A thin layer of fog still sat low to the ground, weaving through open doorways and abandoned cars. The sun wouldn’t be up for another hour or two yet but the rain had subsided and the clouds had thinned. A faint shimmer of moonlight threaded through, making the fog glow eerily.
‘It’s beautiful,’ Matti murmured, dubiously stepping over a rusted bike deteriorating in their path.
‘It’s creepy as fuck,’ Enzo muttered. Sasha agreed with both of them.
They checked every house they moved past, looking in windows and doors, trying to see anything that had moved or shifted. The storm had made it difficult, picking up things and tossing them through the town. Sasha knew a chair had been two streets over yesterday, but found it in the doorway of a shed. He knew the green bucket had been in an overgrown garden a few blocks away, but it was stuck on a chimney. There was a stuffed bear left in the window of a yellow house, but the glass had shattered and the bear had snagged on the broken shards, spilling its aged, yellow innards across the overgrown garden bed below. The stuffing looked like a cancer on the already dead and rotted stems of brush.
The town had probably been beautiful. Once. In all the time Sasha had been on the Barricade the town was a wasteland, a mere echo of civilisation being slowly swallowed by time. Nature refused to fully reclaim it, hindered by the shadow of the Barricade, the long winters and the slow degradation of cement and brick. It would take centuries to take it back completely.
Something was off, nonetheless. The further in amongst the familiar ruin they wandered, the more aware Sasha became of a feeling of change, and a building unease filled him. He scoured the streets for any sign of what had moved but so much had shifted minutely it was hard to know what he was looking for.
He thought he saw something shift to his left and turned to check but a stray piece of paper drifted lazily in the damp breeze and settled on a fence. Unconvinced, Sasha moved to the front door of the house, aware of Matti following but not checking. He trusted Matti to have his back, always.
The house was only vaguely familiar. He’d no doubt checked it a hundred times but over time all the houses blurred and looked the same. The kitchen was small and pokey and had once been a minty green. Now it looked like mould. It probably was mould. Dishes lay abandoned on the floor, a chair was knocked over. Dust had settled over everything and then been rained on, and then more dust had settled until everything was caked in a thin layer of hardened mud and silt.
The doorway through to the lounge area was small and pokey and the lower side was smothered in cobwebs. Sasha went to step over them and then paused, looking down at the small insects frantically weaving their webs. Repairing damage. He pointed it out to Matti and took a closer look in the room.
A TV against one wall, a dilapidated couch that might once have been floral but was now water-stained and malformed, crumbling achingly slowly from the inside. A shelf of cracked and peeling DVDs and a soupy mess that might once have been books before the roof had started leaking.
The dust on the floor was scattered, some of it washed aside, but not by rain. Sasha stared at the remnants of wet footprints and felt his heart hammer in his chest.
Moving through to a small hallway, two small bedrooms came off it but they were empty, the roof caved in onto the bed of the second room, water still trickling in after the rain. Sasha kicked out the back door and stumbled into the backyard. The clothesline had broken long ago and its wires had crashed in rusted curls to the ground where they were swallowed by mud and dead grass.
Standing knee deep in the fog trapped by the fence was a child. The clothes were faded, mismatched rags wrapped in layers about a small frame. Sasha couldn’t tell from the grubby face and matted, dreadlocked hair if it was a boy or a girl. Matti stepped through the door behind him and then swore softly under his breath.
‘Hello,’ Sasha called out, not letting his rifle drop despite his instincts screaming to protect because it was just a child. Infected was infected, and until they knew it wasn’t a child, it was death.
The child didn’t answer, but took a dubious step back, away from them.
‘It’s okay. We’re here to help,’ Matti called out calmly, and he allowed his rifle to drop, trusting Sasha to cover him as he moved forward. But each step Matti took forward the child stepped back toward the fence.
‘Where did you come from?’ Matti was asking but Sasha was looking at the fence. The piece of paper he’d seen was still stuck to the upper ridge, its corner flapping a little in the light breeze. Several of the fence posts were cracked and broken, rotting away and the fog from the next yard was spilling through the holes.
‘Matti…’ Sasha warned and then the child reached the fence and two panels crashed open. Arms came through and snatched the child through the gap. Startled, Sasha bolted for the fence, spotting another ragged figure running into the next house, the child over one shoulder.
‘Fuck,’ Sasha scowled as he watched them go.
‘What’s up?’ Enzo’s voice came through, muffled and concerned.
‘There was a kid and an adult. They ran.’ The infected didn’t run. They didn’t have the thought process required to figure out they should. They couldn’t shoot unless they were infected or threatening, and these were neither but they set off every alarm in Sasha’s head. There hadn’t been uninfected in the town for several seasons. He doubted it was a good sign.
‘Huh,’ Enzo sounded winded, possibly even pained. It brought Sasha to a complete stop and he shared a suspicious look with Matti.
‘Enzo?’ Matti queried.
‘We’re being chased,’ Enzo admitted. ‘Or … stalked, I suppose is more accurate.’
‘What?’ Sasha looked over the fence as if he would be able to see them across town. He moved back to the house, needing to assist. ‘How many?’
‘Unknown. Get here. Now.’ They didn’t need to be told twice.
8
APC-ESSI-NREBUD666-21740021
‘How are you feeling today?’
It was hard to tell if it was meant as a joke. He didn’t think so, but when the answer was the same, year after year, you had to wonder.
‘Fine.’ Was there another answer? What constituted not feeling fine? How much did it have to hurt before you could admit weakness? How sick did you have to be?
Dead. The answer was dead. Because if you admitted a weakness that’s what you’d be.
It was not going well. They’d quickly moved away from the eastern side of the wall, but it was apparent that things were not as Angelo had expected. Or, not as they had been. Angelo had known something was off right away. They’d found footprints in several houses they checked before Angelo gave up his scrutiny and started tracking.
Jett preferred the hunt. He wasn’t familiar with the town, so looking for signs of change was pointless. He’d been relying entirely on Angelo’s knowledge, which he had to admit was extensive. Enzo was very good at his job, but Jett wanted to contribute and once they were tracking his own skills became valuable.
They followed a trail of scuffs and broken debris that took them further into the east side of town. Here the signs of habitation multiplied quickly. The rain had forced movement and they followed muddy trails and scraps of signs that individually would have meant nothing but combined made a trail.
Jett felt uneasy when they found themselves looking up at a crumbling three story cement office building in the business district. The broken windows had all been recently shuttered against the rain and muddy prints scattered a back entrance to the building. Enzo led them to a hole in the south side wall and motioned he was going in first. Jett didn’t mind, scanning their surroundings but he saw no movement. That didn’t mean it wasn’t there.
The building had been used, that was clear from the moment they stepped inside. Someone had sealed the room off with plastic sheets that rustled as Angelo shoved them aside. Jett slunk in behind him, rifle up and wishing he didn’t have to wear the Q-hab. It hindered his movement, and he co
uldn’t see as easily as he was accustomed. He was struggling to adjust and wished he’d had time to wear it around inside the Barricade before having to work in it.
Angelo moved methodically from room to room. There were blankets in corners where people had been sleeping, and a small pile of rubbish. Empty cans mostly and a few food scraps. Skins from potatoes, turnips and parsnips. Jett took in the details and concluded people had been using the space for some time.
He was about to follow Angelo into a hallway when something caught his eye. Jett stepped aside and picked up a rock, running his gloved fingers across the familiar groove. It had been used to sharpen a blade, and recently. Frowning, he scanned the floor for the larger stone they would have needed to grind it against but the floor was empty.
Because he was looking down, he missed the person who snuck up behind him until the last moment, sensing a presence. He stepped aside, but the rock came down on the side of his head and he went down hard. His helmet absorbed most of the impact but his ears still rang and his vision blurred. Knowing stopping could mean death, Jett scurried on hands and knees for the doorway, rolling through into Angelo’s legs.
Angelo gripped his arm and hauled him to his feet, pushing him behind him and backing up. Jett struggled to keep his legs under him, swaying as his head reeled from the impact. He felt like he was going to vomit but forced himself upright and he lifted his rifle and charged forward, letting Angelo guard from the back. He remembered the way in and followed their tracks with quick efficiency, breathing a sigh of relief when they were back on the street.
Angelo grabbed his shoulders and peered into his suit, but there was no blood. The helmet had protected him, for which Jett was grateful. He was going to have one hell of a headache but that was better than a split skull.
They didn’t speak, trying to keep things quiet since they weren’t sure how many people there were, or where they were or what they were up to. It became clear very quickly, however, that they were being followed. Shadows moved in the windows and alleys, flittering just outside his vision.
Angelo shoved him forward and Jett needed no further prompting. They fell into an easy jog, weapons up and trained on the surrounding buildings as they tried to flee the business district. Too many high structures making them easier targets. Angelo knew back streets and short cuts and Jett followed, aware of the pounding in his head getting worse with the physical exertion.
‘Fuck,’ Stepanova’s voice echoed in his head and Jett almost stopped, startled by the reminder he and Angelo were not alone. But Angelo wasn’t stopping, moving faster, glancing over his shoulder more often and when Jett followed his gaze he saw the shadows were hiding behind the husks of cars in the street behind, following them.
‘What’s up?’ Angelo sounded curious, but was speeding up, clearly more concerned about their own predicament.
‘There was a kid and an adult. They ran …’ Stepanova sounded confused.
‘Huh.’ Enzo sounded winded, which made Jett feel a little better about his own queasiness. The running wasn’t getting to him, but his head was terrible.
‘Enzo?’ Raikkinen. Jett wished Matti was there; he’d have something for the pain in that stupid hip pack of his. Why didn’t both teams have a pack? That seemed stupid. He was going to bring that up at dinner. If he didn’t bring up his breakfast first.
‘We’re being chased,’ Angelo admitted. ‘Or … stalked, I suppose is more accurate.’
‘What? How many?’ It was nice, the concern in the boss’s voice. Jett liked his voice. Liked the hint of humour that was usually present and the depth of it. Stepanova always sounded warm.
‘Unknown. Get here. Now,’ Angelo took a sudden turn down a side alley and Jett sprinted after him. As he turned the corner, a spray of loose cement shards rained across his visor and he ducked, scurrying after Angelo.
‘They shot at me!’ He hadn’t expected that, for some reason. If they were infected, they wouldn’t have recalled how to use a gun, or even what it was. If they were human then they had little reason to be firing at Barricade soldiers, it just resulted in retaliation.
Barricade soldiers weren’t allowed to shoot civilians first, but once shot at it was open season. A fact that became infinitely clear when Angelo immediately stopped and turned, rifle up. He was perfectly still until a shadow shifted by the alley entrance, and then he fired and a scream echoed off the cement walls.
Jett didn’t wait, rushing the rest of the way down the alley, realising that Angelo had chosen it because it had plain cement walls, no windows or doors. He reached the end quickly and checked the street beyond. Movement caught his eye behind a car to his left and Jett threw himself down on his stomach, aimed and shot, hearing a satisfying wail when blood splattered the ground and a body fell.
‘Up, now!’ Angelo snapped at him and Jett scrambled to his feet and followed as Angelo sprinted by and up the street to the right.
Jett thought he saw a bird but when he looked up the small black dot fell to earth and he knew it wasn’t an animal. He dove through the window of a store on his right and a second later Angelo smashed through the door, rotted wood splinters scattering across the floor. The explosion hit, rocking the earth and flinging mud in all directions, the heat from the flames baking it where it splattered them.
‘They have grenades?’ Angelo grunted, already pushing to his feet.
Jett’s head was reeling. His brain felt like mashed potato in his skull and his eyes were burning, tearing up against the pain.
‘Shit!’ Matti’s voice was loud in his ear but there was no way to recoil. Jett forced himself up and stumbled out the door after Angelo, wondering how it made any sense to run toward where the grenade had gone off instead of away.
‘We’re parallel to you, about three blocks,’ Stepanova was a whisper of calm in the chaos. ‘Head west.’
‘Go west,’ Angelo sang, but Jett didn’t understand the reference, just followed. A few shops down there was another alley and Angelo cut through it, slowing where it met another street and looking down to the left, so Jett checked the right.
It was eerily still after the movement behind them. Angelo grabbed his shoulder and hauled him back against his chest, pinning them both to the wall as another grenade fell at the alley mouth, showering them in dirt and heat.
Angelo pushed away as soon as the heat was tolerable and walked over the scorched ground, hazy through the steam and fog. Jett took a deep, calming breath and followed. They sprinted across the street to a line of cars on the opposite side and ducked behind an old Volkswagen.
They crab walked down the street using the cars as cover. Jett could hear movement but through the suit it was little more than a soft murmuring. He didn’t have time to stop and look. The window of the car he was hiding beside shattered and glass rained over him. Cursing, Jett shifted toward the bonnet and risked a look across the street.
They weren’t shadows anymore. Figures stood in doorways and in the open alley mouth, guns up and prepared to kill if necessary, but they were waiting. For what, Jett didn’t care to find out. Angelo indicated another side street and Jett nodded to show he understood and then they were running, sprinting around the corner into the unknown.
The alley was dark but quiet and at the end, silhouetted against the fog, were Stepanova and Raikkinen. Angelo pulled to a stop and turned, rifle up as Jett bolted past. He realised a moment too late that the shadow in the wall was in fact a hole and just as he reached it a metal bar emerged from the darkness and slammed into his chest, using his own momentum against him. He went down hard, his head slamming into the ground and almost knocking him out, a burning pain tearing through his ribs. But he was aware enough to see a flicker of familiar steel and he rolled away just as a sickle slammed into the place his body had been. Stunned, he rolled to his feet and launched himself into the shadows, grabbing onto someone’s legs and driving them hard to the ground.
‘Ioane!’ Angelo’s bellowed in his ear and he could hear his h
eavy breathing in his ear, making it hard to hear the shuffling movements of the people in the room.
More than one. Shit! He rolled to the side just as a chair came down hard, catching him on the shoulder. Cursing, he crawled forwards and then swept his leg out to the side in a wide arc, pleased when it connected and toppled someone. Jett grabbed hold of a flailing limb and hauled the body to him, managing to get a head lock in and falling back against the wall, prisoner held firmly in his grip. He took a calming breath and waited for the dizzy sensation to fade.
‘Back off,’ he hissed into the darkness. ‘Back off or I’ll break his neck.’
His eyes were adjusting to the darker inside of the room and he made out two other shadows in the room. They took a step back but didn’t run, even when Angelo appeared in the door with his rifle drawn on them.
Jett struggled to get his feet under him, using the wall to help him stand while still holding his prisoner in a hard lock. One twist and the man was dead, but he didn’t seem concerned and that worried Jett. Men who weren’t scared usually knew something you didn’t.
Pain blossomed in his side, savage and sudden and eerily familiar. Cursing, he squeezed his hands tighter and the body squeaked before falling limp to the ground. The other two people fled, but Angelo managed to shoot one in the back as they retreated. The survivor did not return for his comrades.
Jett fell back against the wall, hissing at the various protests of his body and slammed a hand into the sharp pain in his side, cursing.
‘Ioane?’ Angelo came in closer, looking down at the splatter of red across Jett’s Q-hab and swore. A stream of rattled, nonsensical Italian.
‘Get out here, now!’ Stepanova ordered.
Barricade Page 11
