by M. D. Massey
The looters wanted safety inside the Arch. The police replied that they would have to leave. Weapons of all kinds pointed at each other.
Liam and Victoria watched from the south hallway where it was very dark. He shut off the light and tried to establish some sense to what was happening.
The looters came in from the north, across the room from them, and controlled that entrance and the tunnel leading to the north leg of the Arch. The police were on their left, holed up in the museum. The large waiting area, filled with the elderly and the sick, was between them and both the police and criminals on the far side.
The sight of sick people lying on the floor, and the screams from those now being assaulted by the park ranger seemed to give the looters a reason to pause before they burst in with their greater numbers.
“There's Grandma. I have to get her out.” He finally caught sight of her in the chaos. Grandma was right where they left her very early in the morning. He couldn’t tell her condition, but she was still in her big wheelchair. She was maybe fifty feet from them, but only several feet away from the park ranger and his probing teeth.
“Wait here,” he whispered.
“Be safe,” she replied.
He ran out of the darkened hallway, straight for his guardian. A few senior citizens in the middle of the room were making for the south exit. He felt bad to use them as distractions, but they gave him the cover he needed from the criminals on the far side of the room.
Even so, while he was on the run, one of the invaders yelled, “These people are infected! Kill them all to save yourselves!”
Screams of fear erupted around him, overlaid with the intense sound of escalating gunfire.
He sprinted the remainder of the room while bullets whizzed by to reach Grandma. She was awake and clutching his backpack as a shield. He said nothing, just grabbed her chair, spun her in the right direction, and intended to push to save their lives.
The park ranger was nearby but wasn’t the major threat. Not by a wide margin. But he was the only threat to the old man who had come in with them and Father Cahill. For a split second he locked eyes with the old guy as the ranger chewed on his neck.
“I'm so sorry,” Liam said to the man, even as his dying eyes glassed over.
Liam took a deep breath and pushed off. He was already covered in sweat from mastering those stairs in both directions, but now his forehead dripped with beads of fear. Running into the field of fire only made sense compared to sitting in it.
With no hope of outrunning the bullets, many citizens on this side of the room stayed where they were and simply huddled in fear. He and Grandma sped by more than a few people doing nothing to save themselves, but the congestion made him an intolerably slow-moving target.
“Run!” he shouted at them. Mostly he screamed to keep his own feet moving.
He didn't dare try to go up the ramp to the south entrance because people who made it that far were being shot in the back as they neared that exit. Instead, he aimed for the same hallway he'd just left. Victoria would still be there—he hoped—and together they could get Grandma to the safety of the maintenance room.
As he pushed the wheelchair, he willed himself to be invisible. Despite the chaotic noise, a little prayer slipped out as he huffed.
“Please, God, help us.”
Somehow Grandma heard him.
“Lord, let us fly.”
Bullets sang “Amen” as they cut through the air.
* * *
2
While he rolled the chair back across the room, the police moved out of their space in the museum. Light came in through the north entranceway and it profiled the looters, giving targets to heavy shotgun slugs and bullets from service revolvers. That forced the bad guys to stop shooting the civilians and focus instead on the police.
With one final push around the corner, he was able to take a breath. They had escaped the carnage in the main room. Victoria dropped in behind him and together they ran to the relative safety of the machine shop down the hall. His ears rang after the loud exchanges of gunfire in the hollowed-out space.
At the final door to the maintenance room they had to help Grandma from the chair, so it could be folded to fit through the doorway then opened on the far side. They closed and locked the door, but he figured it wouldn't last long against bullets if they were discovered.
“I think I left my cane back in that room. Liam, would you mind fetching it?”
He was about to ask if she was out of her mind when he realized she was smiling innocently at him. Who knew Grandma had such a dry sense of humor? She had, in fact, left the cane behind, however. He was thankful they still had the chair.
Once they were safely in the room, he opened his backpack and drew out a water bottle and some grain bars for himself and Victoria. After the climb and adrenaline bursts caused by gunfire, he was famished. His chest heaved up and down while he caught his breath.
Grandma waited for them to dig in. “Thank you, Liam. What in the world is going on?”
“You’re welcome,” he wheezed. “Victoria, let her hear what's on the police radio. That will make it clearer than if we tried to explain.”
After some fiddling with the radio for better reception in its new location, they were shocked to hear a chaotic blast of yelling and cursing coming from it, unlike anything they expected on a police channel. Through the noise, they picked up some fragments:
“They have moved into the Arch's north entrance. My husband and the boys are trying to hold them off, but we're trapped.”
“—the South team has managed to organize citizens, but we have very little cover. Trying to arrange transport to Carondelet.”
“This is North Gate. We have a new situation here—” a man said, but the other callers soon squelched him.
He felt bad for the police but knew there was nothing he could do to help them. He was trapped in a stainless-steel room.
While the chatter continued, he grabbed his gun from the pack and put it back in his waistband holster.
“I'm never taking this off again.”
He paused before looking at his companion. “Victoria, do you want my other gun?”
She peered at him in the harsh glare of the flashlight and seemed to think about it for a few seconds but shook her head.
“I appreciate the offer, but I'll be the plucky comic relief.”
“The what?”
“I just don't think I want a gun, Liam, but thanks.”
He tried to give the Mark I to Grandma.
“No, I’m too weak. I couldn’t even pull the trigger.” She chuckled.
Their appreciation of their chances of surviving this crisis underwhelmed him. He couldn't fathom ever being separated from his gun and didn't understand why anyone would choose to be unarmed. Grandma maybe if she couldn't hold it, but Victoria?
And perhaps the most important realization of the exchange was that he, Liam, was now wholly responsible for protecting them. One boy with a couple of pop guns against a world gone mad.
You said you wanted to be the hero.
* * *
3
They continued to listen to the radio for another half hour or so. The police in the museum had been able to survive against the infringing looters, but neither side could get the upper hand. The radio chatter was a little unclear, but it sounded like some of the sick and wounded lying in the middle of the waiting area had begun to show signs of reanimation—which caused havoc on both the police and the looters.
Up top, the battle had gotten very serious. The renegade urban gangs had lots of firepower and were able to push well into the park—up to and including the north leg of the Arch. But they couldn’t go farther because the defenders on the rest of the cordon, organized by the captain and his police volunteers, had been able to hold their positions. The looters and gang members also had problems behind them, as the infected had followed them through the breech and were now nipping at their heels. Unable to get into the Arc
h and unable to get all their members safely inside the cordon, they now found themselves fighting enemies on multiple fronts. It made the ones inside the Arch desperate and nearly suicidal. The police admitted they were in serious trouble in the museum.
By late afternoon, another report from the radio operator called “North Gate” caught their attention.
“This is North Gate again. I'm in direct line-of-sight to thousands of infected pouring into the northern side of the park. As best I can tell, they're being attracted by all the gunfire. There are a few remaining civilians who are hiding in the parking garage or nearer to the river, but the swarm of dead are overwhelming anyone who stands in the way. The gangs pushed many civilians into the path of the zombies, which, in turn, has infected lots of people near your interior lines. You guys should be prepared for this.”
The captain himself replied.
“Thank you, Ben. We owe you one. Hope to see you again so we can laugh about this over a beer. Over.”
“Me too, Cap. I'm OK for right now. But I'm not sure how long I can hang under the bridge without being spotted. Maybe I'll fly away like a bat.” He let out a nervous laugh, which was reciprocated by the captain as they signed off.
The trio listened to the radio for a while longer, expecting at any time to hear the whole park had been run through by the dead. They never heard from the north gate again, but several other stations kept reporting in. Things were not going well for the good guys.
Comms were cleared by a gruff new voice.
“Break, break. This is Raptor HQ actual.”
The radio chatter from the police stopped cold.
“We are the blocking force located on the east bank of the Mississippi River. All bridges are under our control. No. I repeat N-O personnel will be allowed to cross the bridges, use boats, or otherwise transit across the water, by order of General Hodges, II Corps, United States Army. We've had several—Shall we call them volunteers?—disobey orders and cross the river to support you. Those men and women won't be allowed back, either. Be advised, I also have orders to terminate the infected now converging on your position. I'll give you all the time I can. Say sixty minutes. Out.”
It appeared the Army could see what was happening too and took this delicate moment to remind everyone in St. Louis they still weren't allowed across the river.
The angry voice of the man who had called for volunteers from the group inside the Arch that morning blared from the radio.
“This is Captain Osborne with the Missouri Highway Patrol. On behalf of all of us laying down our lives to protect these citizens, let me just convey—” and went on to teach Liam a whole host of new curse words and make his ears burn with embarrassment because Grandma was right there listening, too. A glance at her showed no emotion on her face.
His world had been spinning out of control since the sirens turned off two days ago, but now he'd felt as if his rescue parachute was packed with bricks instead of silk.
“No help is coming,” he said, as much to himself as to the others.
It can't get much worse.
* * *
4
“Well, what do we do now? We can't exactly step out of this room and make a run for it.” Victoria was right, but no one had any better ideas. The stairs up the Arch were open, but going back to the top was pointless, and Grandma would never survive such a climb.
Looking around the room, they found various tools, workbenches, and maintenance equipment for servicing the top-to-bottom tramway. No weapons of any kind—not that anyone expected to find guns stashed away in a public piece of property like this.
He was probing the edges of the room when he said, “Hey, look at this grate on the wall. It seems to have a tunnel behind it. I can't see where it might go, though.”
The thick metal grate, about three feet wide by three feet high, had a stout-looking lock on it. The wide latticework made it easy to see down the tunnel. A couple of keys hung on a small hook next to the opening. It wasn't rocket science from there.
He unlocked the grate, swung it sideways on hinges, and dropped the lock nearby. He started to follow the flashlight’s beam into the darkness, but Victoria stopped him.
“I’ll go,” she said. “You need to stay here and protect your grandma.” For a moment he feared Victoria was going to find an exit and run off and leave them. That’s crazy. But so is letting her go in there by herself.
She cut off his protests quickly. “You’re the one with the gun. You’ve got to protect your grandma.” She took the small police flashlight from him and crawled down the concrete duct. After a few feet she disappeared around a turn, and he felt his heart drop. Grandma, as if reading his mind, reached over to squeeze his arm.
There was virtually no light in the room, except the illuminated EXIT sign over the door. He turned on his flashlight and started rooting around, looking for something that might help Grandma get down the tunnel if Victoria came back to tell them they could escape through it.
When she comes back. Not “if.” When.
Grandma, in her chair near the door, said, “I think the shooting is getting closer.”
“I have to find something to get you through this tunnel.”
“Oh, no, I can't possibly go through there. Just leave me, Liam. Get yourself and Victoria to safety.”
He knew she would say something like that, which is why he was determined to find just the right thing to get her to go with him. Absorbed in his search, he jumped like a scared cat when someone banged on the door. A disheveled man with a horrible tie peered in through the window: Mister Hayes from the group of CDC people.
“Do we let him in?” Grandma asked.
“If we don’t, he's going to alert the whole place to this room.”
He opened the door. As Hayes ran in, they heard a volley of gunshots. He pushed the door shut hurriedly but took care not to let it slam.
Hayes stood hunched over his knees, shaking.
“Shot ... us ... all,” he wheezed.
Just then a small beam of light brightened the darkness in the room. Victoria crawled out of the tunnel. He had to fight down the urge to run and hug her.
“This tunnel leads out. It has another gate on the other end. Hopefully, one of these keys is for its lock. I think the exit is in a railroad tunnel. I could see the tracks with my light.”
“Please help me find something to get Grandma through there.” With Victoria’s help he continued searching the room until he found the “something” he was looking for, hanging on a wall in a far corner. He grabbed it, adjusted it, and slapped it down in front of her wheelchair.
“It's your lucky day, Grandma. Just lay down on this mechanic's creeper, and I'll pull you to safety.”
She looked at him, then at the creeper, and finally at the hole in the wall. Whether she was calculating her odds of making it through there or maybe just deciding if she really wanted to die in the Gateway to the West, he didn't care. He wasn't going to give her a choice. The building sound of gunfire seemed to make up her mind. She stood up, and with Liam and Victoria on each arm she was able to settle onto the creeper.
“Victoria, check the window. Mister Hayes, grab those other keys off the wall and hold Grandma here while I break down her chair.”
Hayes had recovered control of himself, but his hands still shook as he got the keys, and his voice sounded ragged. “Thanks for letting me in. I never thought it would come to this. Why did those men start shooting us? Don't they know we're the government?”
Loud cracks of gunshots, seemingly outside the door, cut off the conversation. Everyone made for the tunnel.
He took charge. He finished breaking down the chair and ordered Hayes to go first with the keys and the chair.
“Victoria, do we need two flashlights down there?”
“It'll be fine, there are a few turns, but it's very flat and uniform all the way to the end. It isn't that far.”
Hayes was already working his way into the darkness.
<
br /> “OK,” he said, “I guess you're going next, Grandma. You ready to roll?”
“I'm not getting any younger!” She loved that one.
As he began pushing her on the creeper, he heard banging on the door again and saw a shadow at the window. Victoria, closest to the entry, dashed for the tunnel just as a face exploded against the glass. Bullets tore through the upper part of the door and ricocheted off the metal of the machinery in the room. He hastened his pushing to give her room to jump in behind him.
“Turn off your light, Victoria,” he called back over his shoulder. “Hurry! Let's go!”
Her light remained on. He looked back, shocked that she wasn't in the tunnel. She stood in front of the entrance, the grate in her hands and her watery eyes reflecting her light.
“It was nice meeting you, Marty. Take care of her, Liam.”
She slammed the grate back into place, clicked the lock shut, and tossed the key into the tunnel. She gave him a determined look. “I have to do this,” she said in a broken voice. Finally, she removed herself from his sight, the light from her flashlight bobbed toward the stairwell.
“Victoria!” He blurted it out without thinking who might hear. The echoes hurt his ears.
She had locked herself out and locked them in with no way for anyone to follow them.
He sat there, turning over options. In the end, he knew there was only one. He started to push the creeper again, to get as far down the tunnel as he could before anyone else came in the room. He was glad it was too dark for Grandma to see the tears on his face.
I wish I’d kissed her. He hated himself for thinking that selfish thought, but it was true. He wished he had gotten to kiss her before she left him like they do in the movies.
Heroes kiss the girl, then push them to safety. Not the other way around.
He looked back again, saw the merest hint of glow from her flashlight. It wasn’t moving. She must have paused on the steps. Drawing the shooters away, at mortal risk to herself. She was the hero.
The shooting at the door continued for a minute or so. Apparently, the gunmen weren't very good at destroying door handles, or the steel was bulletproof. By the time he neared the end of the tunnel, men’s voices echoed down the pipe behind him. They yelled to each other about a light going up the metal staircase.
