Road to Grissom: Part three of the Aftermath series

by Duncan McArdle

  “I’d offer you one, but we’re not sure how long we’re gonna’ be out here”, John said to Jen, who herself was starting to get up and prepare for whatever she had planned for her own day. “Don’t want to go giving things away and then running out before we make it back home”.

  “Don’t worry”, Jen replied, “I’ve got plenty of my own, and know plenty of places to find more”.

  “God I hate this stuff”, Danny jumped in, himself having just now sleepily wandered into the group and grabbing the nearest ration on the countertop, not even bothering to check what it was. “It all tastes the same, no matter what’s in it, and that is definitely not a good thing”.

  Smirking at Danny as the younger man stuffed his face, John set about rolling out a map of the local area across the counter-top, just as Devon too arrived and began tearing into a breakfast.

  “Jen here tells me she’s pretty sure the stadium’s being used as some kind of base”, John began, pointing to the stadium’s location on the map for his fellow survivors to see.

  Still not particularly trusting of their new associate, both Danny and Devon shot a glance over to the girl – who stared back undeterred – as some kind of confirmation, before looking back to the paper in front.

  “Before we head out though, we need to make our way through this place”, John continued, “From here”, he said, pointing to their current position at the front of the building, “To here”, he added, sliding his finger the full length of the block all the way through the hospital and out its rear.

  The hospital wasn’t as large as the kind of multi-storey suburban hospitals that could house thousands of patients without breaking a sweat, but it was by no means small. In order to traverse its length they would need to make their way through numerous buildings, navigate various obstacles and do all of that in the face of the strong possibility that something – alive or dead – could be lurking around every corner. But they’d come here to tick this place off the list, so one way or another, that’s what they needed to do.

  “Pretty sure this place is overrun”, Jen interjected, now in the process of repacking her gear, “I got here a couple of days ago and haven’t seen a car since. If this place wasn’t full of the dead, it’d be full of people instead, and I would have seen them”.

  “Well we don’t want to take any chances, we need to know this place isn’t where they’re holed up”, John explained, “There’s no use coming all the way out here just to skip on past”.

  “Your funeral”, Jen replied, still facing her backpack and so not really joining in with the group.

  “So”, John started again, “Eat up, get ready to go, and let’s be out of here in five. I want to be through this place by the end of the day, and onto the next spot before sundown”.

  “Got it”, Devon replied happily, following orders like the soldier he was and quickly making his way back to his makeshift bedroom.

  “Sure”, Danny replied less convincingly, before doing the same.

  John meanwhile set about preparing for the day ahead. First he checked the barrel of each and every weapon, especially the M16 – a gun that if he ever needed to use, he’d really need to work – before reloading all current ammunition and then holstering them appropriately. Next he withdrew his knife and checked for defects, and then once again placed it into its usual spot. Finally, he set about rummaging through the various items in his backpack, making sure he’d left nothing behind, and that everything he needed was accounted for.

  Jen meanwhile was doing much of the same. Her past gun experience meant she too knew the value of a daily inspection, one she carried out with impressive efficiency. Next she set about re-lacing her boots and making sure her clothing was comfortable, and tying up her own backpack. What was strangest though, was that in what was perhaps some homage to the old world, she ended her routine by rearranging the sofa that she’d slept the night on, getting it back to its original condition, as if tidying up for the next person. John wasn’t sure why she bothered with the thankless task, but he found it interesting nonetheless.

  “You could come with us you know”, John said, looking over to the younger girl. “We could use someone like you out there, and back at camp… hell they’d love you”.

  “Thanks but I’m good”, Jen replied, “Like I told you, I’m not big into spending my time in a group”.

  “Not a group”, John pointed out, “A community. Somewhere like the old world, where people actually live instead of just survive, somewhere with hope and possibility”, he said, before stopping upon realising he was beginning to sound like an obnoxious infomercial.

  “Oh please, like it’ll last any longer than all the other sanctuary’s out there”, Jen replied, contorting her face sarcastically as she said the word, “They all end the same way, blood and death”.

  “Not this one”, John said, “This one’s different. We have enough people to fight off the biggest horde you’ve ever seen, enough bullets to keep out anybody we don’t want in, and enough space to take in as many as we can find. My wife helps out with chores, my kid even goes to school, it’s not what you’d expect”.

  “I’ve heard it all before”, Jen replied dismissively, now turning to face John across the counter and then slinging on her backpack, “But I prefer to be alone, believe me”.

  “Ready to go”, Devon interrupted, pacing in from John’s left with Danny close in tow.

  With that, John gave one final, continuous stare straight into the stubborn Jennifer’s eyes, trying with all his might to keep this girl from making the mistake of thinking she was better off alone, but ultimately realised that it was pointless. “Alright”, he eventually replied, looking away from the girl and instead diverting his attention to the double doors that led into the next section of the hospital.

  The doors had been open when the group had arrived, with the keys left in but the locks not engaged. John’s theory was that this showed nothing had been sealed in, which was definitely a good thing, but that didn’t quite reassure him enough. Before going down for the night, John had orchestrated a convoluted set of furniture moves that had barricaded the doors shut in about as sophisticated a way as they could manage, which all three men now set about dismantling. Of course, breaking down the barricade was much easier than originally constructing it, especially as they could simply throw the various parts to the side, so soon enough they were ready to go, holding up their sidearms, and pushing the two doors ajar.

  What revealed itself in front, albeit in a difficult to see, low level of light, was a long corridor stretching around twenty metres, flanked on each side by large floor to ceiling windows, and ending in an almost completely darkened area that John imagined was probably the split off point for a series of different departments. The windows lining each side housed the usual levels of dust and dirt, and the floor itself appeared to be coated in a layer of what could only be described as sludge, but other than that, the corridor remained empty.

  After ascertaining that the area in front appeared to be safe, John gave the signal for the trio to move forwards. Content that the only person to their rear – at least for now – was Jen, John had opted not to assign anybody to watch the back, instead focusing their attention in front and to the sides. As such, John led the charge down the centre, his eyes focusing ahead whilst still taking in some things in his peripheral vision, whilst Devon took the left, and Danny the right.

  Through the glass on each side, small outdoor green spaces could be seen. Arranged in a symmetrical manner, both gardens had a number of empty pots – which had presumably once housed plants – and long, overgrown grass, as well as a number of deck chairs and cushions that had fared surprisingly well against the elements. John imagined these areas had been somewhere for patients to relax outside of their rooms, but as they contained no real items, and no real people, he saw little value in them now.

  Moving forwards, John quickly chewed up the distance between the reception area and the darkened interchan
ge of corridors ahead. So far nothing had stirred either visually or audibly, but somewhat predictably, upon reaching what was approximately the halfway mark, things began to change. Just as all three men’s hopes of a less eventful day began to rise, that trademark groan came into earshot, and a figure ambled its way out of the darkness ahead.

  The beast in question was a particularly lanky specimen. So tall he scraped the top of what little hair remained on his head against one of the overhead signs, his height was vastly different to his width, the man having presumably been fairly skinny even before he turned. His clothes were torn and his mouth was cut in numerous places, and even his shoes appeared to have been munched on at some point by a creature of some kind. Clearly this was not the most intimidating option the undead had to offer.

  Quickly John signalled for his two men to hold their position. The urge to move forwards and deal with the biter was high, but as this would draw the group closer towards the darkness – which was still an unknown at this point – clearly this was not the best idea. Accordingly, John opted to wait, allowing the man to make his way over to them instead, letting him walk at his own pace, to his own death.

  But before he could make it all the way, a simple miscommunication between whatever parts of the brain remained functional in his rotten skull caused somewhat of an interruption. Just a couple of metres from John, as blades were being drawn and plans were being silently communicated, the man’s left foot briefly stumbled, causing him to lose his balance and begin arching forwards towards the ground. Without the brainpower needed to place his hands out, the figure’s head hit the floor hard, and the now significantly less lively body simply slid up to John’s front foot.

  Crouching down and forcing his blade through the skull just in case, John quickly took care of the beast before standing back up and looking forwards once more, only to find that things appeared to have gotten worse. There now stood two biters at the end of the hall, each emerging from the darkness slightly faster than their predecessor, but each also looking in just as bad a shape. Both female this time, the two women limped their way along the corridor, groaning loudly and salivating at what lay in front, unknowing of the demise their friend had just experienced.

  Re-gripping his blade and preparing for the next action, John quickly realised that while two on one were far from risky odds when the two were in this condition, it was an unnecessary risk nonetheless, and so signalled for Danny and Devon to take the lead. Happy to be involved – albeit a little less so in Danny’s case – the two men moved forwards slightly so as to make sure they were placed at the front of the line, waited until both women were within striking range, and then lunged forwards blades first, quickly dispatching both targets in an incredibly professional manner, and then returning back into position.

  Despite their successes however, the situation had once again worsened. Where there had once been one and then two members of the undead, there now stood an additional three. To their rear, at least another two stirred, and soon enough more began to emerge from each and every corridor. With every passing second the volume of groaning grew, and by the time John had had a chance to formulate a plan to take down the approaching three, he counted at least fifteen or more in view, with many, many more spilling out from deeper in the hospital. This was not a fight he wanted to have.

  “Get back”, he said out loud, throwing caution to the wind now that their own volume was going to do little more damage than had already been done. “Quickly”, he added, spotting another surge of the undead bursting out from behind a previously closed door, only to then notice one final being, emerging slowly from the darkness, but soon enough breaking out into a jog, then a run, and finally a sprint. “RUN!”, John bellowed.

  Obeying not just because they’d been ordered to, but because they too felt it was the right decision, both men turned and began sprinting quickly back towards the way they had come, silently thanking Jen for not having sealed them in as part of some odd attempt to screw them all over. Feet pounded the floor loudly, echoing down the corridor only to soon be absorbed by the sound of the undead, and the worrying tone of one particular biter getting closer and closer.

  Soon the three men were clear of the door, and both Devon and Danny slammed their respective sides closed. Immediately John began pulling back all the items he had so recently pushed away, throwing them into place at the base of the double-doors in an attempt to re-barricade what they themselves had opened up. John had no intention of sticking around any longer than they had to, but that didn’t mean he wanted to be followed out by yet another horde, adding to a problem Chicago was already suffering from enough.

  Soon Devon and Danny each joined in the task, throwing over boxes filled with paper and pushing chairs back against the doors.

  “THUD”, came a noise from the other side.

  John, Danny and Devon each stopped to look at the door, noticing how much it was already moving.

  “THUD…THUD….THUD”, came the noises again.

  The dead were stacking up on the other side. The barricade was holding for now, but that was no reason to stick around.

  “THUD… THUD… THUD”.

  John looked around the room to confirm what he had always assumed would happen; Jen had left and gone her own way. The girl had been perfectly vocal about her desire to be alone, and John knew she’d be too smart to leave at the same time as them, for fear of being followed. Waiting for them to be engrossed in another task gave her the perfect window, and so that’s exactly what she’d done.

  “Let’s go”, John announced, to nods of enthusiasm from both men.

  Chapter 18: Changing direction

  Around forty miles north of the hospital, and many more miles north west of the Chicago camp, in an area of Illinois just barely far enough out to no longer be considered a part of the city, but still close enough to commute into it, lay the sleepy rural town of Palatine. With a population of around sixty-five-thousand pre-apocalypse, this suburban residential area had been the home of many thousands of happy families, numerous well rated schools, two golf courses, multiple shopping centres and just about everything else you would expect from a bustling neighbourhood so close to one of the world’s major cities.

  Despite all of this however, the streets of the area had always been fairly quiet. No doubt due to its residential focus, there had never been much reason for large crowds to congregate or demonstrations to take place. Large events were rarely held in the streets and there was a real focus on living the quiet, keep-to-yourself suburban lifestyle, allowing Palatine to remain true to its low-key roots.

  Because of this lack of public presence, Palatine had fared somewhat well when the world had come to an end. Residents had quickly evacuated without issue, a lack of major landmarks had meant there were no choke points on the local road networks, and a high standard of living meant everyone was out of the area by car within minutes. No stragglers were left behind, few opted to try and stay, and thus almost nobody from the town turned within its borders.

  In fact, since the end, there had been little evidence anything had even gone wrong. Unlike within Chicago’s central district, the military hadn’t set foot in the area, so bullet casings littered no part of the floor, broken windows and overturned cars used as barricades and fencing to route hordes were non-existent, and the buildings and streets remained clear of the general greyness usually brought in by the now familiar fog of war.

  Walking through the streets of Palatine, you would have been forgiven for thinking that their worst remaining problem was that of litter. Empty bottles and paper bags could be spotted sporadically along certain streets, some left behind by panicked residents and others blown in from neighbouring towns and areas. Usually they were trapped in gutters or impotently flailing in the trees, but one particular piece of trash – the candy wrapper for a bar of Dairy Milk chocolate – had managed to weasel free, and now skipped happily down the centre East Palatine Road.

  The wrapper – from a
candy bar purchased in one of the local candy stores which stocked some of the more internationally renowned varieties – had been trapped under a fallen branch for months, and was starting to show signs of decomposition thanks to the variety of weathers it had so far been exposed to. Remnants of the chocolate that had been left behind inside had long since been washed out, and the exterior was crumpled many times over from the very long – yet not particularly long distance – journey it had so far had.

  On this day however, things went a little differently. As it skidded and danced its way along the street, occasionally catching enough of a gust to carry it off of the ground and into the air, it made its way along the main road in the direction of nowhere particular. That was however, until during one particular swoop back down to ground level, when the wrapper once more scraped across the tarmac, and a heavy stomp of a fairly obese man’s sandal crushed the foil item into the ground below.

  After many months of travel, making its way around the various parts of Palatine in a continuous circle, that lonely wrapper was finally brought down by a single stomp. The attacker – a middle aged man wearing what remained of a Hawaiian shirt that was torn in more places than could be counted and stained a gory red colour – continued on unaware of the impact of his footsteps. Of course, being dead meant he was aware of fairly little.

  Once released from its new prison, the candy wrapper might have been able to make a second leap for freedom. But alas, shortly after the first pummelling, came the second, this time from a smaller but nevertheless more than heavy enough woman, herself also sporting holiday attire. Then, moments later, a third stomp from a third individual, then a fourth, then a fifth, and so on until the number of beatings it had taken could no longer be kept track of.

  Of course, in such a quiet town so unaffected by the apocalypse, the presence of a biter was an incredibly rare occurrence, much less the presence of several biters. To an onlooker – though thankfully none remained – this might have seemed like a strange event to finally be taking place, the town having spent so many months devoid of the dead. But it would have only taken a quick look further down the street to get an explanation of what was happening.