by Luke Duffy
“Oh, fuck me,” he gasped, staring at the scene that panned out before them. “How the fuck did they find us?”
“In,” Al yelled with urgency, as he snapped out of his shocked silence. He began pushing against his friend, unable to take his eyes away from the horde. “Get in. Up, over the trucks. Fucking get in, Tom.”
They scrambled up and over the fused vehicles, their boots scuffing against the rusted frames as they grasped for a foothold. As they bounded over the hoods and roofs, the steel flexed beneath their weight and let out hollow metallic clunks that resonated loudly through the open space of the ground level. The noise that the men made no longer mattered, but getting over the barricades did. Dropping down onto the other side, the two soldiers turned and peered back through the twisted metal and broken windows of the trucks, staring in shock at the mass of dead that shambled towards them.
Shaking his head with his eyes alight with fear and confusion, Tommy struggled to form his words.
“How…” he stammered. “How the fuck did they know we were here?”
He glanced across to his friend who had a similar expression etched into his face. Both of them were shaking their heads, their mouths hanging open at the immensity of the crowd that staggered towards them.
“Do you think this is what happened to the others? Is there something here, or on us, that attracts them?”
“Fuck knows, mate.”
Al just shook his head slowly, unable to make sense of the situation, his eyes fixed on the sea of gaunt and decomposing figures.
“Come on.”
They turned and headed deeper into the gloomy parking level. The noise behind them began to build, and as their pursuers reached the barricades, their haunting moans filled the spacious base level of the complex, sounding like a howling wind tearing through the hollow building and searching hungrily for the living.
Sprinting through the rows of parked and ruined cars, the two men reached a door set into a wall in the centre of the ground level parking area. The crescendo of the dead howls and the beating of fists against the barricades behind them was growing intensely. It was enough to make them feel nauseous, knowing that the infected were in pursuit and in vast numbers. A quick check revealed nothing in the immediate area, but the cold darkness on the other side of the door made them hesitate.
Al led them inside, forcing himself to confront the unknown with the barrel of his rifle pointed into the blackness. Tommy followed, sealing the door behind him, and feeling a shudder run along the length of his spine. Once inside, the voices of the dead sounded more distant and less of an immediate threat, but neither of the men were left in any doubt that they were surrounded and with no immediate chance of escape. The building was completely enveloped by a sea of rotting bodies.
A set of stairs appeared from within the blanket of darkness. The cold, hard steps, damp from the moisture in the air and illuminated by their torches, led up towards the next level. With no other choice they began to ascend, slowly moving higher and aiming their rifles in front of them as their footsteps echoed through the dank stairwell. They remained tense and alert, expecting a gnashing face to lunge at them from any of the countless dark corners, and at any moment.
Six storeys up, panting heavily from exertion and fear, they emerged through a heavy steel fire door and on to the roof that was bathed in the glowing moonlight. Without a word, they pushed left and right of the doorway, fanning out and covering their flanks as they began scanning the expanse of the top level, sweeping their rifles in an arc as they cleared their immediate area. Together they edged forward, their boots crunching against the gravel as they advanced. A light breeze brushed against their faces, the air seeming much fresher at that altitude as it whispered at their throbbing and bleeding ears.
Nothing moved up on the roof, and they nodded the ‘all clear’ to one another, allowing themselves to relax slightly and release the tension from their muscles. They lowered their rifles slightly as they scanned the rooftop, but remained alert and ready to fire on anything that jumped out from one of the many structures around them.
Tommy turned and looked back through the entrance and down into the dark pit of the stairwell, checking that they were not being followed by a mob of ravenous corpses. He could still hear them in the distance, their poignant and frustrated moans rising up through the pitch-black staircase, but he was confident that they were still on the other side of the barricades, and for the moment, they were safe from attack.
Out on the rooftop in the pale light of the moon and amongst the air-conditioning units and elevator machinery, they could make out a number of crumpled and static objects. In the centre, just twenty metres away, a cluster of uniformly shaped bulky items sat neatly piled together in a row. Around them, scattered at variable distances across the gravel, lay smaller, more randomly shaped forms. As Al and Tommy drew closer, they realised that they were looking at the bodies of their own men who had gone missing three years before.
Having been trapped on the roof of the building as they were now, the group had taken their own lives. How long they had held out for was impossible to estimate, but the scatterings of empty brass bullet cases indicated that they had fired off all their ammunition in an attempt to thin out the crowds below, and most likely saving the last rounds for themselves.
“I think this is Harry,” Al grunted, staring down at one of the sprawled corpses, his voice filled with remorse as he was forced to relive the loss of a friend.
“Yeah,” Tommy replied from a few metres away, also looking over the pale bones of another body. “I think this was Davey. I remember how much he loved these fancy boots.”
There were six bodies altogether, each of them easily identifiable as one of their friends. For years they had fought, laughed, and mourned with one another, side by side. They had suffered more than they deserved throughout the rising of the dead, and through years of proximity, reliance, and necessity, they had known everything about one another. Now, the whispers and rumours of the men having run away to find a safe place to live, were expelled as pure fantasy. They had all died here on the rooftop of the parking complex, alone and just a few kilometres from their home base.
In the centre, the larger items revealed themselves to be the equipment of the men. Their packs and exhausted supplies were piled neatly together side by side. There, Al and Tommy hoped to find the High-Frequency radio, but they had no idea if it would still be in working order and if it was, how they would get it and themselves back to base.
Tommy peered over the edge of the rooftop and down into the black throng that was swarming around at the base of the building. It was impossible to see the pavement below, and there were more of them coming from the adjoining streets.
“You really are a complete wanker,” he spat, turning to Al, and shaking his head. “You just couldn’t help yourself, could you?”
Al said nothing. He glanced around him and at the remains of the men who had died there many years before while trapped in the same way that they now were. He considered how long they would last before they suffered the same fate. They were carrying very little in the way of food and supplies, and even their ammunition was beginning to run low. He removed the magazine from his rifle and then counted the remainder he had tucked into the pouches of his vest.
“Five mags,” he huffed.
“Yeah, I’m about the same.”
Al stepped across and began sifting through the moss covered packs, searching for the heaviest that would be an indication of which was carrying the radio. It only took him a minute to find it. He unclipped the top flap and reached inside, feeling the cold metal of the set, and then pulling it free. Tommy stepped over and shone his light down over Al’s shoulder as the big man inspected the piece of ancient looking communications equipment.
“You think it’s still working?”
“Haven’t a clue, mate. It looks fossilised to me,” Al shrugged while scratching his head. “Ron’s the expert on this sort of thi
ng.”
Both of them knew that it would be pointless to try switching it on. After years of sitting on the rooftop, the battery would be dead and useless. However, it was something that they had to try. Al flicked the switch and pressed the handset to his ear, clicking the send button and blowing into the mouthpiece a number of times. There was nothing. The usual static hiss of the HF radio was replaced by a dead silence. Their only hope was that it was just the battery and not the set itself.
It was heavy and bulky, appearing like something that had been in use since the middle of the last century and in fact, it had been. The Clansman UK/PRC 320 HF radio had first been developed in the 1960s. It had proven its worth and was a tried and tested piece of equipment. Although complicated to the partially trained, expert users were able to establish communications with it from across the globe. Most of them had been phased out of service by the end of the first decade of the twenty-first century, being replaced by the more advanced Bowman communications systems, but when the outbreak began, military units were using whatever equipment they could get their hands on.
Al detached the battery and unscrewed the antenna. It was the radio itself that they needed, and the less weight that they were carrying the better. He stuffed it into the empty pack that he unslung from over his shoulders, securing it tightly so that it did not move around or jut out from his back when he moved.
“Ron, this is Al, radio check.”
He tried numerous times, but there was still no answer. They were now, more or less, in direct line of sight from their base location. The VHF radio that they were carrying, although small and with a short planning range, should still have had no problem transmitting and receiving from their elevated position. However, a reply never came from anyone at the FOB. He unclipped the set from his harness, checked the battery and frequency, and then finally ensuring that the radio was actually switched on. All seemed to be in working order. They had carried out a ‘comms-check’ before heading into the tunnel, and they had sent and received to Ron clearly and at full strength.
“Ron, Gary, Tina, anyone,” he snarled into his mouth-piece. “Pull your fingers out of your arses, and answer up. We’re at the first location. We’ve found the radio, but we’re trapped. Acknowledge, over.”
Al tried a few more times before ripping out his earpiece and kicking his boot across the gravel, sending a multitude of small rocks and a cloud of dust scattering across the rooftop. He grunted his annoyance as he stuffed the radio back into his pouch. He moved across to the wall and looked out over the dark rooftops of the city, a concentrated and determined expression in his eyes. He chewed his bottom lip, grunting and nodding to himself as he made his assessment and attempting to ignore the wailing and clambering dead below them.
“Now what?” Tommy asked, hoping that Al had suddenly thought up a solution to their dire predicament.
“Fucked if I know,” Al shrugged, turning to him and shaking his head. “I was hoping you’d have an idea of what to do.”
“Dick.”
Tommy spat over the side, turned away, and then slumped against the wall before dropping into a squat. The sound of the voices below filled the air, becoming more intense as thousands of the reanimated arrived at the parking complex. They were trapped.
4
Even Ron was beginning to show signs of concern. Instead of his usual disinterested, apathetic self, he was now turning dials, checking antennas, and repeatedly calling for a radio check through the VHF communications, demanding that Al or Tommy answer up. He spat the stub of the cigarette from between his lips and onto the floor. He immediately reached for the packet and lit a fresh one.
Tina remained standing by the door, watching the concentrated expression on his weathered and heavily lined face, and feeling the hairs on the back of her neck beginning to prickle. If Ron was starting to worry, then that was a sure indication that the rest of them should begin to panic. The old man was always a mile behind everyone else with his emotions and reactions, and now she could see that he was steadily growing more anxious.
“Well?” she asked, hoping that she was just misreading the situation and that Ron was somehow going through an uncharacteristic moment. “Anything?”
Ron glanced back at her as he took a long drag from the cigarette without removing it from his lips. He squinted as the plumes of smoke curled up over his face, and exhaled loudly. He shook his head, and then turned back to the radio.
“Al, Tommy, this is zero, comms check, over.” He tried again and again, but there was never any reply. It had been the same story for hours.
“When did you last hear from them?” she asked.
“Just before they left,” Ron replied with a grunt. “We did the usual checks, and their comms seemed to be working fine.”
The night watch along the wall had reported the sound of gunfire during the early hours and what they believed to be a detonation of high-explosives. No signature had been seen, but they were sure that it could have only come from the city. Everyone was doing their own math on the matter. Outside of the FOB there were very few people left alive, especially within the urban areas. It would be highly unlikely that there would be anyone else other than Al and Tommy out there, and with the lack of radio communications people naturally began to suspect the worst.
Tina could physically feel the dread knotting her stomach, forming a solid, cold ball that grew within her abdomen. She was pacing now, wringing her hands, and constantly watching over Ron’s shoulder. The two men should have returned by now. It was early morning, and not a sign or signal had been received from them. She knew their mission and the route that they had intended to take, and she was already considering going out after them.
“Keep trying,” she ordered the radio operators.
She left the cabin and raced towards the steps, taking the rungs two at a time, and bounding up towards the top of the wall. By now it was light enough for her to see the ghostly buildings of the city in the distance, and the land appeared to be shrouded in a blue haze as the morning mist slowly lifted. Raising her binoculars she scanned the skyline, hoping to see something that would give her an indication of where her men were. There was no smoke, no tracer, and no flares. The urban area was as eerie and desolate as ever with no indication of anything having happened during the hours of darkness.
There was, however, something different about this particular morning. Out in no-man’s-land, she could see the tell-tale jerky movements of a number of corpses. All around the perimeter, the guards were seeing and reporting the same thing. Shadowy forms lumbering across the debris cluttered ground, tripping through the wire, and squelching in the mud. It was not yet a full on advance, but there was no doubt about it; after years of keeping their distance, the dead were on the move.
“You said you heard an explosion?” Tina called out to her left along the wall to one of the sentries.
“Not me,” the man shouted back from the nearest of the machinegun positions that overlooked the wasteland. “It was Denise from the night shift. It was her who reported it.”
Within minutes a dishevelled and sleepy looking woman arrived on the walkway. It was Denise who had been dragged from her sleep to report first-hand to Tina on what she had seen and heard. She yawned and rubbed at her eyes, looking irritated at being forced away from her rest period. She looked up at Tina and saw the aggravated expression on her face and the intense look in her eyes. Denise instantly snapped out of her drowsy state, knowing that Tina would not be interested at the inconvenience that was being placed upon her. She had witnessed the woman’s temper before, unleashed against others, and she held no desire to find herself in the firing line.
“What did you see?” Tina snapped, impatiently. She turned away and continued to scan the horizon.
There was a moment of silence. When the answers did not come Tina turned back to Denise. The woman was staring out over the walls towards the city, a horrified and panic-filled expression steadily claiming dominance over her
face. Tina followed her gaze and watched the bodies that were stumbling through the mud towards the walls. At that moment, there were only a hundred or so of the infected advancing, but they knew that it would not be long before more of them began to close in.
“Oh my God,” Denise gasped. “They’re coming back.”
“Yes, they’re coming back,” Tina snapped. “Now tell me, what did you see?”
“It was over in that direction,” Denise began, pointing towards an area of the city that was north-west of their current position. She was now doing her best to appear focussed and cooperative, eager to give Tina as much information as possible, but her attention kept returning to the bodies closing in on the FOB.
“It was at around three in the morning. I saw a big flash and a bang. After that, it was all quiet. I reported it to the guard commander. What do you think it was?”
“Al and Tommy. They’re out there and haven’t come back, and no one’s heard from them since they left.”
“Oh,” Denise replied, looking down at her feet and suddenly realising the reason for Tina’s appearance of a woman who was about to fly off the handle.
“You sure that you heard and saw nothing after that? No flares or fire?”
“Yeah, I’m sure. There was nothing. It was as quiet as always from then until the end of my stag.”
Tina nodded and dismissed her. Denise, not wanting to hang about for longer than was necessary, quickly disappeared down the steps and headed for the complex, leaving Tina on the wall and considering her options.
She looked around her and at the people within the base. There were very few soldiers left now, and most of the civilians could not be expected to assist her in a search and rescue mission. Most of them had arrived as refugees seeking shelter and protection. A few had been capable of joining the regular soldiers, but the majority were just too terrified to consider anything more than protecting the base from the safety of the wall. She blamed herself for that fact. In the early days she had relied too heavily on the troops to carry out the dangerous work instead of insisting that the ordinary men and women gain the skill and experience that they needed. As a result, the trained soldiers slowly dwindled, and eventually she was left with a good defence force, but no real offensive capabilities. Now, after so long, to suddenly demand that the base militia step up and venture out from behind their walls would lead to panic, maybe even a revolt.
