Enclave: A Novel of the Zombie Apocalypse

by Robert Morganbesser

  Most of the men hated the sewers. They were dark, dank, and nasty. Rats grown used to dining on dead flesh with no fear of humans crawled everywhere. The men could see their beady little eyes glowing in their night vision goggles. They squeaked and rustled in the darkness watching and waiting for any signs of weakness.

  Once they entered the sewers, Taylor and Chung made sure that everyone had their gear secured. Taylor didn’t want anyone suffering a mistake like the one that cost him his eye. This done, each man pulled on heavy gloves and activated an ultraviolet chemical light. Each light was good for several hours. Now that they could see, it was time to find an exit near the school.

  The water they walked through was ankle deep. There had not been much snow or rain recently and the use of water in the city was non-existent. All those thousands of toilets and sinks once emptied daily were no more. The city was a mausoleum, a tribute to the people that had built it, now inhabited by their shadows.

  After an hour of walking through the twists and turns of the sewer, Taylor raised a fist. What little light that had filtered down from the night sky, giving scant illumination through the street gratings was gone. This meant that dawn was fast approaching. The last thing any of them wanted to do was spend an entire day down here.

  Taylor activated his mike. "Rizzo. You're the smallest. Climb up and look through one of those gratings. See if we’re close enough. Hurry it up, clocks ticking."

  Rizzo pulled off his thrower and handed it to White. Grunting, he pulled himself up onto a low ledge and peered out.

  He saw a sight from hell.

  The dim light of the coming dawn showed him they were near the school but Zombies surrounded it. There were no Lazarites in sight, but when dawn came, they usually went to ground. The Enclaves that had airfields gave their armed craft permission to hit the Lazarites wherever and whenever sighted. This made life hard on them. One never knew when an armed helicopter or a napalm bomb from an unseen jet was coming down.

  Rizzo slid back down. While he pulled his thrower back on, he shook his head.

  "Getting in the front door is out. The joint’s surrounded. It's one of the old schools though; cast iron fence all chained up, entrances are those thick steel doors. There’s a building next door. We might be able to get in, jump across."

  Chung cursed. "Damn! I hate that shit! Let's abort! They waited this long, let them wait until we can get a chopper in here."

  "That's enough!" Taylor snarled, "Those people called for help and they’re gonna get it! They may not last long enough for a chopper. Let’s go scope it out."

  The team emerged above ground to a lightening sky and a symphony of low moans. Luckily, the sewer opened in a trash-filled alley. Moving the lid as quietly as they could, they climbed out and moved to the edge of the building. While the others made sure no sewer sludge was clogging their weapons, Taylor peered around the edge of the alley’s wall.

  Just as quickly, he ducked back.

  "Chung!"

  The second in command slid over to him. "So what's the plan Sarge?"

  Taylor rubbed his chin. "The door to the building next to the school is open so that's no problem. Keep an eye out for any squatters, everyone make sure their silencers are on. Rizzo goes first, then Huston. Ty, I want you trapping the steps the minute you’re in, Ok?”

  The team’s sniper/specialist nodded, one hand flipping open the pouch on a sack of claymore mines.

  Taylor continued, “Steve, you go third; then the rest of us. If we do it quick and quietly, we should be o.k."

  Chung looked worried. Taylor put a hand on his shoulder. "This is the last time I'll take you Steve, if that's what you want. I can get you a transfer to a training cadre."

  Chung gave him a shove. "How could you run a mission without me? A fuck-up like you would just get eaten, let's go."

  Taylor held his breath as Rizzo dashed across the seven meters of open ground. All of the men were praying that none of the zombies looked in their direction. If they did, it could be all over for them.

  So far, so good, thought Taylor.

  Huston went next, rifle slung, holding a claymore in one hand. With a swiftness that decried the bulk he carried, he was across and gone. As Chung went by, he slapped Taylor on the shoulder. Within seconds, the burly Chinese disappeared into the building.

  It was Spiros turn when things went wrong. As the C/I moved out across the street two zombies, one with no jaw dressed in the tattered remnants of a bridal gown and a second, fresher one in garish pajamas, a ragged cavity where its internal organs once lay, came out of the shadows.

  Taylor activated his mike. "SPIROS! LOOK OUT!"

  In one smooth move, Spiros drew his kukri knife and spun. With a single swipe, he took the brides rotting head off her shoulders and smacked off the other zombie’s jaw. Reversing the blade, he lopped this ones head off as well.

  Spiros took too long. Other zombies, standing furthest away from the school saw the movement. With hideous moans, they started to move toward the scene of the commotion.

  "Fuck this!" Taylor bellowed, "Everybody now!"

  Following his lead, they tore their way across the space separating them from zombies and temporary safety. As they hit the doorway, Taylor stepped aside and shoved them toward the stairs. "Get up to the roof!" He urged.

  As they pounded their way up, Huston finished his last touches. "Get up the stairs Sarge. Be careful not to hit those wires."

  Taylor went up one flight and stopped. Unlimbering his shotgun, he hissed. "Let’s go, Huston!"

  Huston was starting up the stairs when the pounding started. Now it was a race for survival. As he and Tyler made it to the third and final landing, they heard the claymores go off. The explosion was like a clap of thunder followed by a whine like thousands of mosquitoes. Huston grinned, "A whole bunch of them are out of our misery.” Then Houston added the good news. “Those stairs weren’t too rotted. Claymores or not, they might still be able to get up here.”

  “Then let’s get the hell out of here!”

  Taylor and Houston burst out onto the roof to see everyone standing about. Running over to Chung, he demanded, "What the hells going on?"

  Chung pointed. The roof was blocked by barbed wire. Two neat strands of it. Leaping right over was impossible.

  Taylor looked around. Damn! He felt his vest, thinking it might be time for that grenade.

  Young tapped him. "Sarge?"

  Taylor spun. "What?"

  "I've got an idea."

  "Why me?" Rizzo whined.

  "Because," answered Lonnie. "You a little shit." Young glanced back at White, who, looking nervous, had put the flamethrower on his back. The younger man looked like he was going to puke, his hands white-knuckled on the flamethrowers grips.

  Rizzo, stripped of gear, was about to be thrown across the chasm. Once there, he would throw a line back. That was, if he didn’t hit the wire, bounce off and fall to a gruesome death.

  Taylor turned to White. "White! Stay cool! Anything comes up the stairs, torch it."

  Looking pale and nervous, White peered into the dark stairwell.

  Below them, the Zombies were milling about. They knew that food was above, but were too stupid to go up.

  Finally, those standing in the remnants of the ones destroyed by the claymores; forced against the stairs by other zombies entering the dwelling, started up. The stairs, blackened by the explosion were still able to hold weight. Creaking as the zombies began crowding up toward food, the banister snapped off, sending several zombies crashing to the ground. Ignoring the plight of their fellows, the rest kept plodding up toward the roof. Slowly they crowded the stairs, these things that had once been husbands, fathers, mothers, lovers. Now they were just mindless automatons that wanted to rend and devour the flesh of the living. Filled with a hunger that no living being could conceive, they began the slow climb to the roof.

  As the zombies, snarling as they bumped into one another, staggered up the stairs, they hit a
second booby-trap. The claymore went off, splattering several of the creatures, knocking more of them backwards down the stairs. This time the troops on the roof weren’t so lucky. Here the explosion caused the wood to ignite. Dry and rotted in places, the walls and stairs caught quickly, tendrils of fire spreading in all directions. The BodySnatchers first warning came when smoke started billowing up out of the stairwell.

  White panic in his voice, shouted, “Sarge! The building’s burning!”

  Taylor gave the dark smoke one glance and shouted, "Now!"

  Grunting, Young and Spiros threw Rizzo across. He howled all the way. With a gut wrenching feeling, Rizzo hit the wire and bounced. . .

  . . But his clothes caught the barbs and held. Fortunately, it was the older kind, not concertina, which would have shredded him. After a moment of swift prayer, Rizzo stabilized his footing then pulled out his cutters and snipped some of the wire away, before tumbling onto the roof. Lying there gasping with fear for a few moments, he climbed to his feet, tied one end of his line to a chimney, and threw the other end across.

  Taylor glanced back at White. The private was backing away from the door while peering into the stairwell. Grabbing Chung he said, "Start moving them across!"

  Spiros and Carter went across first carrying the precious radios. Once they were on the other side, Huston and Young went. Before Young moved out on the line, he threw Rizzo's flame-thrower across. Young and Rizzo caught it, falling back on their asses to make sure they didn’t drop it. A flamethrower was an excellent weapon against the zombies. The creatures would go up like torches when exposed to flame. As they got up, Rizzo started checking the weapon over, glad that this wasn’t the heavy WW2 version.

  Taylor slung his shotgun as Chung started across. He could feel the roof heating up. Taylor spun as White fired. The flames shot out and down into the stairwell, causing the dry wood to combust with a loud roar. Zombies caught in the blast, having virtually no moisture in their rotting bodies, went up, the fat remaining in their frames igniting. Several tumbled backwards into the gloom, knocking others down, spreading the blaze further. Taking a step toward the man, Taylor paused.

  "White!" He screamed. "Come on!"

  Taylor grabbed onto the rope as the building shook. White was moving but too slow! With a sudden cracking of timbers, the roof beneath his feet collapsed. Screaming, White disappeared. As the rest of the roof started to collapse, Taylor urged himself to greater speed. There was still the mission to complete.

  As the others pulled Taylor up onto the roof of the school, the top floor of the small building collapsed inwards.

  White was gone.

  23 April 2032

  Brooklyn, New York

  P.S. 333

  Taylor waved the men into a defensive stance. Other than the barbed wire that surrounded the roof, there were no other measures to keep out invaders. Taylor chinned his mike. "Bennie, what do you think?"

  Carter’s voice was tight with the loss they all felt. This was the first time the team had a newbie assigned, and they lost him. A bad omen as far as the radioman was concerned.

  "I don't like it. Why wire the roof? Zombies can’t jump, everyone knows that. The way this shit is here, it could keep a rescue team out or at least slow them down. Far as we know, the Lazarites don't have any air, so whoever’s inside couldn't be worried about that."

  “Yeah,” said Chung. “But Lazarites can leap and these people didn’t know how long it would take us to get here, if we came at all. That radio message was pretty low.”

  “Still,” replied Lonnie. “If they knew we heard their message, why not leave someone up here to keep an eye out? This sucks.”

  "I agree," cut in Spiros. "I think we should cut all this shit down, dump it before we move in. For all we know the building is infested with zombies or fucking Lazarites. It could be a trap.”

  Taylor crept to the edge of the roof and peered over. The gates of the heavy iron fence were chained shut from the inside. There were at least two hundred zombies out there in the rising sun, with more moving away from the now burning building. He couldn't see any Lazarites, but he could feel them out there. They were like vultures, always waiting to pounce.

  "All right, listen up! Huston, I want you to scan those buildings across the way. If you see any Lazarites, take em out. Spiros, Rizzo, Young. Start cutting the wire down and get rid of it. All of it goes over this side where the zombies won't see it coming down. Chung, Carter. You're both with me. We're going in."

  As the three men started cutting the rusty wire and tossing it over the side, Taylor shouldered his weapon and stood before the door. Behind him, Chung and Carter lifted their weapons and nodded.

  Trying the door, Taylor grimaced. The heavy steel doors would not budge. Rolling his eyes, Taylor twisted the knob again, but accomplished nothing. Well, he thought, I know how to take care of that! Taking a bit of C-4 plastique off a block of it, Taylor wedged it into the lock. Quickly he shoved a piece of fuse with a blasting cap into the putty like mass. Pulling out a lighter he snapped it to life and touched it to the fuse. As it started to sputter and burn the men backed away. Chung hissed into his mike, "Fire in the hole!"

  All the men stopped their work and watched as the door flashed and popped open. As the smoke cleared, Taylor and his part of the team moved forward. . .

  The top of the stairwell was dark and empty. The team quickly clipped flashlights onto their weapons. Made of steel, the lights could also be a secondary weapon, strong enough to crush a skull. As they moved forward, Taylor raised a clenched fist. After a moment, he motioned Chung to come along side.

  "Look at this," whispered Taylor.

  Chung peered into the gloom. "Barbed wire strung along the stairs? What about an escape?"

  "You ask me," answered Taylor. "These people don't want to be rescued. Let’s get rid of this shit."

  "You think its Lazarites?"

  Taylor nodded.

  Within a few minutes, the wire was cut away and tossed out the door. Chung keyed his mike. “Spiros, toss this shit over the side too.”

  On the roof itself, the others were finishing up. Taylor, Carter, and Chung came back out onto the roof. Once they did, Taylor motioned for everyone’s attention. Keeping an eye on the door, he said, "I think we may be in for trouble. We're going to head down as soon as the sun comes up a little more. I want you all to keep your eyes open. We'll check every floor. I don't want anyone alone."

  Rizzo pulled his 'throwers nozzle out of his belt. "Want me to lead, Sarge?"

  Taylor shook his head. He led by example. He would never ask anyone to do anything he wouldn't. "I'll take point."

  Taylor nodded to the men. Within seconds, they were all ready to enter the forbidding building. Behind Taylor came Carter. His grenade launcher was loaded with a flechette round. If they did run into trouble, they’d give more than they got. The men moved silently, the only noise the squeak of the stairs.

  The fifth floor of the building was just a series of empty rooms. It appeared that whatever furniture the rooms contained, from the scraps remaining, were broken up and carted off. Whether for fuel or to board the lower windows, the men didn't know. Most of the schools built during the LaGuardia era were like fortresses, the large wooden doors covered with steel. Some, but not enough, had become refuges for people fleeing the zombies. They were easily defendable and many held Civil Defense rations and equipment. These rations weren’t the best, but if they kept one’s stomach filled until rescued, who cared?

  They found the radio hooked to a hand-powered generator in a room on the fourth floor. It sat alone on a marble-topped table. The rest of the room, once someone’s office was littered with empty cans and wrappers. Chung went to the radio, gave it a good look, and whistled.

  "This thing looks like it's been around since World War Two!"

  “Well,” said Houston. “A lot of schools in East coast cities were stuffed with civil defense stuff during the cold war. I’m surprised more of them w
eren’t used as evac sites. I mean look at this place, with the right people they could hold off an army.”

  Taylor looked around the room. Behind the desk where the radio sat was a second door. This one was half-wood, half-frosted glass. The jamb around it appeared weak. Making a motion to the others to fan out, he tried the knob. The knob turned but like the roof, the door was locked. Seeing that the door opened inward or away from him, he held his shotgun and raised a foot. Nodding to the men, who held their weapons ready; he raised a foot and smashed it against the door. The jamb exploded into shards of wood. As they moved through the door, a shrill scream filled the air.

  There were two of them, a couple of teenagers. When the door had burst inward, they scrambled for their clothes, which were mostly off. Taylor, his one eye glaring, motioned silently with his weapon for them to get dressed.

  A second scream, more of a shout of pain, brought the team’s attention back to the outside. Taylor came out of the room to see Spiros holding a man in a dark, tattered suit around the throat. While one hand held the man, the other had a .357 magnum pressed to his skull.

  A knife covered in dried blood was on the floor.

  "What happened?" demanded Taylor.

  Spiros shook his prisoner. "This piece of shit tried to stab Rizzo! If he was alone, he'd be dead." Rizzo was glaring at the man, hands opening and closing on the grips of the flamethrower.

  Taylor looked at the captive. He was pale, as if he hadn't seen the sun in quite a while. He also stunk. Taylor knew that many survivors hoarded water, but a little washing never hurt.

  "Chung, Huston!" He ordered. "Go back down the corridor. Check the room this jerk came from." Taylor tugged a pair of plastic riot cuffs from his belt and tossed them to Rizzo.

  "Put him on his face and cuff him."

  Rizzo looked at the silent, helpless man. "But Sarge he’s probably just scared.