Z-Burbia 7: Sisters of the Apocalypse (25 page)

The two soldiers returned the gesture, raising their rifles in salute to the men and women who continued to work their modern day miracles, providing a degree of morale in the form of tasty meals for the other survivors.

“Save us some of that crap that you palm off as chicken, will you? Even if it is a fucking mangy cat, it’s better than nothing.”

“Mangy cat?” The chef hollered back to them. “They’re reserved for Royal visits. Where do you think we are? The fucking Ritz?”

They arrived at the alcove. It jutted out from the inner wall at an upward facing angle, rising out of the ground with a thick steel door set into it. The guard stepped forward from the shadowy recess beside the entrance and nodded to them as they approached.

“How’s things, John?” They greeted him as they stopped and waited for him to let them through.

“Same shit, different day. Bring me back something nice,” John replied as he slid back the heavy bolt in the locking mechanism.

The bolt fell into place with a loud clang that echoed around the compound, causing many heads to turn in their direction and watch with anticipation, knowing that their defences were about to be opened, only slightly, but opened nonetheless.

The door pulled outward with a loud metallic creak as the hinges sang in protest against the rust that attempted to hold them tight. Inside, a blackness so complete that it was impossible to see past the threshold, greeted them. A draft of stale air gust out from the dark passage and brushed at their faces as they peered inside.

The two men, gripping their weapons firmly in their hands, glanced at one another, feeling the hairs on the backs of their necks stand to attention.

“What’s up?” John asked them with a sneer. “You two nervous?”

The large man stepped forward, his shoulders seeming twice as broad as normal due to his equipment and armour. With a cold expression, he stared down at the guard who had already began to retreat towards the comforting shadow of the recess, wishing he had said nothing and kept his mouth shut.

“It’s been over ten years,” the soldier began in a low menacing voice. “I’ve been out there more times than I can count. All my friends are dead, but I am still here. I have killed thousands of them, and never received a scratch. Am I nervous?”

He raised a questioning eyebrow at the cowering guard and suddenly grinned, bearing his white teeth that glowed in the darkness.

“Of course I’m fucking nervous. I’m terrified, John!”

He reached forward and slapped the man on the shoulder, almost knocking him over into the boggy water at his feet.

“Shhh,” the skinny soldier ordered silence, “the rain’s stopped.”

They paused and looked up into the sky. The clouds, still grey but less densely packed had begun to separate, revealing a blanket of stars twinkling high above the atmosphere against the blackness of space.

Suddenly, they realised that they no longer had to raise their voices in order to be heard over the hammering raindrops that drowned out all other sounds. The night was still and silent. Then they heard the distant low, electrifying murmur.

“It’s always there, isn’t it,” John whispered, as he stared up at the top of the wall that protected them and held back the tide of death.

Thousands upon thousands of woeful voices were joined together as one in their lament. The dead crowded the outer perimeter, their haunting chorus creeping across the land and assaulting the wall. It was a resonance that was the one constant the survivors could guarantee, but they could never become used to it. It haunted them, tearing at their nerves and perpetually fuelling their fears.

They knew that the dead would never leave them.

In the tunnel, the two men walked side by side down the gentle slope, headed deeper and deeper underground. It had taken nine years and the lives of over fifty men and women to construct. Now, with their fortress surrounded by the mass swarms of festering bodies, it was their only lifeline.

It had been seven years since the only helicopter they possessed had broken down, and the mechanics despite their skill and toil, had never been able to fix it. Now, it sat rusting away, watching the seasons pass as it slowly turned to yet another relic of mankind and the marvels of civilisation.

The three Challenger-II tanks had been vital to their survival, but they too had succumbed to the ravages of time and the hazards of the new world. One was stranded four-hundred metres beyond the walls, having thrown a track six years earlier.

The dead had quickly engulfed the machine, leaving the men trapped inside and unable to escape. For over two weeks, the people within the fortress still had communications with the tank crew, speaking to them, and promising that they were doing all they could to come up with a rescue plan. Eventually, when every attempt to relieve them had failed and the imprisoned men had run out of food and water, they took their own life, and there they remained.

The rusting tank was their eternal tomb.

The other tanks had been destroyed in the many clashes with living attackers, and now it was down to the tunnel to allow scavenger parties to move in and out from behind the walls.

Thankfully, there were no rogue armies of the living left to fight.

They continued along the gloomy passageway, dimly lit by the few bulbs that could be spared. Rats screeched and scurried along the walls, their claws scratching at the hard packed clay, and the water that seeped through the earth, fell from the thick wooden supports of the walls and ceiling in echoing drops that rang out in the narrow space.

The shaft, wide enough for a man to stand in with his arms stretched out on either side, continued for a long way. Two-point-nine kilometres to be exact. At every five-hundred metre interval, a gate of thick steel bars blocked their path, needing to be unbolted and slid back from the wall and then replaced behind them. At two points, the tunnel was rigged with explosives, ready to be detonated should the dead ever discover their secret passage.

They walked, and soon without realising it, both men found themselves staring up at the ceiling of the tunnel as they continued their journey through the dimness. Neither of them needed to say a word. They both knew what the other was thinking.

Just above us, there’s an army of rotting feet.

At the far end, they reached the final door. It was a hatch that had been taken from a war ship. Made from four centimetre thick steel, and virtually impossible to force open, it was the final barrier that separated them from the danger of the outside.

The construction of the passage had been a work of genius, overseen by an engineer named Michael. He had spent months, years, surveying the area at huge risk to himself and his team, losing many of them along the way. With great skill and patience, he had studied and poured over every map, aerial photograph, and town plan. Anything that could help him with the task ahead. Under the circumstances, it had been a feat of engineering that the survivors considered to be more important than any architectural wonder from the old world.

He had plotted the tunnel so that it came up beneath the foundations of an old Victorian pumping station. The building had still been in use up until the days when the world had crumbled beneath the onslaught of the dead and the strong walls and heavy gates helped to ensure that the hidden passage would remain unseen and protected.

With absolute accuracy, the tunnel had been completed, emerging exactly where Michael had intended it.

Unfortunately, Michael had died the previous year from cancer. It had eaten him to the bone and there was nothing that anyone could do to help him. In the end, he had taken an overdose of morphine to ease his suffering.

At the door, the two soldiers paused and silently read the inscription that had been etched into the wall.

To Michael,

The man who, with a shovel and pick, fought for our survival but lost his own personal battle.

Always remembered.

Sleep well.

On the floor below it, laid a bouquet of wilted flowers and a candle that had burned down to nothing more than a solid puddle of melted wax.

Standing back from the door, they raised their rifles and pulled back on the cocking levers slightly. Just enough to see the shine of the brass case that was sitting snuggly in the breach. Happy that their weapons were ready to fire, they pushed the working parts forward again and conducted a final check of their equipment, weapons, and ammunition.

The larger man covered the door, while the other began slowly to lever the locking mechanism out from its recess in the thick stone wall. The lock was stiff and he winced as he pulled, afraid to put too much of his weight behind it and bring it crashing towards him, making a deafening racket that would alert everything on the surface.

The lock was painstakingly released and the door was free.

Holding the rifle firmly against his shoulder, the big soldier could hear his heart pounding against his chest, and feel the sweat that soaked his brow and running down into his face. He nodded to his friend who then pulled at the bulky hatch.

It fell open with a faint whine, and both men readied themselves to receive whatever happened to be on the opposite side, stepping back and taking up the first pressure on the triggers of their assault rifles.

Nothing but blackness greeted them and both released a sigh of relief.

“Why the fuck didn’t old Mike put a peep-hole in this fucking door?” The skinny soldier hissed through the gloom.

They stepped through the hatch and sealed it shut behind them, locking themselves into a small chamber containing a number of large pipes and valves. Below their feet was a heavy iron grate, running into the sewers. The sound of trickling water echoed around them in the cramped space, mixing with the screech of the rats that scurried through the network of sewer tunnels beneath them.

In the low light, the steel staircase leading up to the surface was barely visible, but they had been here many times and knew it was there, and how careful they needed to be as they climbed the rickety steps.

Slowly and silently, they both began their ascent towards the dead world above.

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