by Luke Duffy
Finally, they emerged into a wider section and climbed a short flight of steps. Their feet touched dry ground for the first time since they had entered into the sewers as they walked over the metal grated floors of the lower levels of the pumping station. They entered into a vertical shaft containing a flight of ornate, Victorian iron steps that spiralled up towards the surface. Beneath them and under the grates was the machinery of the pumping station.
Kyle had been the point man for the majority of the journey, leading the way and guided from behind by Charlie and the corpses that lay in his path. He wondered to himself if being chosen as the lead scout was due to his reliability or whether Stan was punishing him in some way for voicing his concerns and opinions a little too loudly and too frequently. Wading through the foul smelling water, listening for and scrutinising every sound had been exhausting, but it was nothing he had not done before. For over thirty years now he had regularly operated against one form of enemy or another.
Again he had his doubts about how a large column of mostly frightened civilians would bare up to such conditions. The evidence lay all around them that the people in the base had already tried and failed in an attempt to break out for themselves.
Another series of thumps bellowed from further up in the tunnel as someone beat his fist against the solid steel doorway. Kyle glanced to his right and saw the dim silhouette of Mark. He was almost invisible except for the faint shape of his head and shoulders being highlighted from the lights of the other team members ten metres behind them. He turned and saw the others clustered together and standing in the small enclosure of the shaft on the opposite side of the gate. Their torch beams reflected from the pale steel of the hatchway as they waited for a reply from the other side.
There was a sloshing sound to his front, coming from the black mouth of the sewer tunnel. Kyle and Mark strained to listen, trying to identify how many there were from the sound of the water being disturbed. It was impossible to tell.
“Fuck this,” the veteran finally huffed, and reached for his light.
The beam was powerful and reached far into the darkness, revealing the thick, mildew covered pipes and drains that hugged the walls and ceiling of the tunnel. Roughly twenty metres away and highlighted in the bright white circle of Kyle’s light, a figure was wading towards them. Due to the narrowness of that particular section, it was difficult to tell if it was alone or if there were more following. He flipped down the NVGs from on top of his head, the curved walls becoming visible in shades of luminescent green and impenetrable black. In the centre of the tunnel glowed the crooked body of a man that seemed completely transfixed by the light that was shining from up ahead.
“We’ve got a straggler,” he called over his shoulder and warning the others.
“Are there any more with it?” Mark asked, straining his eyes.
“None seen.”
“I’ll sort it,” Mark volunteered, and began to push forward.
Kyle followed after him, keeping the infected corpse bathed in his light as they closed in. He knew from experience that they could not afford to take their eyes away from the thing, even for a few seconds. The dead had a habit of disappearing into the gloom and then suddenly re-emerging at close range as if from nowhere. It was more of a natural ability on their part rather than a deliberate tactic. He had been surprised, almost being overwhelmed, on many occasion by such incidents.
The veteran watched as Mark dealt the lethal blow and let the body drop into the water. He moved his light from left to right ensuring that there were no more of them creeping through the shadows unnoticed.
“Fuck, that one reeked,” Mark huffed with disdain as he began to edge his way back towards Kyle. “Looks clear now.”
Taff and Bull were standing directly in front of the door and nervously waiting for a response. Stan was just behind them, looking as calm as ever, but clutching a high-explosive grenade in his hand with the ends of the pin already crimped together for an easy release. Charlie and his men had moved up the steps towards the main building of the pumping station to post sentries at street level while one of them, Nobby, remained halfway up the twisting staircase to act as a link-man between the two groups.
“Try again,” Stan whispered with an encouraging nod.
Taff stepped forward and raised his fist towards the hatch. He cringed at the thought of having to beat his hand against it again. In his mind they had made enough noise as it was. He feared that it was only a matter of time before something in the streets or underground with them took notice of the hollow, metallic thuds.
“Wait,” Bull said, placing his hand on Taff’s shoulder and stopping him before he was able to strike the barrier again.
The others around him paused and held their breath. They could hear something. Someone was on the other side.
“Get back,” Stan ordered, looping his finger through the ring attached to the grenade pin.
There was a heavy clunk as the locking mechanism was turned, followed by a faint whine. Bull raised his rifle and pointed it at the seal of the door, moving to the side of the frame and presenting a smaller target.
“They’re coming out.”
Taff stepped back, dropped into a crouch, and took up a similar position on the opposite side from him. Only Stan remained where he was in order to get a clear view of what was on the other side, ready to pull the pin and sling the grenade through the doorway before jumping for cover.
The hatch began to move, opening slowly. As the air-tight seal was broken, a breeze brushed against their faces as the slight differences in the two atmospheres equalised. A shaft of faint light flowed out from the narrow gap in the doorway, dancing over the threshold and casting the stairwell in a pale glow. The door opened further and the light became brighter, suddenly shining into the faces of the assembled men.
No one moved or spoke, but kept their weapons trained on the various points where the lights emitted from. As the gap in the door grew larger, the light grew more intense until the cramped cavern of the stairwell was illuminated by an array of bright, flickering beams.
“Don’t shoot,” Stan demanded, his finger tugging gently at the grenade pin.
Bull took up the first pressure on his trigger, instinctively knowing that attached to the individual shafts of light would be the barrels of rifles that were being pointed straight at them. His eyes narrowed and his body tensed, ready to spring into action if Stan’s grenade came hurtling past them or someone from the other side fired. He remained still, holding his ground and aware of his movements. His weapon was now trained on the closest of the lights and the indistinct shape of the person that was standing directly behind it. Within the blink of an eye, Bull could place a tight, five round grouping of shots into the centre of mass of his target, dropping them instantly.
“Hold your fire,” Stan hissed again through the doorway, hoping that his words were not falling on deaf and frightened ears. “Don’t shoot. We’re not here to fight you.”
The lights remained shining into the faces of Stan and his men, fixing them to the spot, and exposing them as easy prey. It was a situation that they had expected and planned for. There was no other way of them coming face to face, and they knew that the first encounter would be a twitchy affair. The team needed to keep their cool, relying on their steely nerves and avoiding any aggressive movements or provocation. Stan, however, would keep a tight hold on the grenade in his hand until he was sure that the meeting was not about to erupt into a bloody shootout.
From beyond the hatchway a number of figures moved, shifting their positions as they anxiously searched for a safer firing point. Bull would have laughed if the circumstances had not been so serious, and he instantly came to the conclusion that most of the group facing them were obviously made up of untrained and inexperienced troops. Their breathing and nervous movements spoke volumes to him through the silence, and if he had not been such a seasoned veteran, he may have panicked himself and opened fire at some of the flitting shapes, misinterpreting th
eir movements as being aggressive.
For what seemed a long time the two groups stood staring back at one another, refusing to lower their weapons as the anxious silence shrouded them. Directly in front of Bull and Taff stood a huge man, Taff’s light shining into his broad face and revealing his scarred features. The rifle in his hands, appearing like a child’s toy, was pointed directly at Bull’s chest. He stared back at them, his red-rimmed eyes locked on theirs and his body language displaying a high level of suspicion and simmering aggression towards them.
Taff was the first to move. Slowly, and with extreme caution in order to avoid making any sudden movements that could be misinterpreted as being hostile, he lowered his weapon so that the barrel was pointed towards the ground in front of the large man’s feet. He straightened up from his partial crouch, giving the people beyond the doorway a clear view of him and presenting himself as a man willing to place his faith in their self-control.
“Like the man said, we’re not here to fight with you, bud,” he stated in his thick Welsh accent, adding an affirmative nod of his head.
The man standing in front of him straightened a little, growing even larger in size. His eyes squinted and then widened slightly as he recognised Taff’s voice. It was the same voice that had been speaking to them through the radio before their high-frequency set had broken down on them and severed their communications.
Bull followed Taff’s lead and also relaxed his posture a little, lowering his weapon but keeping his finger resting against the trigger. It would only take a fraction of a second for either of them to raise their weapons again and go onto the offensive, but for now they wanted to appear less intimidating and more approachable. In that kind of situation, it would not take much for a nervous person to snap and loose off a number of rounds once that the strain became too much for them. He stood up straight, revealing his full size and bulk, mirroring the mountain that was standing beyond the threshold before them.
“Jesus H. Christ,” a disembodied voice drifted towards them from within the darkness beyond the door. “That fucker’s as big as you, Al.”
Al and Bull watched one another, each studying the other and forming their own judgements on their capabilities and intentions. The voice was not mistaken. The two men standing on either side of the doorway were monstrous, well above six and a half feet, and with shoulders as wide as the hatchway.
Bull stared back at the monolithic man. Just from studying his stance, how he held himself and the information that his eyes relayed to him, he knew that it would be a hard fight if things went wrong.
The man’s features were hard and weathered. A huge scar left a large portion on the side of his head bare where the healed tissue prevented his hair from growing back. His stern expression conveyed a lifetime of military experience, and his unflinching stare told a thousand stories of horror and brutality. But there was something else in his eyes, and Bull could see it clearly. Behind the concentrated and terrifying glare there was a man who had refused to let go of his humanity. He was intelligent and compassionate, but right now the animal that was willing to kill was on the surface and in complete control of his actions.
“Everyone lower your weapons,” a female voice ordered from within the darkness. “Let’s keep things friendly.”
Immediately every gun barrel was pointed away from Taff and Bull. Even the big man at the entrance to the tunnel averted his aim and adopted a friendlier posture. Now that the lights were no longer glaring into their faces, the team were able to see the people in front of them more clearly. From what they could tell, there were possibly eight of them altogether, all heavily armed, clearly ready and very willing to fight.
“Are there any more of you?” the faceless feminine voice asked.
“Yeah, there’s a few,” Stan replied, staring at the exact spot where the woman’s voice came from, but still unable to see her.
There was no point in lying or trying to conceal their numbers. Kyle and Mark were behind them while Charlie and his band were up on the surface. The people in front of them would soon see their strength if they allowed them entry. Any attempt at deception at this stage would be a bad start to any future cooperation that they hoped to share. If the group from within the base suddenly decided to attack them, there was very little that Charlie and his men could do to help Stan and the others anyway. It would only take a few bursts of automatic fire, even a grenade being tossed through the door to deal a deadly blow to Stan, Taff, and Bull. Within seconds the hatch could be sealed again. Stan had no choice but to place his trust in the survivors standing on the other side.
“Call them in,” the voice ordered after a few moments of thoughtful silence. “Tell them to keep their weapons tight, and call them in.”
Within a couple of minutes, the whole team were through the door. The tunnel suddenly felt overcrowded now with so many bodies standing together in close proximity. Kyle and Mark were the last to enter. As they stepped through, a figure shifted beside them, appearing like a giant phantom from within the shadows along the walls. He reached for the hatch and pushed it shut, slamming the locks into place before turning to face them.
“What the fuck have you been eating in here? People?” the veteran grunted as he eyed the large man and then turned to look at Bull. “Are you two related?”
“I’m better looking,” Bull replied flatly from the gloom.
Another figure stepped forward from amongst the shadows. Of average height, slender, and moving with a masculine gait, but even in the darkness it was unmistakably identifiable as a woman. She turned to face Taff and nodded, seeming as though she was about to speak. The Welshman grunted, took a slight step backward, and cocked his head towards the man standing just behind him and to his left, indicating Stan. The woman instantly recognised what was being wordlessly said to her.
“You the commander?” she asked.
Stan nodded. He took a step forward, his scarred face becoming clearer in the dim light. The woman watched him for a moment, studying his posture and the blank but frightening look in his eyes. She saw nothing within his face, not even the faintest trace of emotion or even life. There was no hint of a smile or softening of his eyes. His face was a mask of complete emptiness; a blank canvas that was incapable of holding paint. He stared back at her, his eyes boring deep into her as though he was able to see into her thoughts. He did not blink or turn his gaze, but remained fixed upon her. She shuddered internally.
“I’m Tina,” she finally said, holding out her hand and hoping that a moment of contact would break the cold armour of the man.
“Stan,” he simply replied as he shook her hand, the expression in his face remaining completely unreadable.
From the corners of her eyes she checked on the dispositions of her own troops. The militia were behind her, with Al to her left and Flash to the right. The newcomers were covered, but she could sense that it would take less than a split-second for them to react. She recognised that a gunfight at such close quarters between the two groups would result in a catastrophic loss on both sides, and she doubted that anyone would survive when she caught sight of the high-explosive grenade in Stan’s hand.
She could sense that both groups were nervous, except for Stan, of course. The man seemed to be utterly unaffected by the circumstances and the tenseness of the situation. It was as though he was completely detached from reality, looking in on their world from somewhere far away while controlling a robot in human form by remote. Tina shuddered to think of where his mind truly was.
The men looked hard and mean, covered with beards and an array of mixed clothing and weaponry. They appeared more like mercenaries than members of a legitimate army, but there was no such thing as the army anymore, and Tina suspected that she and her troops looked no better. Stan and his group had clearly been through a lot. She could see the horror in the intense stares in their eyes, and the physical and gruesome scars upon their flesh. For a moment she wondered just how brutal and ruthless they had needed to
be to have survived for as long as they had. She imagined that they were once probably part of a much larger group and had most likely lost many of their number over the years. However, she also saw that they were still human beings, surviving against the odds and doing all they could for one another, just like she and her people had done for over a decade.
She stepped back and shrugged her shoulders.
“Okay,” Tina began, realising that someone needed to do something to release the strain of the situation.
She could already see that the commander of the new group was not about to order his men to relax just yet, so she took it upon herself to make the first move towards progression.
“Let’s skip the foreplay, shall we?”
“Yes, let’s do that,” Stan replied, holding her gaze.
“We’re here, hemmed into this slaughter chamber, and at your mercy,” Taff pointed out. “If we wanted a scrap, would we have let you do that?”
“I doubt it. But why are you so trusting? You don’t strike me as the type of men who would happily waltz into the unknown.”
“We’re trying to turn over a new leaf,” Bull snorted from the shadows.
Stan shrugged. He was quiet for a moment, and everyone seemed to be waiting on him to speak. He was tempted to say nothing, but he knew that he needed to wrap up the preliminaries as quickly as possible, breaking through the barriers of distrust and uncertainty so that they could move on.
“You know what a LAW-94 is?” he asked coolly.
Having never served in the infantry, Tina had no idea what Stan was referring to, but just one glance at Al told her that he fully understood the veiled threat. Al’s jaw muscles had stiffened visibly even in the dim light, and his full attention was fixed upon Stan. He leaned across to her, his glare remaining on the newcomers.
“It’s an anti-tank weapon,” he murmured. “A shaped charge that can punch through most armoured vehicles.”
“We’ve left two of our men topside with eyes on your base. If they don’t hear from us within the next couple of hours, they’ll put a big nasty hole through one of your gates,” Kyle sneered. “Is that trusting enough for you?”
