Bachman navigated through the blood-soaked carpet, littered with whole arms, bone fragments, spinal cords, thick veins, and matted hair. It dripped from the ceiling and covered every conceivable surface. He could hear the blood dripping against his suit.
“You don’t have a gun?” he could hear Peter question. “Where are your weapons?” His voice was getting higher.
“I’m not military; I’m a scientist,” he stated.
“We’re fucked!” Peter remarked.
Bachman could see his hands drop to his sides in quiet resignation.
He stood outside the chamber.
They were easy to tell apart, even though they were both in identical suits. Peter was tall, stretching the suit to its limit. Whereas Emma was short and the arms and legs were billowing out, making her look much fatter than she probably was.
“Well, are you coming out or not? Together we can get out of here,” Bachman stated.
“But you’re unarmed, how do we fight these things without weapons?” Peter’s voice became whiny. “We are safer in here. One tried, it couldn’t get in. We have water, filtered air. We will wait for a real rescue.” He attempted to cross his arms, but the suit was too bulky. They dropped back to his sides.
“Don’t you get it? There is no cavalry. This place is the last stand. When this place failed, we failed. There is no backup, no retreat. If you wait in there, you will die, and it will become your tomb.” Bachman watched to see how they would respond.
“I will take my chances. There has to be someone else?”
“How long have you been screaming on that radio? Hours? Apart from me, who else has replied?” Bachman walked around to the doors. He almost tripped on a severed arm.
“Like I said, we will–”
Emma turned and slammed a hand on the button for the fumigable transfer hatch. Before Peter could stop her, she was inside. The outer door wouldn’t open until the white mist descended and sterilized her suit. She then opened the next-door and stepped out into a pool of congealing blood. She then pointed a finger at her chest, then at Bachman, stating, I’m with you.
97
Lindell
Inside the farmhouse
Just outside New York City
The place stunk of mildew and rot. The rain had obviously got in somewhere. But there was also something else he couldn’t put his finger on. Something familiar.
The small cloakroom, or reception area, led to a large kitchen. The place once was the heart of the farm. It was a long room with stone tile flooring, and thick oak cupboards and a dark slate work surface. At one end, was a large open fire that filled most of the wall, with its thick wooden mantelpiece. A long old, well-worn table ran down the middle of the room.
He could just imagine the meals and conversations that went on around it. He examined it all down the barrel of the machine gun, as he scanned around the kitchen, checking every corner – every shadow.
It had been ransacked. Cupboards were open; some doors ripped off the units. Mud and trash littered the stone floor. A single light bulb swung in the breeze – the source of the welcoming light. It had obviously been left on when the owner vacated, and when the power grid was working, the bulb lit up, giving false hope and an alluring beacon.
Lindell walked toward the sink. He turned the tap. After a gurgle, and dark muddy water, the tap started to run clear.
At least there’s water, he reasoned. It hasn’t been a wasted trip.
Rain lashed against the windows. A few were broken. Rain puddled on the work surface, and ran down the cabinets, collecting on the stone floor. The obligatory pile of dead leaves was piled into one corner – there were always dead leaves, even if there wasn’t a tree for miles.
Lightning flashed, creating quick images of what lay beyond the dark windows. A frozen snapshot.
Lindell heard footfalls.
No way has it been five minutes!
Alex ran in. One word crossed his lips that explained everything, and made Lindell’s legs shake.
“Infected!”
Just then, two naked, reaching arms smashed through the small kitchen window. Lightning flashed, reflecting off large deformed, bloodshot eyes.
98
Terrance, Tierra, Dante, Jessica, Troy, Bonnie, Naomi, and Frank
Inside the barn
Just outside New York City
Terrance watched his brother running up the hill with Alex, until their bodies merged into the darkness.
He stood upon the ledge of the upper hay bail door, looking out, scanning the darkness. It was cold, and he wished he had a blanket to wrap around his shoulders. He would have used one of the smelly horse blankets, but he knew, given an hour or so, the others would be using them to keep the cold at bay.
The soft crying of Bonnie drifted up.
Poor child. She’s just a kid really. Losing her brother; all she had in the world. But she’s young; she’ll pull through. She has no choice, not if she wants to survive. Everyone has lost someone. No one has gone unaffected by the changing world.
There were no words he could offer. No reassuring touch. Sometimes people had to get things out of their systems. Crying was the body’s way of healing. His mother used to say, “Blood is the body’s way to show we are damaged, and tears are to show our souls are injured.”
He missed his mother. She was a kindly soul. One in a million. Always helping others. Always there for anyone in need, regardless of what it required doing. Nothing was below her. She went in the first few days of the looting. Some young gang banger broke into her apartment and left her bleeding on the floor from a head wound while he made off with her few belongings.
“Life is cruel. Life is unfair. Life is a complete bastard sometimes. We have to pick ourselves up and shake ourselves down. Let everything run off our backs. If we let it take a grip, it will pull us down. Crush us and spit us out. Only the strong survive, and it’s the obligation of the strongest to carry the weak.”
He remembers those words as if it were just yesterday. They were some of the last words his mother said to him when she had turned from the window after seeing the fighting in the street outside. It made her sad, seeing people she knew turning into thieves.
Lindell was there as well, helping to pack up their mother’s belongings to take her back to Lindell’s apartment, to keep her safe.
That’s when they heard Rene, their mother shout out, as they were packing up some of her things in another room. Outside, down on the street, two youths were forcing Mr. Campbell from apartment C7 onto the ground while they stole what little food he had managed to find.
In the short time the two brothers ran down to help Mr. Campbell, and got back to their mother, she was dead.
Things can happen so quickly, in the blink of an eye. Things change. Things end – sorrow created.
That’s why instead of going it alone the two brothers agreed to help those in their apartment building, it’s what their mother would have wanted, and of course, it was the right thing to do. She raised them well, with no father and little money. “Character is more important than money,” she used to say whenever they struggled. “The struggle that is life is called The Long Road,” she used to state when they complained. “The Long Road that never ends.”
He never truly understood that statement. The Long Road? Now it was crystal clear. Life was one long straight struggle. Sometimes we find side roads, and turnoffs that give us temporary relief, but eventually we have to get back on that Long Road.
Terrance looked down into the barn. Only a small light inside the jeep was on, illuminating the large space. He could see Frank administering to Jessica, who was still unconscious and with a burning fever. They didn’t even have water to keep her cool.
Naomi stood inside a stall, away from everyone, smoking. All Terrance could see was the red ember of her cigarette glowing. He warned her about the danger of all the straw. She had given him a look and wandered off. He noticed she was shaking, and he had a feeling it
wasn’t from the cold. He knew she had been taking something. You would have to be an idiot, or naïve not to notice. It explained her mood swings.
Tierra was rocking the sleeping Dante in the corner. She hadn’t put him down since the hospital, apart from letting him pee in a corner. She was obviously shaken from the soldier trying to toss the child out of the window – understandably. Her mother’s instinct was working overtime.
Another storm had just started with the heavy rain causing a loud tattoo on the wooden shingles. It came down in sheets. Drips rained down from the leaking roof.
Tierra walked over and grabbed a smelly red horse blanket. After giving it a good shake, she returned to her spot and huddled beneath the blanket with her son. The warmth it offered was more important than the smell.
As if on queue, even though Jessica was burning up, she felt cold to the touch, Frank collected a blanket and wrapped it around his stooped shoulders. He then got another and laid it over Jessica, careful not to touch the metal pipe in her leg.
Terrance had glanced at her leg before climbing the ladder. The discoloration has spread, with clotted blood around the pipe. Even if they got her to a real hospital, her chances were slim. She would lose the leg at least. However, there was no rescue, no location where the injured are taken. Hospitals were the first places that were looted, taking all the drugs and equipment. Her outlook was bleak; it was simply a matter of time.
Was she going to linger, or die during the night?
Terrance turned back to survey the terrain outside through the curtain of rain. He caught a glimpse of something in the mud way off over to the left. A glint reflecting off something, from the very weak light of the farmhouse. He stared at the area, thinking he was imagining it. Then a flash of lightning lit up the land, and in that split second, he could see a man crouched in the mud.
Then he could hear the muffled pops of gunfire up on the hill.
99
Doctor Bachman, Peter, and Emma
Level 36
The underground bunker
Quirauk Mountain, Pennsylvania
Within a minute, Peter was out of the hatch and by Emma’s side.
Once they unplugged their breathing pipes, and water supply, the suit’s built in filter kicked in.
“You were going to leave me?” With what could be seen through the view port, he looked hurt.
Emma shrugged her shoulders.
“How do we get out?” Bachman asked, cutting to the chase – they could have a tiff when they got outside.
“There’s a maintenance warehouse up on the first level with a large hanger door. We can also get to the main bunker through level 19,” Peter explained.
“I was up on level 1, and it’s being patrolled by a vicious little bastard pod, and covered in bodies, which I presume are up and walking about by now.”
“Pod?”
“The creature with spidery legs.”
“You know about them?”
“Now’s not the time to give a history lesson. We need to get out. Our only option is through the main Wonderland bunker.”
Bachman noticed how quiet the infected were inside their glass chambers. Just their eyes moving – watching – taking everything in.
Emma was looking from Peter to Bachman.
“I presume there’s no emergency exit you could elaborate about?” Bachman was tired, hungry, smelly, and wanted to get outside so he could strip the suit off.
“Not that we know of. We are only low level grunts.”
“Shit!” Bachman went to lean on a desk, but it was covered in gore. “So level 19 is our only chance?”
“It’s a large city; we could hide easier in there.”
“I don’t plan on hiding; I plan on getting out of this death trap.”
Emma put her thumbs up.
“Is there anything you’re waiting for?” Bachman asked.
“Errrm, no.”
Emma pushed passed both Bachman and Peter and headed for the lift. She turned and gave them a Well-Are-You-Coming-Or-Not look.
100
Lindell and Alex
Inside the farmhouse
Just outside New York City
Before Lindell had chance to raise his weapon, Alex put two bullets into the creatures face. It fell away backwards ripping part of the window with it. Another rushed through the kitchen door at the same instant. Lindell peppered it with machine-gun fire. It tumbled backwards, withering on the floor, spurting blood.
Is the house surrounded? Was there just two? Lindell thought. There was no way of knowing.
Move into the house, or back outside? Two choices. Each could get them killed.
They could hear banging, as if something slammed into a door on the other side of the house.
Lindell nodded towards the way they had entered. At least they knew what was out there. The other way was unknown. If infected was in the area he wanted to get back to those in the barn.
Lindell moved in front of Alex and headed toward the door, jumping over the naked body.
There was gunfire outside.
They both gave each other a quick glance.
Had Terrance seen the creatures run up the hill and come to give us a hand? Lindell had no way of knowing. It could be someone who was here already. For all he knew, they could have released the infected to attack them.
Lindell rushed through the door out into the yard. He ran into a curtain of heavy cold rain.
There was a soldier on the ground with two infected creatures chewing on his glistening intestines.
A soldier? Is he from the town? Did some of them follow us? Or is it just a coincidence, and someone who lives here was dressed that way?
Terrance!
His thoughts were racing.
Are they down attacking my brother?
The rain was too hard, and the thunder too loud to hear if there was any gunfire from so far away. The barn was just a dark blur in the distance.
Alex raced after Lindell as Lindell jumped the short wall in one bound.
One of the creatures looked up.
Alex shot it in the face. As the second turned toward the sound of the weapon, he put a bullet in its forehead. He then put a hand on the wall and jumped over, chasing after Lindell.
From the side, another naked blur streaked across the mud towards him. The first bullet hit it in the arm, spinning it around. Alex didn’t stop to see if it was following.
Lightning flashed in the distance, hitting a tree in a nearby field. A large section split, cracking down the trunk in a brilliant flash and burst of flames, that instantly died away. The boom of the roaring thunder followed a split second after.
The flash momentarily blinded Alex. He stumbled and fell onto his front, sliding along in the wet mud. Luckily, he held onto the weapon. He was quickly on his feet. He glanced behind to see if he was being chased. He wasn’t.
In the distance, Lindell outpaced him.
Then there were popping sounds and small flares of light. Someone was firing a weapon down near the barn. Then the loud .50 cal could be heard returning fire.
101
Terrance, and the others
In the barn
Just outside New York City
Terrance slid down the ladder, landing heavily on the straw covered ground. As he landed, he shouted to get everyone’s attention.
“Everyone down; we have incoming weapons fire!”
At first, they were confused. That is until the loud sound of machine-gun fire echoed from outside, followed instantly with a line of bullet holes in the wall. Splinters flew through the air.
Everyone dropped onto the ground.
Frank lowered Jessica down behind the hay bale, not that it gave any protection, but it was all he had.
Tierra lay on top of her screaming son.
Bonnie didn’t move; she remained in the corner, crying, as if nothing was happening, lost in her own world of pain. There was nothing anyone could do to make her feel worse.
> Naomi crouched down and huddled in the musty smelling straw. It took her mind off her missing bag.
Troy climbed from the cab and ran around the end of the truck. He held a handgun. He started up the ladder for higher ground, to hopefully pick them off.
There was more weapons fire from outside. This time it was a longer burst. Bullet holes riddled one section of the wall. Farm implements that were hooked to the walls flew off, with the sound of the bullet’s ricocheting off the rusty metal.
Terrance jumped up into the jeep. He aimed at the holes and fired. It didn’t just create larger holes; it shredded the wooden walls in a billow of sawdust and flying straw.
There was a cry of pain from outside.
I got one of the bastards!
Terrance spun the weapon and fired at the other grouping of bullet holes. The sound of the .50 cal inside the enclosed space was deafening. Dust rained from the rafters from the vibrations.
Up on the loft hatch, Troy could vaguely see the outline of a man holding his gut, squirming in the mud. Even wounded the man used one arm to keep firing. The barrel flare gave Troy the location he needed. It took three shots, but he managed to hit him. The man lay unmoving.
The gunfire stopped.
Everyone held their breath. All that could be heard was Dante’s muffled crying.
Terrance stood behind the large machine gun, poised, waiting.
He could hear a few more burps of weapon fire, but it sounded like it was aimed in another direction.
“It’s us Terrance, your brother and Alex; we’re coming in!” the voice shouted, just as they came bounding through the barn door.
“Whoever they are; they are running back to the road,” Lindell stated. We fired off a few rounds. Don’t know if we came close to hitting them or not.”
“There were also some up at the house,” Alex hollered, due to his ear’s ringing.
The Sixth Extinction America Omnibus [Books 1-12] Page 26
