When the runner came within a few feet of him, he seemed to suddenly notice the dazed man and tried to veer wide of him. The shuffling man seemed to quiver for a second as though testing the air for a smell and let out a sound like a growl combined with the sound of air rushing through a cave, and instantly he moved to grab the runner. The runner fought, but every hit he landed seemed to be completely ignored by his attacker. The attacker just kept grabbing and clawing like some mad animal, until he was close enough to his victim to sink his teeth into the other man's neck.
Tal couldn't believe his eyes.
That man just killed another person with his teeth! His fucking teeth! Oh…oh God…he's…eating him. What the fuck am I seeing?!?
Similar scenes were playing out wherever Tal looked. His head started to swim, and he felt like puking again. War was one thing. Even the kind of warfare he'd engaged in, which wasn't pretty by any definition. But this wasn't fighting; this was what happened when the lions got out of the zoo. This was feral animals feeding.
Gun shots rang out to Tal's right, and he turned to see a man backing up with an apparently injured woman behind him. Another man…no not a man, these things are not men… was advancing on them. The man held a gun out in front of him at full arm's length, firing shot after shot into the creature's chest to little effect. The thing that was once a man would reel back and stumble with each round that smacked into it, the sound of a bullet hitting meat clear even at this distance, and then seemed to remember what it had been about before it was shot to pick back up where it left off. Tal couldn’t watch the end; he just had to get out. Too many people were running wildly and chaos reigned everywhere. The city was obviously screwed.
The desert. Gotta get out of the city and into the desert. Too close quarters here.
The quickest way was up Gershon Agron Street, past the Old City, and through Alsawana, but that was a long way for a single person on foot. Still…staying here wasn't an option. Just then, a Yanshuf helicopter banked out of the smoke billowing from the synagogue, and headed toward the Old City, and that settled the question for Tal.
Black Hawk helo…military's still
functioning. That's where I need to get to.
The streets were choked with people running and screaming, and there were wrecked vehicles everywhere - easy to see how the fires had started now. Some folks obviously thought that they could get clear of the carnage, either get to a safe place or out of the city faster by car. That had been a serious mistake on their part, since about half of Jerusalem's 700,000 plus inhabitants seemed to have the same idea. Well, half of the ones that survived long enough to get to a car, or even bothered to leave their homes in the first place. Traffic jams had clearly
happened, then panic, then accidents followed by even worse panic. Now the carcasses of vehicles lay in every conceivable position possible, crashed into one another, jammed together in chance choke points, or half sticking out of the ground floors of more than a few buildings. Some were cheerily ablaze, and not all were empty.
As Tal turned to find an exit route, he saw one of the creatures had just broken through the driver's side window of a white Jeep, and was pulling a young woman out by her hair as she kicked and screamed for help. Her passenger was in no position to answer, slumped over the dashboard and either dead or unconscious from the impact with the light post that had arrested the vehicle. As he turned, Tal saw that the Gan HaAtsmaut Park was comparatively clear, most vehicles probably not able to get over the border of large rocks around it. Hating to be out in the open, but understanding that the streets were a charnel house and Jerusalem's alleys were likely death traps, he readied his pistol and ran for the park.
On the run Tal's mind struggled to process it all. The fires cast a hellish gleam over the park and random shadows ran through the night; strange snippets of screams, cries, and curses would announce them before just as suddenly fading with them into the pre dawn. Full of adrenaline and functional drunk though he may be, remnants of the scotch still clung to his brain.
From somewhere behind him, an RPG arced out across the sky and impacted the MILAH Institute to his left; the explosion illuminating the park like a split second of midday. Luckily there were no moving vehicles as he reached the street behind the park, and Tal ran quickly across heading for the low wall that surrounded the Mamilla Pool. Vaulting the wall, he landed on his feet with a splash into the previously mirror calm waters. His mind raced as he bent to take a handful of water and splashed it into his face, then another to drink. Tal was a mess of emotions, woken from a drunken slumber and racing out into a war zone.
He had no intellectual desire to be in a battle; he'd left the service, hadn't he? So on the surface of things, he was horrified to find himself once again with a weapon in his hand, running toward what he assumed was a rally point for the City's remaining soldiers.
Underneath those raging thoughts were more subtle currents though. Yes, he left the battle field, but ever since…he'd felt like a ghost. Ambling through life, the constant fog of drink clouding his mind and memory, speaking only when he had the absolute need to, and trying to forget himself as much as everyone else seemed to already have forgotten him. But now that he was back in the thick of it, the old sounds of battle flying from every direction like vengeful angels, he almost felt relieved. This was his true home, after all. Not the home you'd want for yourself, but the home where you'd really been born, raised, and taught. The place you work your whole life to leave, but find yourself returning to regardless of all your efforts. Up until now, he'd felt like a man transported to some foreign country where the language was barely understandable, and the customs strange; not even a second class citizen. Conflict, as unappealing as it was, was more of a home coming than he cared to admit. And that thought disgusted him as much as it comforted him.
Hemingway was right, "There is no hunting like the hunting of man, and those who have hunted armed men long enough and liked it, never care for anything else thereafter."
The sudden ridiculousness of his present circumstances hit him just then. On a normal day, passersby would have thought Tal Barzani a madman, crouched in a pool of water older than the reign of Herod the Great, chuckling as he contemplated Hemingway. But this was not a normal day, and those would be passersby were too busy trying not to get eaten to think much about him just now. That thought strangled the laugh in his throat, and Tal began moving again towards the Mamilla Cemetery. On the other side of a copse of trees lay Bush Square and beyond that a narrow length of street closed in by a lot of buildings and no small amount of danger. As Tal ran through the cemetery, leaping over some of the few
remaining grave markers and nearing the trees separating him from Bush Square, a man stumbled up the entranceway to the cemetery across from Ben Shim'on Street. He moved around like he was confused, every few steps he'd fall to a knee and slowly stand back up. Briefly, Tal considered just avoiding him. Though he'd always considered himself a man who knew which side of the line between Right and Wrong he stood on, when the rug was pulled out from under him, he’d found himself lying on the flat of his back just on the other side. His training told him to just keep moving, that this man's situation was "someone else's war", but Tal was still a part of the human race, despite his self-imposed hermitage, and his compassion won out in the end.
"Hey! Hey! Goddamn it, Hey! Get away from the road! Over here!" he half shouted in a gravely pseudo-yell, his voice sounding strange to his own ears after so much disuse.
Tal took a knee next to small stone building, a scattering of Muslim grave stones around it, and waved to the man as he shouted; trying to get his attention while avoiding the attention of anyone, or anything else. The man stopped in mid-step and quivered, and Tal's stomach sunk. The thing’s head turned to find the source of the shouting, his body following shortly thereafter, and Tal saw the damage that had so crippled the man's ability to walk. Much of his right side was bloody, large areas of his shirt and pants were soaked dark red
, almost black in the pre-dawn light. Torn flesh was exposed through tears and rips in his clothes, his right arm mangled as though he'd been in some industrial accident, and his right leg was missing large chunks of flesh down to the bone. The face that regarded Tal was straight out of a horror film, the one remaining eye dark with burst blood vessels.
Frag grenade, Tal thought having seen such damage before, how's he not dead?
The man seemed to contemplate Tal for a moment, as if trying to decide what he was, the sound of his sniffing lost under the orchestra of destruction swelling across the City. Then his mouth opened, and that sound came out; the sound Tal heard back at his building, that growling, wheezing shriek that seemed to come only from the throats of the damned.
Instantly the man moved toward Tal, his pace quick after having smelled and sighted prey. Thankfully, the damage done to his body worked to hamper the creature even though he seemed not to notice or care. By the fifth step, his leg gave out and he fell straight to his chest, not even bothering to try and brace for the fall. A sickening smack announced the impact of face and concrete, but to no visible effect, the creature instantly starting to right itself and continuing to make that horrid noise. Tal raised his Jericho and fired one well aimed shot before the thing's waist had even come off the ground. The bullet ripped through the air and passed straight through the creature's brain, a cloud of dark mist erupting from the back of its head. Immediately, the beast fell forward as though it had no bones at all, and lay perfectly still.
So, they can die. That's good news at least.
Tal had hardly needed to remember the man and woman back at his apartment building to aim for the head, most people would shoot center mass on a target, clearly worthless now. The military largely trained people that way, and as for civilians...well it was the largest target on the body, after all so they could hardly be blamed. But Tal had spent the last 8 years of his life in the Sayeret Maglan, engaged in much more intimate forms of combat. They'd stripped away the lessons of the Special Forces and taught him how to kill from closeness most soldiers would call idiotic. Head shots were the preferred method of dispatch when you were engaged in what was known colloquially as "wet work", behind enemy lines, the distinction between soldier and assassin blurred to the point of transparency. A clean head shot was known in the Maglan as the "Ibis' kiss", and Tal was a master at its delivery.
14 rounds left , he thought, better make 'em count.
Tal got up from his position and moved swiftly toward the trees verging on Bush Square. Destruction still gripped the City of David and all the noises of war tugged at his brain in much the same way the smell of a favored food not eaten in years might, but he was not distracted.
Used to such things, after all they were sounds that were as familiar to him as the humming of a car engine would be to a traveling businessman, or the noise of a traffic jam waiting on the light train to pass by. They were as comfortable to him as the train running the tracks, the drivers honking, and music blaring out their open windows as they waited, cursing for the train to run its course would be to the average citizen. It was easy to block it out and resume a kneeling position, covered somewhat by the tree line and a gray transformer box, to further assess his options.
Shlomo ha-Melekh Street is just past the square. The whole city is fucked. I don't think any one route's gonna be better than another, but this is a bad street. After Tsahal Square, is Ha Tsanhanim Street and the fucking tunnel, where I'll probably get eaten. Assuming I get by the hospital, and if that shit on my street was any indication, if I go near a hospital I'll probably get eaten. Then there's the Notre Dame Center right across from the Old City…this is a packed area…so many goddamn people, I'll probably get eaten. I really don't want to get fucking eaten. Wait…wait…I'm not that far from Yafo Street. City Hall is there, and on the street before it, there always used to be a bunch of cars and trucks. Driving in a car is suicide, but this close to the desert, and in a big enough truck, I might have a chance.
Of course, there were a thousand and one problems, walls, or other assorted issues even if he did find a truck, but he knew that if he thought that way, it'd all seem hopeless and hopelessness kills as quickly as any bullet. He had to figure a way across this busy intersection, through all the close buildings and over to Shoshan Street, where they used to park the trucks.
What if they don't do that anymore? The thought came unbidden, like that little devil on the shoulder of a cartoon character. Shit, I'll burn that bridge when I get to it, first thing's first, how to get across?
There were some buildings off to his right and they looked like his only shot at cover, maybe he could get over there and form a better plan. There were still some people running through the streets, but at the moment they all looked more or less normal.
As normal as people running from cannibals can be…though I guess running from people who'll eat you is pretty normal.
Tal took a chance and broke from the trees and behind the power box, taking off at a dead run toward the buildings, skidding to a stop and almost falling over backwards to stop from passing the little barbeque restaurant that caught his eye. Amazingly, all the windows were intact and the door was slightly ajar. No lights were on in the place, the grid was clearly going down everywhere in the city now, but the dawn was cresting over the buildings and there was enough light to see the place was empty.
Pushing through the door, Tal closed and locked it quickly behind him before leaping over the counter. It sure as hell wouldn't stop one of those things, let alone any more than one, but they didn't seem too keen on detail until they got wind of prey, so maybe he could think for a second and find something useful. A quick inventory revealed that it was a shitty little barbeque place; all the stuff you'd expect in a shitty little barbeque place chaotically littered all over the floor, counters, and shelves of the restaurant.
Damn, not good.
How the hell was he going to use anything here for a diversion? The street could fill with those things any minute, and all he had was the bag on his back and a few bullets in a pistol. The bag…he'd almost forgotten about it, his mind bent on trying to evade and survive, and the contents were so few. But now that he'd remembered it held his canteen, and had a moment to breathe, his throat was desperately dry from the smoke and exertion of the last…hour? Hour and a half?
Broke my watch…well at least it was cheap . Tal slung the bag off his back and rummaged around for his canteen, spilling a few of the items as he dug around for it. Uncapping the canteen, more of a medium sized metal flask really - good for camping but not a lot else (but then he had rent, scotch, food, scotch, electricity, and more scotch to pay for) - Tal took a measured drink.
Gotta conserve…maybe I can refill it here.
Thankfully, it didn't matter if there was any electricity, water pressure was constant unless someone physically shut it off at the main. He crawled to the sink in the back of the restaurant and raised himself off the floor just high enough to fill the flask from the faucet next to the gas grill, before crawling back to the bag and beginning to repack what had fallen out. When the strike anywhere matches where in his hand, Tal stopped and an idea began to form.
Water pressure is constant…its constan t because it's in the pipes…just like the gas for that grill.
He scanned his surroundings with fresh eyes. This is a restaurant. There are all the things you'd expect to find here. Cooking oil for the food. Steel wool to clean the grill top. A smoke detector - and most of those worked off a 9 volt battery. There was a little cooking timer on the counter.
That's all I need , he thought.
Tal reached up, grabbing the cooking timer and one of his smaller knives out of his pack. Using the knife point, he managed to get the screws out of the back of the timer and opened it to reveal the inner workings; finding the point at which the contacts came together to make that little ring when time was up. Tal peered around the counter to make sure there was no immediate threat, then he jum
ped up on top of it and ripped the whole smoke detector off the wall above the pass through window. The smoke detector he just tore open, all he needed was the battery and the leads, which he ripped out, along with a few other wires he'd need momentarily.
There was a large plastic bottle of cooking oil on its side just in front of him, which he punctured with the point of his knife, the oil slowly leaking out into a puddle on the floor. Dropping down to his stomach, he once more crawled to the grill and began kicking at the gas line in the floor where it connected to the grill's hose, until it breached. Gas began to leak into the restaurant, slowly building. After crawling back to the counter, he rigged the 9 volt so that one wire went to one side of the timer's contact and the other went into a fresh wad of steel wool. Another wire to the steel wool and positioned in front of the other contact, and all that remained was to set the time.
Two minutes should do.
The oil was already almost touching the steel wool as he set the timer.
God, if you're still listening, let this work, he thought before releasing the timer and running for the door.
Two minutes could be an eternity or a moment, depending on your outlook. It didn't seem like enough time to Tal as he ran for the door; only 120 seconds between those two wires touching, the steel wool igniting, and the restaurant becoming a gigantic fireball. Once the door was closed though, and he had made it back to the trees at the edge of the Mamilla Cemetery, it seemed like forever. Especially when he saw a mass of slowly shuffling abominations moving down Ben Sira Street toward his position.
45 seconds.
They were closing in, every now and then some poor bastard would run out of an alley and one or two monsters would peel off in pursuit, but there were still a lot of them.
20 seconds.
They hadn't seen him yet, they really did seem to be oblivious until they could smell you or hear you; but the light was still dim, gray dawn being choked by burning Jerusalem.
Seven Days Dead Page 2
