters that fought to get in, and went outside. Moses shouted, his swollen neck veins resembling cables that were about to break. It seemed like he was about to jump out after the priest, but Aranda knew that it would be a guaranteed suicide, so he approached him, fearing the worst. But Moses did not jump. He gave the pistol back to Juan and advanced behind the shooters in the direction of the warehouse.

Chapter 39

Outside, Peter was struggling to decide what action he could take that would make a difference in the fight. He was immersed in such thoughts when, suddenly, he saw a figure exiting the building, passing through the living dead. He was incredibly thin, and his face had a cadaverous look: pale and angular, with large perfect teeth showing inside his open mouth. On his neck, a bloodstained collar was sticking out.

Then he started
... realizing it was
him
, the priest they had been searching for. He was petrified, trying to decide what to do next. He had the uncontrollable desire to point the gun at him and scatter the contents of his sick head all over the wall, but he knew that there was the possibility of him missing, and then what? The priest was holding a gun in his hand... and what if he wasn’t a bad shot?

He was immersed in those thoughts when the priest abruptly turned to the left and began to run, close to the wall. Peter saw him move away several feet and hurled himself after him in pursuit, looking for his opportunity.

The priest continued his advance without stopping or looking back. There were also zombies there, and they began to worry Peter. They were far away from the area where the shots were being fired, and the sound was not attracting them as much. A few empty gazes were beginning to notice him, as if trying to understand if the hooded figure was one of them or not.

Finally, after covering a good stretch, Father Isidro found the door with the broken glass and went inside, the pistol in front of him. Peter started, it was the infirmary, and he knew all too well that there were at least three people in there: Dozer, Jaime and someone in charge of overseeing that they were cared for.

He accelerated his pace.

In the lobby, the feeling of impotence was overpowering Moses. The loathsome priest had escaped, unpunished, and in the meanwhile, they had barely been able to move towards the door. Jose also worried him; he was livid, sweating copiously and blinking continually, stoically enduring the exhaustion that he felt. Some of those who were waiting on the stairs or the upper landings had brought down more mattresses and even doors they had ripped off the hinges, and thanks to them, the group had maintained the upper hand.

Moses approached Aranda, who had taken a rifle and was doing what he could to stop the zombies
’ attacks. He had to hit him several times on the shoulder to draw his attention.

“
You have to organize them, Juan!”

“
What?” he asked, not comprehending what Moses was saying to him.

Moses moved closer to his ear.
“You have to organize the men, Juan! We won’t resist much longer! We have to move forward!”

Juan looked around. He saw frightened faces, trembling hands... he saw shots that hit the ceiling, or were lost in the air, which was cloaked in the sickly-sweet smell of putrefaction. He saw eyes that blinked behind a mask of barely contained horror, and he saw that, in fact, it was only a matter of time before the specters ended up biting someone, and later someone else, and if those two happened to be Jose or Uriguen, may God have mercy on their souls.

Aranda nodded, passed him the rifle with a resolved gesture, and went back to speak with the others. He approached their ears and spoke to them, now pointing to the exit, now closing his fist. When he finished, a small spark of hope seemed to shine in the eyes of those who heard him.

While Aranda drew plans, Peter was prudently facing the dark mouth that was the infirmary entrance. The office was empty, and if the door
’s windows were already broken when the priest had passed through it, he told himself that it was to be expected that there could be at least a few zombies inside. He looked behind him and saw that some of the specters were looking at him and beginning to take dubitative steps towards him, so he slipped inside to move out of their line of vision. He leaned against the wall, buried in the shadows of the corner.

He tried to concentrate on the silence that seemed to dominate the infirmary. He was searching for some sound that would help him discover what was happening. He begged to God for there to still be enough time, for Dozer and the others to still be alive, and he made himself take silent steps towards the back rooms, his rifle at the ready. Zombies were one thing, and a guy armed with a pistol quite another, but the fact that he could possibly encounter both disturbed him greatly. He did not dare call out to them from where he was in case he alerted either of the others to his position.

He reached the dark corridor, attempting to calm his breathing, which seemed to him to be excessive and uncontrolled. The door to the left was open, and the corridors that led to the back and to Doctor Rodriguez
’s office were dark and empty, at least up to the point that he could see. Peter tried the light switch nearest to him, but it did not work.

He looked into the room with infinite care. First he saw the beds, unmade but empty, and only then did he notice the humanoid shape that stood motionless close to the back wall. Its whitish eyes, which stood out in the middle of the semidarkness, were fixed on the ceiling. He quickly hid behind the doorframe.

“
Well,”
he told himself, trying to remain calm, “
there it is...”
He was perfectly conscious that he was not going to be able to cross to the other side without attracting the zombie’s attention, so he quietly lifted his rifle to avoid making any noise, and began to move it through the doorframe.

When he almost had it within range, a deafening sound broke the silence that was surrounding him. The doorframe, just a few inches from his head, exploded like a corn kernel in a microwave. The zombie inside the room let out a hoarse and abominable sound. Peter instinctively ducked; someone was shooting at him! He turned his head following the source of the sound and saw him
... his white eyes as large as eggs were boring into him. It was the priest.

Peter hurled himself inside the room in a desperate attempt to get out of his line of fire. He fell on the bed, where he tried to turn around as well as he could. He was not fast enough, however, and the living dead person hurled itself on him like rabid dog, its large and horrible teeth showing in its mouth, which had frozen into an eternal scream. Peter stopped it by throwing a punch to its head with one hand, while he held its wrist with the other one. The rifle slid to one side and ended up behind his back, completely out of his reach.

Father Isidro appeared in the doorway. His perfect smile stood out against his features, darkened by the lack of light. He was pointing the barrel of his pistol directly at him.

God, oh God
...
Peter’s mind was a maelstrom of contradictory thoughts while he fought to prevent the zombie from getting near him. It was searching for his flesh with animal-like determination.

“
This,” said Father Isidro, moving the barrel of his pistol up and down, “is the chalice of my blood, blood of my new and eternal alliance, which will be shed by you and for all men for the forgiveness of sins.”

“
NO!” Peter screamed, predicting his next move.