by Gareth Wood
He sighed, and sat down again. “Yeah. It’s in the Biology building of the University of Calgary. Zombie numbers there are probably off the scale.”
I got shivers up my spine just visualizing it.
“How do you know for sure that there’s a copy there?” I asked.
The Major snorted, and smiled as he told me.
“That doctor you rescued from Banff, Thomas Dand? He told us he corresponded with a Doctor Eugene Bradley, who worked there, and that Bradley had received a copy of the software in early May of ‘04. Dand said that Bradley was excited to start using it, and was going to install in on his computer in the lab. That was the last time they talked to each other, so hopefully the software disk is still in his office.”
“What do you need us to do? For the record.”
“For the record? I want you to take a team in and get that software. There’s a shopping list of other stuff that’ll help, but the software is the important part. You can take as many people as you need to get the job done. Hell, I’ll even let you take a helicopter and fly over the area so you know what you’re getting into.”
I sighed and looked out the window. Shit.
“I’ll talk to my team. But I have to ask, is it worth all our lives? Because it might come to that.”
He looked me in the eye and nodded. “Brian, the eggheads tell me that this might lead them to a cure. An understanding of what exactly caused the dead to get up again and try to eat us. No more of the stories of aliens, the devil, or crop circles, just the truth and possibly a cure to go with it, a way to put the dead down for good. I wouldn’t ask you to go if I didn’t think it was worth the risk.”
I thought about it, but still had to discuss it with my team. We agreed I would do that and get back to him. I was pretty sure I knew what the decision would be already.
* * *
The next day Sanji, Amanda, Darren and I got into a CH-146 Griffon helicopter, from the 408 Tactical Helicopter Squadron based in Edmonton, the pilot told me proudly. His name was John Daniels, and he told us he’d flown this helicopter with a load of civilians out of CFB Edmonton just ahead of the undead hordes, and made it to Cold Lake on fumes. Since then he’d been transferred to Calgary International Airport to fly SAR—search and rescue operations. Daniels introduced us to the co-pilot, a short man also named Jon, last name Fromberg, and his engineer, a talkative man in his fifties who had a definite civilian feeling to him. His name was Don Sherman, and he helped us as we stowed our weapons and strapped in, putting on headsets so we could talk and hear each other over the incredible noise of the engines. We lifted off and flew west and a little south, gaining altitude as we passed over the fences. It was a clear day with good visibility, cold and bright. Drifts of snow had piled up against the perimeter fences, and we could see the crowds of the undead straining against them or wandering around aimlessly. Many of them looked up at us as we passed overhead, and even in the cold and several hundred feet above them we caught a whiff of the stench of decay. It’s so constant now that I almost don’t notice it unless it’s stronger than usual.
We spent the trip across the ruins of the city mostly looking out at the incredible view, pointing out to each other signs of fires, long cascade crashes of cars and trucks, places where small communities had tried to barricade themselves against the undead, and the few cleared areas where there were no undead walking or standing. We passed over the main north-south commuter road, Deerfoot Trail, an eight-lane highway that had carried tens of thousands of commuters every day, and was now a desolate stretch of nose-to-tail cars and trucks that stretched for many kilometers in both directions, thousands of walking corpses walking among them. Beyond the highway we crossed over residential areas for several kilometers, looking down on homes and vehicles that had burned, stores that had caught fire, and no one had come to put the flames out. As we passed over the south end of Nose Hill Park, a vast natural park where the native plants had been left to their own devices for many years, Sherman pointed to a small apartment building a few blocks inside the residential area that was surrounded by a barricade of cars, sandbags, and weather-worn wooden sheets. We could see no undead within the barricade.
“I heard they held out for most of the first summer in there,” he said, his voice crackling over the headphones, “and got rescued sometime in September. They signalled a passing SAR crew. Nineteen people, surrounded by over ten-thousand zombies, with no weapons other than shovels and baseball bats.”
I pondered what that must have been like as the helicopter swung around and came towards the University from the north, drifting along a few hundred feet up.
Below was a scene out of Hell itself. The University of Calgary sits on dozens of acres of built-up real estate, with student residence and administration towers rising amidst classroom buildings and laboratories. The eastern edge of the grounds is bordered by Crowchild Trail, the main highway and rail transit corridor that runs northwest from downtown. On the east side of the highway were the burned out ruins of a mixed business and residential area. Crowchild Trail itself was a field of debris and wrecked vehicles, and the only things moving were the hundreds of undead drawn towards the noise and sight of our flying machine.
We flew over the University transit station, and just to the west of that was our target, the Biology building, an eight-storey office and classroom block. It sat surrounded by tall trees, reaching nearly to the roof. We circled the building, getting a good view of the area, and the pilot was careful to keep us well above the top branches of the trees. There was a clear way to get to the roof, and we could see a door next to the elevator mechanical room on top. There was no helipad, but we should be able to hover and just step off the side of the helicopter onto the roof. Drifting east slightly we could see inside the windows on the seventh and eighth floors. As I watched, one window suddenly shattered and a lone zombie fell outwards, his hands grasping towards us even as he fell seven stories and landed flat on his face on the snow covered ground. The thing didn’t move after that.
Within the building were offices and classrooms. Outside were a lot of the undead at ground level, a few coming from the transit station and many more coming from the rest of the University grounds. Already there were a few hundred trying to follow the helicopter, and hundreds more would be here soon. We could see many moving around inside the offices as well. A plan began to form in my head, but it was going to be very messy. We were going to need extra firepower.
“Okay, I think we’re good,” I told the pilot.
“Alright. Returning to base,” said John. He took us up away from the growing swarm and turned out away to the east again.
“What do you guys think?” I asked my team.
“I think we land on the roof,” Sanji said. “Trying to get in from the ground would be stupid.”
“Yeah, roof is better,” Amanda said. “Did you see the front doors?” I shook my head, and she continued. “They were blocked from the inside. If that barricade is still holding we won’t have to worry about more of them coming from outside. We’ll only have to deal with the ones already inside.”
“Even so, I think we should distract them. The outside ones, I mean. Have the helicopter drop a noisemaker nearby.” Sanji pointed to a nearby area between several buildings. I thought that was a good idea.
We left the University grounds, flying east again towards the airport. This time we swept farther south, more towards the communities north of downtown. Again the devastation was unbelievable, and the numbers of walking corpses in the streets and alleys were too many to accurately count. All of them reacted to us flying overhead. Some stood and stared; others raised hands or mangled stumps and stumbled after us.
Looking towards the hi-rise towers of downtown I could make out the Bow River winding its way through the city. It was frozen over, a long band of ice and snow waiting for spring to thaw and flow free again.
“I want extra help on this,” I said to the others. “Maybe we can get the team
that went out with us last time.”
“Extra guns is good,” said Darren, and both Sanji and Amanda nodded agreement. I would go to see Major Couper as soon as we landed.
* * *
“We’ll do it,” I said as soon as I sat down, “but we want that squad that helped us when we went after Caroline Spencer, if they’ll come.”
Major Couper sat down behind his desk. “Alright, I’ll ask them. This one is strictly volunteer.”
“There’s roof access, a mechanical room for the elevators, and the door is chained shut. We can get in there and find our way to the labs and offices. Do you know what floor Doctor Bradley’s office is on?”
He opened a file and looked something up. “Fourth,” he said.
“Okay. We’ll have to fight our way down and kill everything in there. What floors are the labs on?”
“The second and third floors,” he said, “but remember that the software is the key. The equipment we might be able to find elsewhere. Vegreville, for example.”
“Also, the doors to the street are blocked off, like someone tried to make the place secure. It didn’t work, since the place is filled with the undead, but they can’t get in from outside. I would like some distractions anyway, to keep them away from the building while we are firing guns inside it.”
“Whatever you need, I’ll see you get.” He leaned back and looked at me. “I have another offer for you, if this works,” he said. He left unsaid that I would be very dead if this adventure failed.
“What is it?”
“Brian, I’d like you to be the coordinator for the Salvage Team operation in Cold Lake.”
I was confused. “Isn’t that your job?”
He smiled and spread his hands. “Moving on to bigger and better things, meaning my ulcer is going to get even worse,” he said, and stood up again. “What that means, Brian, is I will be here permanently now, overseeing operations here. Calgary is too important to lose. I’ll also be maintaining contact with the people in Banff, and managing that operation and the ones further south as we develop them.”
“So, I’d be in charge of the Salvage Teams?”
“Yes. You would be the liaison with the military and in charge of where the missions go, in a general sense. You’d have a staff, all the mission leaders would report to you, and most importantly, you’ll be in Cold Lake when your child is born.”
“Wait, you can’t do that because Jess is pregnant,” I said.
“Don’t be stupid. I’m offering it to you because I know you’d be good at it. I consider it a bonus that you’d be at home for the birth of your child.”
“Can I think about it?”
* * *
On the 18th of November, after the sun came up and shone brilliantly on the white snow outside, I walked the length of the terminal, and had a lot on my mind. It was cold in the main passenger terminal, the old departures floor that ran the entire length of the building. I carried a cup of hot tea and wore my jacket and gloves, and my breath steamed in the air. Signs of human habitation were few, since most people stuck to the office and living area where the heat was turned on. I passed a few guards sitting in the abandoned donut shop playing cards, waved to them and continued on. A few hundred feet farther I heard a woman laughing distantly, but otherwise it was quiet. I passed tall windows that looked out onto the road, where soldiers manned a checkpoint a few dozen meters away.
I was turning a few things over in my head, most importantly my upcoming personal call to Jess up in Cold Lake. I had a call time of 8:45, and I wasn’t going to miss it. I hadn’t spoken to her since we had brought Caroline Spencer and her sister and friend in over a week ago, and I wanted to catch up and see how her pregnancy was progressing. I had told her in that call about Eric’s death as well.
I reached the end of the main terminal, where just a few years ago thousands of travellers had come and gone every day. I stood there for some time, sipping my tea and taking in a wide view of a curving road, maintenance shops, some parked baggage carts, and a chain link fence and guard post. Beyond that was the more distant security fence, patrolled 24 hours even in the coldest weather. Outside of that was the wasteland of the undead, though right this second there were none in view, so it was actually a pleasant scene.
Couper had temporarily assigned to us the small squad that had helped us rescue Caroline Spencer. They had all volunteered once Couper made it plain what the stakes might be. We were planning to fly in to the University grounds tomorrow. Today was possible, but I wanted a day for the swarm we had attracted to disperse. Large groups of the undead always made me nervous.
The forecast, such as it was, suggested that the weather tomorrow would be much like today, very cold and clear, with little wind. So we planned to spend today doing maintenance on our weapons and gear and then relaxing. For me relaxing meant talking to Jess and the kids, and my sister Sarah, and then reading a book in the airport library.
I finished my tea and turned from the window to go back. Nathan Jaeger was walking towards me a hundred feet away, wearing a military parka with the fur-lined hood pulled up. Thomas Dand and Keiko Toyatomi had both left for Cold Lake a week ago, but Jaeger had stayed behind. I waved and went to meet him.
“Brian,” he said, his German accent shining through, and offered his hand. I took it.
“Herr Jaeger,” I said, and he snorted. I really liked this man, I realised.
“May I come with you on your mission?” he asked, straight to the point.
“So long as you understand the risks,” I said to him, and he nodded.
“I do. I wish to make myself useful.”
“Alright. I talked to my team about you the other night. I thought you might ask to join us.”
He smiled and nodded his head a little. We started back towards the office and living area.
“I would like to join you, yes. I think the work you are doing is important.”
“Are you armed?” I asked.
“At this moment, no. Why do you ask?”
“From now on I want you armed all the time. At the very least a sidearm,” I slapped the holster of my Browning on my hip, “and usually a rifle too. There are plenty to choose from.”
And there were. There was an abundance of salvaged military and civilian rifles stored here. The problem, as always, was the availability of ammunition. They were working on that. In Cold Lake there was a full-time ammunition re-loading factory up and running. One of the upcoming missions that one of the other Salvage Teams had was a raid on the largest gun and sporting goods shops in the city, specifically looking for powder and bullet lead.
We went back inside the warm office area and unzipped our coats. Walking through the hallways we passed a number of people going about morning business, until we found our way to the three offices that had been re-tasked as living quarters for ST107. I looked at my watch and saw that I still had enough time to get to the radio.
Inside, Amanda sat on a bunk bed, her wet hair dyed a new shade of red and pulled up in a bun. Her burn scars were plainly visible, but she was still a pretty woman, I thought. A disassembled shotgun lay on the floor at her feet, and she was using a barrel brush on one of the parts.
I started to say good morning, but she raised a finger to her lips and said, “Shh, you’re spoiling my Zen moment.”
I just shook my head in amusement and turned back to Nathan.
“Make yourself at home. Find a bunk and bring your things here, and we’ll get you issued some gear later on. Right now I have to call home.”
* * *
I climbed the stairs up to the radio room. “Radio room” was a misnomer for what was really a suite of rooms filled with computers and only a few real radio sets. I waited in the line with the others who had scheduled calls home, and when it was my turn I found the officer in charge, Kearns, according to her nametag, and she led me to a phone that was hooked up to a computer.
“Don’t fiddle with this,” she said, as I sat down. Officer Kea
rns pointed at the handset which sat on a cradle, and then handed me a headset with a microphone attached. I put the headset on and could hear static for a moment. She did something to the computer, and there was a series of beeps.
“You’re on,” she said, and indicated the headset. “You have five minutes.”
“Hello?” I said.
“Hi, Brian!” Jess’ voice was a little hollow sounding and there was a bit of static. The signal was being bounced off a communications satellite, I had been told. I had already told her about Eric’s death in a previous call, and she had told me she thought we had handled it correctly. He had died among friends and his last thoughts were happy ones. We spoke a little about this now then went on to other topics. I told her about the mission that Major Couper had asked us to go on.
“When are you going?”
“Tomorrow morning,” I said, “if the weather is still good. We’re taking a squad of soldiers with us, Jacobson and his bunch. They’re the ones who came with us last week to help with the rescue.”
“Watch your corners in there, Brian. Don’t let one of the dead surprise you that way.”
“I won’t, don’t worry about me. Do you remember Jacobson?
“I remember. You’re famous, you know. All of you are.”
“What are you talking about?” I asked.
“The rescue, sweetie. Everyone here is talking about it. I get asked for details everywhere I go once people know I’m married to you.”
“Huh,” I said. This was interesting.
“The rumours about Caroline Spencer are pretty interesting too,” she said, her voice hissing a little.
“Like what?”
“Oh, like her blood can be used to cure an infection. Or that she’s a carrier since she was bitten twice. Or that if you have sex with her it cures all kinds of things.”
