by Luke Duffy
Stan nodded to him and then turned to the veteran.
“Go and assemble a gun team, and meet me back at the tunnel.”
Kyle stood up, having received his orders, and took off at a brisk jog towards a group of militia that were standing idle, looking worried, and crowding around the entrance to the tunnel while they awaited further instructions.
“You fuckers,” he called, sounding more friendly and relaxed than his words implied. He waved them towards him, the troops reluctantly obeying and approaching with frightened expressions but clearly willing to be commanded and guided by a man with his experience. “You’re with me.”
Stan turned on his haunches to glance over his shoulder at the gate and watched the men and women that were still in position as they continued to fire their weapons into the crowds below. He caught sight of Kyle and a number of the militia racing along the walkway as they collected the machineguns. They were already heavily loaded with belted ammunition, and grabbing more as they made their way from one tower to the next.
“I’ll just be happy to get out of this death-trap,” Bull grunted.
“What about comms?” Taff asked.
“We’ll get what we can from Ron,” Al replied. “We don’t have much, but I think we can manage a VHF set with enough range for each group. The smaller, personal sets are in short supply, too, but we should have enough so that each team has internal comms.”
The doors leading into the complex behind them suddenly opened with a bang. They turned and saw Tommy standing there wearing his armour and equipment and carrying his rifle. He was ready to join the fight.
Al looked back at him and studied his face. There was no expression there at all. No hint of sadness or even a trace of fear. He nodded towards the group, and then called back through the door, waving someone forward from the interior.
The first group of civilians began to file out from the building, flanked and herded by some of the guard force and led by a man in civilian clothing whose eyes were as wide as saucers. The men and women of the first group huddled together for comfort and reassurance as mothers pulled their children closer. They all appeared terrified, but they walked through the chaos in silence, squinting and gagging at the reek of the burning corpses beyond the wall.
“Keep a tight grip on them,” Tommy ordered as he stepped away from the line of civilians.
He raised his finger and pointed it to the man leading them. It was Nigel, one of the civilian leaders. He was not a soldier, but a council member for the mostly civilian population of the base. It was not clear if his terrified appearance was as a result of the predicament they were in or if Tommy was the cause.
“Line them up at the tunnel entrance, and make sure you keep the place clear. Don’t let it turn into a cake and arse party, Nige.”
Leaving the packet commanders to guide the civilians to their forming up points—FUP—Tommy joined the small gaggle of people that were attending Stan’s orders-group.
“Tommy,” he grunted with a nod, introducing himself to the strangers as he crouched down beside Al.
Bull looked at the two men, eyeing their homemade armour that was made from black leather and thick plastic and compressed cardboard. Their shoulders were covered along with their chests and backs, with vambraces and greaves made from the same material protecting their arms and legs. He understood the need and practicality for their appearance, but his humour was fighting to the surface.
“Who are you two supposed to be? Batman and Mad Max?”
“You’re with me on this, mate,” Al informed Tommy, ignoring Bull’s taunts and bringing his friend up to speed on what was being decided. “We’re heading for the depot along with Charlie here.”
Tommy nodded but said nothing. He seemed distant, almost disinterested as he stared down at the maps and sketches that Stan had laid out on the ground in front of him.
Another man appeared, pushing his way through the throngs of civilians and headed towards Tina. He hobbled as he moved, his pale and sweat-soaked face contorted with pain. Stan watched him as he approached them and noted the white bandages that were wrapped around his legs and arms. They were soaked with blood, and it was obvious to him that beneath the dressings were bite wounds. The man reached the group and slumped down so that he was kneeling beside Tina, his drawn face and sunken eyes making him appear like someone who had recently escaped from a slave labour camp.
“That’s the recreation assembly point moving,” he reported with a grimace. “Gary and Jim are leading them through, but they’re moving too slowly and they’ve a long way to go. There’s too many of them, and they’re crammed into the corridors like sardines and moving at the pace of the slowest person, which is roughly the same speed as a startled slug.”
“Thanks,” Tina smiled sadly.
She could see that the infection was already tearing through him, causing him immense pain and suffering. But she could also see that he would not let his condition beat him, and that he would soldier on until the very end. He stood up and headed towards the wall.
“I’d better get over to the tunnel and help out,” he croaked.
“Greg,” she called after him.
He stopped and turned to her. She wanted to say something, but she could not find the words. She did not want to tell him that she was sorry or offer him the chance to rest while others did the work. He would not take kindly to such words. Instead, they watched one another for a moment, saying nothing until the man’s face changed from an expression of physical pain and exhaustion to one of absolute resolve and determination to continue with the fight, doing all he could to help the other survivors. He turned and headed away, following after Nigel and the first group of evacuees.
She saw Stan glaring back at her. He raised a questioning eyebrow and nodded towards the spot where the wounded man had been standing.
“He was bitten earlier today,” Al informed the group. “He was with me in the sewers trying to find a way through when we got jumped. He knows he’s already dead, but he’s a tough bastard, and will never give up.”
“Sounds like a good man,” Taff added thoughtfully.
“He is,” Tina confirmed, staring at the dirt around her feet.
Stan nodded, watching her for a few seconds before turning his attention back towards the maps laid out on the ground and the men assembled around him. He began his summary of the operation, ensuring that everyone understood what was required of them.
Charlie would move first, followed by Taff towards their respective task locations. Shortly afterwards, Stan and Tina would begin making their way through the tunnel with the main body of the survivors from the base, headed towards the rendezvous with Taff.
“Once in the RV, we’ll set up a perimeter, and wait on the buses. Make sure that your people are in good order. Keep them two abreast in the tunnels and tight together,” Stan instructed Tina. “Keep them quiet. We don’t want anyone flapping and giving the game away because they lose their nerve.”
“What happens if there’s no vehicles that can be used at the depot?” Al asked. The question had been weighing heavily on his mind.
“We’ll have no choice but to walk,” Tina shrugged.
“What about your two anti-tank guys? The one’s you left outside?”
“What anti-tank guys?” Taff grinned.
“Bluffing cunts,” Al snorted.
“We needed an ace card of some sort, mate. Yeah, we were bluffing,” Taff grunted. “For all we knew, you might have thrown us in a pot.”
“We’re not quite at the stage of cannibalism just yet, mate,” Al huffed.
“Grab as much ammo as you can,” Stan ordered to Taff and the rest of his men before turning back to Al. “We don’t have much, so would you mind sparing some?”
“Sure thing.”
“Get your comms and troops together,” Stan said, turning to Charlie and Taff. “You’re moving out in five minutes. We’ll be right behind you.”
“Stand by,” a voic
e shouted from behind them.
It was Paul, warning them that he was about to dump the last of the fuel onto the infected. The gates were once again beginning to rock as the flames died and the dead regained the initiative and relaunched their assault.
Everyone dropped to the ground and covered their faces, curling themselves into a tight ball. The fuel exploded like napalm, engulfing hundreds more of the attacking dead. The heat blasted through the walls and the gate, causing the already terrified civilians to scream and throw themselves into whatever cover they could find.
“Keep moving,” the soldiers around them cried, ushering them towards the tunnel. “Get up and keep moving.”
Stan turned and looked up in time to see the orange and black fireball as it mushroomed over the wall. He felt the heat wash against his face and the ground beneath him rumble. That was the last of it. There was no more fuel now and nothing to stop the dead.
“That’s it. That’s us. Charlie, Taff, grab your radios and get your guys moving.”
18
Within just a few minutes the advance groups had disappeared into the mouth of the tunnel, moving towards their jumping off positions and ready to begin their charge through the sewers. Sent forward by Stan to clear the route and secure their objectives, they were to act as the pathfinders for the main body of survivors.
“That’s us in position. Moving now,” Taff’s voice crackled through Stan’s earpiece over the radio-waves.
Stan was standing at the entrance and peering into the gloom. He could not see Taff, but he could see the individual lights of the assembled men and women of his team, bouncing from one wall to the other as they took off running into the darkness. They needed to move fast, to clear the sewers as quickly as possible, and reach the bus depot and the rendezvous because Stan and the rest of the survivors from the base would be moving very soon. Once they were deeper into the tunnel, and especially within the sewers, communications between the groups would cease and no one would know how the others had fared until they were out in the open again.
“Good luck,” he called after them.
He stepped back and looked around him at the others that were anxiously awaiting his commands. It was cold and the clouds of their steamy breath came in plumes as their hearts thundered and their bodies shivered. The sound of the dead battering away at the walls and gates had reached the point where ordinary speech was impossible. The thunder of guns and the hollers of the living mixed with the crescendo, creating an atmosphere of terror that surged into the souls of the men and women assembled.
Sebastian was doing all that he could to console his dogs, speaking to them soothingly and assuring them that all would be okay. There were three of them standing beside him, pulling at the chains that were wrapped tightly around his wrists, barking and whimpering alternately.
The two German Shepherds were foaming at the mouth, bearing their teeth and wanting to break free and attack the hordes of infected. Their instincts to protect their human owners were overriding their own need for self-preservation as they attempted to pull away and charge towards the dead. They jerked and snarled, their hearing and sense of smell driving them wild as the legions of reanimated monsters pressed in with their siege.
“Okay, it’s going to be okay,” the dog handler cooed.
He crouched down to comfort his favourite animal, a Border collie named Lucky. He turned and looked back at Tina.
“I think they know more than we do about the situation.”
Ron was standing a few metres away looking bored and smoking a cigarette while, supposedly, helping to maintain control of the assembled evacuees that were lined up and ready behind him. Even by Stan’s composed and mysterious standards the man seemed remarkably reserved. Ron noticed that Stan was watching him and turned to face him with a questioning, almost challenging jut of his chin.
“Are those VHF sets you gave us likely to work?” Stan asked.
He asked the question in order to judge Ron’s mind state. The man did not look right as far as he was concerned.
“Fucked if I know,” Ron grunted, shrugging his shoulders and flicking his cigarette to the side. He turned away and walked back towards the rear of the first group of evacuees.
Stan watched him as he went. The man did not even turn to see if there was any kind of reaction to his passively hostile attitude. He really seemed to care nothing about what was happening or for the people around him.
What radios they had, and believed to still be in working order, had been centralised and redistributed amongst the three groups. Not even the militia that were still manning the perimeter had any communications now, and the two advance groups were carrying radios that could not be guaranteed to work over any real distance. They had tested them, but they could not be sure that once they were mobile and the range between the groups grew, that the radios would still be powerful enough to transmit and receive. Stan at least wanted Ron’s reassurance. Instead, he received an overdose of insufferable arrogance.
He felt his blood begin to simmer, and for a brief moment, he considered raising his rifle and putting a round through the back of the man’s head. At another time and place he would not have hesitated or given the matter a second thought once completed. The only thing that stopped him now was the fact that such an action would cause panic to erupt from within the ranks of the nearby civilians who were already close to the point of breaking. He decided to leave the matter for now, but he would never forget it. Being a forgiving, or even tolerant person was never something that he was particularly well known for. Beneath his white-washed exterior lurked a monster that bubbled and toiled, always having to be restrained by a conscience that barely kept him within the ranks of normal civilised behaviour. He turned his attention back to more pressing matters.
Up on the wall the gunfire continued, but it was incapable of holding back the tide of dead. As far as Stan was concerned, the troops on the defences were wasting ammunition and time. The infected, numbering in their hundreds of thousands were now smashing at the gates at the east and west again, having lost huge numbers to the fires but remaining determined to break through. The barricades were holding, but only just. Time was running out, and there was still no sign of the second group of civilians that were slowly making their way through the complex towards the tunnel.
“Get your guys down from the walls,” Stan ordered to Tina. “It’s no use now. We can’t hold them, and they’ll be trapped if those things break through.”
She was standing beside him with Flash and Greg close by. She turned and nodded to Flash who then jumped up and sprinted off towards the west, headed for the gate and the militia on the far side of the base that were putting up a valiant resistance there. From their position, they could not see what was happening on that side due to the buildings of the inner complex, but they could clearly hear the intensity of the gunfire beginning to rise.
“Where’s the second group?” Stan asked impatiently.
“Still moving,” Greg replied before breaking into a bout of sputtering coughs that ended with bloodied spittle dripping from his lips.
“Still moving?” the veteran gasped with disbelief. “Who’s leading them? Miss-fucking-Daisy?”
Greg’s face was ashen and drawn. He was sweating profusely and clearly becoming weaker by the minute. He stared back at Stan with shining, fevered eyes from deep within their hollowed sockets. Stan had seen that same look a thousand times over the years. They were the eyes of a condemned human being. Someone who knew they were going to die but would meet their end while standing on their feet rather than their knees.
“The rec-room is at the far end of the complex, and there’s nearly a hundred people in that group, including the sick from the med-centre,” Tina replied.
“For fuck sake,” Stan uttered, turning around and checking the progress of Taff and his troops in the tunnel. “They’re taking too long.”
Behind them was the first column of civilians that would move forward. Th
ey stood in silence, shivering from the cold and fear, their faces pale and filled with uncertainty and staring at the door to the tunnel. There were many children within the group, huddling their parents and looking around with terrified eyes, flinching with every gunshot that echoed from the walls. Their parents did what they could to console them, but they too were clearly frightened and agitated, unsure of what would happen and hoping that they would soon be moving.
“Prepare the move,” Stan uttered with a sigh, knowing that they had no choice but to hope that the second group would make it there before it was too late.
From just a hundred metres away came a gigantic clang. The unmanned north entrance was under a heavy assault as the dead hurled themselves at the barrier. The assembled civilians yelped and hollered and began to push forward, eager to gain as much distance between them and the gateway as possible.
“Kyle, bring your team up,” Stan ordered with urgency.
He could see the crowd of evacuees beginning to surge and knew that a rout was imminent. Once the panic took hold there would be no way of stopping them, and the evacuation would instantly crumble into an uncoordinated stampede. He peered into the tunnel’s entrance and saw the faint lights of Taff in the distance. It was time for them to move, regardless of whether they were all there or not. The second group from the recreation room would just have to catch up or be left behind. It was clearly that simple as far as Stan was concerned.
The veteran made his way towards the head of the column with his gun-group. There were seven of them altogether, carrying three of the machineguns from the vacated towers. The soldiers moved forward, bristling with belted ammunition that criss-crossed over their chests and protruded from their pouches. They sweated and panted as they struggled with the weight of the heavy equipment and followed after their new commander. Kyle had chosen the most experienced of the soldiers available to aid him as the fire-support group. Each of them had been gunners within the towers and knew how to handle the heavy weapons.
