Road to Grissom: Part three of the Aftermath series

by Duncan McArdle

  In front was the long, seemingly endless road that ran most of the way through the city of Chicago. It was the same road that John had left via a few days prior, and was the same one he’d driven down the final block of on his approach an hour or so earlier. For whatever reason, it was always here that the dead chose to launch their attack, and so it came as no surprise to John that it seemed it was also here where humans launched their attacks too.

  Off in the distance, shortly in front of a large cloud of dust that they appeared to be creating in their wake – an easy thing to do when driving around downtown Chicago due to the high levels of debris and dirt scattered around – was a number of what appeared to be vehicles. Currently out of view, John began but ultimately failed to count the approaching numbers, as the dust repeatedly obscured and then revealed different targets, making it near impossible to do any real analysis in advance.

  “MAKE SURE YOUR WEAPONS ARE LOADED!”, yelled a familiar voice to John’s right, “MAKE SURE YOUR SAFETYS ARE OFF, AND THAT YOU HAVE A ROUND LOADED INTO THE CHAMBER!”.

  John looked over to see Geoff, who had opted to position himself around ten metres to John’s right, on top of a pillar built into the wall that raised him up high enough to look over the entirety of what was essentially an army of guards. “DO NOT OPEN FIRE UNTIL I SAY SO!”, he added, himself also wishing to avoid a firefight if it was at all possible.

  But John knew the force that was coming. He knew how unreasonable they were at the best of times, he knew the leader that had shaped them into the merciless force they were today, and he knew how angry they were at what John and Devon alone had done to a place they’d called home for who knew how long. They had no reason to rock up with a desire to discuss matters, and every reason to do it guns blazing instead.

  Soon, things were close enough for John to be able to get a better look at what was coming, and it didn’t make for a pretty sight. Leading the charge was what looked like a military grade Humvee, its huge chunky wheels crunching over every piece of debris that was in its path and absorbing every pothole like it was never there. The thing was a machine, and worse still, was just one of at least three John could see at the front of the convoy, all of them carrying mounted guns on their backs that made John even more certain they had once belonged to the US Military.

  Behind the Humvees followed a number of different off-road vehicles. From Land Rovers and Jeeps to Toyotas and Fords, the group seemed to have an assortment of options. But what struck John the most was what the line of vehicles ended with; a series of larger trucks that appeared to be military-grade personnel carriers, something he had far from expected to see.

  However they’d done it, and wherever they’d obtained them from, it seemed the stadium group’s convoy had grown dramatically in size. John imagined they might have grouped up with some of the other camps they claimed to work with – a worrying proposition given it would mean even more local groups were now allied against the Downtown Chicago group – or may have simply picked up a few extra sets of wheels from a nearby storage location. But however they’d done it, a now even more formidable foe was heading their way.

  In any case, it was the personnel carriers that caused John the most concern. He’d known the group to be big in size, and had in fact never seen it laid out in its entirety, but he’d never imagined them to have the kind of numbers needed to fill out all of the cars currently forming the line, and then each of the massive carriers following at the rear. They alone would be able to house hundreds of troops, something that was now turning this entire thing into a very one-sided affair.

  Soon enough, the convoy began to arrive in front of the gates. Pulling up first, the Humvees with their mounted guns – each of which had someone manning them – filed in at the front, and were followed closely by the less military looking options, and then finally the large carriers which parked slightly further back. All in all, John managed to count over twenty vehicles, but soon lost visual of all of them as the large dust cloud they’d brought with them descended over the area.

  For a few brief moments, panic set in to just about every person there. With a now limited view all around them, nobody knew what the other side was doing, and could only assume that while they stood there doing nothing, their opponents were preparing themselves for the firefight ahead. But thankfully, everyone remained still, and not a single shot was fired, until the cloud eventually passed, and John was finally able to take in their foe in detail.

  Now standing outside of their vehicles, assault rifles raised and machine guns manned, was a force far larger than anything John had anticipated. Well over a hundred guns were now stood mere metres away from the front gates, all of them in full camouflaged uniform far more sophisticated than anything John had seen during his time at the stadium – aside from their leader RP – and standing in positions John knew meant they had far more than your average, apocalyptic level of weapon-training.

  John gripped his rifle tight, waiting in silence for something to happen. He didn’t know whether Geoff would give the order to fire first, or whether the other group would seize the opportunity. For all he could tell, judging by the amount of shaking and quivering going on around him, any number of nervous guards could be seconds away from accidentally unloading on the people in front. But eventually, the other side was first to make a move, and it was far from what John had expected.

  Walking forwards from amongst the rank of armed men and women, a single male figure with an unfamiliar face emerged into the clearing separating the two forces, and raised a megaphone up to his mouth. Clicking it into life, he briefly winced at the sharp sound of feedback coming from the device, and then pointed it up towards the countless guns that were currently locked on to him.

  “THIS IS THE UNITED STATES MILITARY, PLEASE LOWER YOUR WEAPONS!”, he said with a great deal of confidence evident in his tone.

  Immediately the people around John began to mumble. Some exclaimed words of joy at the prospect of the military still being around, others confusion at whether or not it was real, but it wasn’t till John made one very subtle observation that he finally managed to form his own opinion on the matter.

  Looking amongst the series of vehicles in front, John couldn’t help but notice that the vast majority did indeed bear the markings of military on them. But what he also noticed, was that whilst a large number of armed men and women had indeed come out from their innards, none had come from the troop transporters themselves, which remained empty at the back of the group. Suddenly John was reminded of the guard placement back inside the stadium, of the large cache of weapons they’d once stored, and of all the other shows of force that gave an impression just like this one, and finally it occurred to him that if this was all a trick, they’d fallen right for it.

  “The back wall”, John said quietly to himself, seeking his own confirmation before being willing to yell it louder, something he promptly moved on to do. “THE BACK WALL!”, he yelled, “IT’S A TRAP, THEY’RE COMING THROUGH THE BACK WA-“.

  “JOHN!”, interrupted a new voice, cutting through his yells not because of confidence or volume, but because its familiar tone had stopped John in his tracks. Coming from in amongst the ranks of people in front, a lone figure appeared to have disembarked from one of the less-military looking vehicles.

  John looked down. The man was now making his way closer to the gates – to the sound of several rifles shuffling around on top of the wall – before stopping out of fear for what might happen. The man was tall, with short hair and a striped shirt, and little else to speak of. But it was one final feature that suddenly made him recognisable, setting him apart from everyone around him, and finally confirming for John just who exactly he was; his glasses.

  “Andrew?”, John said out loud, just barely loud enough for the man to hear.

  “They’re for real John”, Andrew said, gesturing towards the small army behind him with a smile on his face bigger than anything John had ever seen, “It’s over”.


  Chapter 44: Grissom

  Though the reality was of course somewhat different, it seemed to take no time at all to pack up what few possessions the people of the Downtown Chicago camp had and load them into the trucks. People had lived incredibly frugally since the end – albeit rarely by choice – and so had little more than clothing to their names, so when they’d been told to pack up and prepare to leave, most had first asked “pack what?”, and then needed little time to do so.

  John himself had had little more to bring along than some of the toys his daughter filled her time playing with. Packing mostly clothing and a small bundle of photos Michelle had managed to keep by her side, the trio were able to fit what seemed like their entire lives into a single suitcase, leaving behind an apartment filled entirely with someone else’s furniture, something that had always felt uncomfortable for the family.

  Just an hour or so after the sun was at its highest point, the crowds were being packed into the backs of the army’s personnel carriers – their possessions easily fitting into its many storage compartments – as well as the camp’s own emergency evacuation school-buses, and final checks began taking place. Every last seat of every last vehicle ended up being taken, even overflowing out into including some of the more combat-focused vehicles in the convoy.

  Though the military had anticipated a high number of civilians from the radio broadcast Chicago continued to put out, they had underestimated how many guards would require transport too. In the end, the decision had been made to have a small contingent of the armed men and women that had kept the camp safe for so long remain in place, with promises made to collect them the next day. Geoff himself had opted to remain behind in order to oversee proper decommission of the outpost, alongside some of the more senior guards such as Devon. But both John and Andrew had requested they be allowed to leave, and given their contributions to the survival effort, their requests had been happily granted.

  Of course, before anybody had been willing to come along for the ride – and well before Geoff had allowed the civilians to even be told – details of just where exactly they were going had to be given. It had transpired that the convoy had come from the Grissom Air Reserve base in Indiana, barely three hours’ drive – in the old world – from central Chicago, and still more than accessible due to their continued work to keep the surrounding highway network clear of the dead.

  Despite photos of their command and the troops clearly immaculate condition however, convincing Geoff and his soldiers that they were genuine members of the US military had been a difficult task. In fact, had it not been for the words of a single well respected member of the community, who most of the people in Chicago had only heard of and never met, John doubted anybody would have agreed.

  Andrew had never looked better to John when the two had finally been able to talk up close. Well groomed, well fed and well looked after, the man looked almost unfamiliar to John, having evidently been taken back to the base for an assessment prior to the convoy returning to downtown Chicago. Andrew had told tales of the incredible gun fight put on by the army in order to safeguard the Milwaukee car-park’s evacuation, and of the massive air-field that had been secured better than any camp he’d ever visited, which was just waiting for a community like John’s to move right on into it.

  According to a mix of feedback from Andrew and some of the soldiers themselves, Grissom Air Force base – or simply Grissom, as they had begun shortening it to – was not only well secured from the dead, but entirely functional as a residential facility, and even more incredibly, as a military one too. They’d even retained the infrastructure and expertise to regularly send out fighter jets to perform long-distance recon missions, something John himself had seen during his time in Milwaukee.

  The camp had originally housed numerous reserves, but throughout the course of the end had been repurposed as a more generalised base of operations for both the army and the air force, eventually leading to it becoming one of the key remaining outposts in the United States. Ever since then they’d been evacuating people from across the country and bringing them in, and had survived what sounded like far bigger hordes than even John had ever seen with relative ease.

  Better still, the plentiful land around the runways had been converted into agriculture, and the nearby creeks provided a near infinite source of clean drinking water. The entire base was therefore not only able to defend itself, expand and venture out, but was also entirely self-sufficient, and thanks to solar power, was more than capable of providing the kind of modern-day infrastructure most had assumed would be lost for the rest of time.

  “Lighting, microwaves, DVD players”, one of the soldiers had boasted to a group of children that had gathered around him during the drive over, desperate for information on where they were headed. “You kids like Disney?”, he’d asked, to a roar of cheers, “Well we’ve got a whole lot of Disney movies, you’re gonna’ love it!”, he’d said enthusiastically, the parents seemingly just as elated by the news.

  In truth, John had still struggled to fully believe the fairy tale being laid out in front of him. Having seen the worst of people in the months prior, he’d learned not to fall for the kind of fronts someone might put on nowadays. In the end, he’d only allowed himself to sign off on the evacuation due to his own experience in the military, and his true belief – based mostly on the character and well-trained demeanour of the men and women who had arrived – that they were in fact military.

  But after enduring the long, uncomfortable drive in the back of the huge brown people carrier with its canvas ceiling flapping in the wind for the entire three-hour journey, John’s fears had eventually been swept away. Not because of some motivational words, or because of further evidence to support the soldiers’ numerous claims, but because of a truly incredible sight that came into view some ways along interstate thirty-one headed south, just twelve miles short of the city of Kokomo.

  Long before they were really alongside the base, its thick walls became increasingly noticeable. Reinforced with regular pillars of concrete, and defended with huge ground-based spikes and jagged fencing, the camp’s outer defences had so many layers to them John wasn’t immediately sure what he was even looking at. It looked as if a tank itself would struggle to get through without ruining its own tracks, or would at least take so long to do so that one of the numerous surrounding guard towers would have more than enough time to retaliate.

  Right the way up to the entrance, there was secure checkpoints, patrolling guards, armed vehicles and even a passing jet to contend with. Grissom had the feel of an incredibly advanced, modern day fortress – despite the fact that the word modern no longer had a great deal of meaning across most of the United States – and did more than enough to assure the new arrivals of its safety despite the fact they’d yet to even enter it.

  John had spent the journey sitting directly across from one of the three male soldiers stationed in the back of his vehicle. The man in front – who had short brown hair, dark, thick eyebrows and a Union Jack in amongst the numerous flags and pins adorning his military-issue jacket – had so far been tirelessly answering the questions of those around him, barely catching his breath throughout the journey as John watched on, not wanting to add to the soldier’s workload with his own questions.

  Listening to what felt like the thousandth rendition of “Have you seen my mother?”, “Has it spread to my home city” and “Has it spread over the world” – the answers to all of which had been the worst possible ones – John had been amazed by how well the man had put up with the constant tirade of often repeated questions, not once snapping at any of the nervous passengers or failing to give a well-informed answer.

  But as John watched the gates of the base approaching, he felt it was finally time to pose a question that much to his surprise, not one of the more forward-thinking people around him – including his own daughter, who had asked several questions of her own, mostly concerning her old school and classmates – had asked, despite th
e fact he deemed it to hold the key to an essential piece of information. So, making note of the soldier’s nametag, John eventually caught him during a brief moment of having nobody to answer to, and quickly gestured for his attention.

  “McArdle?”, John asked, to which the man turned and looked across.

  “Yes sir?”, he replied, having already been informed that John was one of the more senior-ranked people being evacuated.

  “Is there a cure yet?”, John asked.

  Suddenly, everyone within earshot turned to listen. It was a question that had been on everyone’s mind, but one that everyone had been too afraid to ask. Even now, when everyone’s safety was secure, and arguably the most important location any of the passengers had ever seen was getting closer by the second just outside the vehicle, every set of eyes and ears were locked onto one soldiers next words.

  “There’s no cure”, the man replied.

  Immediately, an audible groan spread throughout the group, coated with whispers of disappointment and dashing John’s biggest hope since the very beginning. Though John had never been foolish enough to think that some of the worst cases of the dead – those that were rotting in the streets with their insides hanging out for all to see – could be saved, he had hoped that some of the more recently turned might still be viable candidates for some kind of cure. But alas, the much more likely scenario appeared to be the correct one; those who had died, would remain dead.

  “But there is a vaccine”, McArdle then said, pointing to a large tent set up just inside of the gates the truck was now passing through, its red cross evident on the rooftop and a number of people in uniform stood underneath its shaded structure, waiting at the end of organised lines for the mass arrival of newcomers, and a large sign alongside the area that simply read “VACCINES”.

  For the first time in as long as he could remember, John held the hands of his wife and daughter tighter than ever, smiled in a way he had all but forgotten he was capable of, and laughed.