Aftermath (Book 2): Chicago Calling

by Duncan McArdle

  “Jesus Christ”, John said out loud, no longer attempting to be quiet.

  Hearing the sound, the being suddenly lifted its head, struggled to adjust to the slightest presence of light, and eventually settled, staring straight into John’s eyes with a look of utter sadness.

  “Are you-“, John started, but was cut off as the figure started to slowly climb to its feet.

  “What is it?”, Asked Sonja from the rear, who remained with her back to the situation.

  “Are you alright?”, John asked of the being, uninterrupted this time, as Andrew adjusted the torch slightly to better reveal the apparently male individual in front.

  Appearing to be in his late fifties, the man looked to be very malnourished. He was surrounded by empty containers of just about every type of liquid you could imagine, as well as the wrappers of any chocolate bar, cake or biscuit that had been sold in any typical convenience store in the years prior. This man had obviously been in here since the start, and judging by the way in which his legs shook as they struggled to hold him upright, and his eyes quivered violently at the sight of light, John imagined he’d probably been in that same exact spot for some time.

  “What’s your name?”, John asked of the now barely standing person.

  The limp figure made no attempt to speak, instead staring dead centre into John’s eyes, and starting to move slowly forwards.

  “Hey whoa now, you stay there until you’ve told us something so we know you’re good”, John said semi-forcefully.

  But small step by small step, the man continued to walk, until John was forced to slowly move backwards, lest he be within grabbing distance.

  “Don’t make me put a bullet in you”, John said, much more sternly now, as he pointed the pistol dead centre to the man’s head.

  “We don’t kill the living John”, Andrew remarked, himself now also forced to back up.

  “Starting to wonder if this guy really is living”, John said, himself clearly confused also, “Listen, you need to…“, John started, but tailed off as the man’s mouth finally began to open.

  “I will wipe from the face of the earth the human race I have created”, he said, beginning to walk more quickly now, dividing the trio in two and then moving past them, his voice audibly creaking, like a book being opened for the first time in decades. “And with them the animals, the birds and the creatures that move along the ground”, he continued, now walking towards the front of the store, before stopping in his tracks amongst the aisles, and slowly getting down onto both knees.

  “What do we do!?”, Sonja asked impatiently of John, clearly uncomfortable to be in such a strange situation.

  “Excuse me”, John tried again, “If you talk to us, we can help you”.

  The man’s body began to relax and his head then dropped forwards slightly until he was looking straight at the ground, before the final part of the reading came out of his cracked lips.

  “For I regret that I have made them”, he finished, a thick trickle of blood coming from the rear of his head now becoming apparent in the glimmer of sunshine creeping in through the store’s open entrance.

  “Keep your eye on him”, John ordered of Andrew, before turning and heading for the storage room once more.

  “You got it”, Andrew replied, himself now looking over the unusual individual in front in even more detail. “Be quick”, he added under his breath.

  Looking around the darkened store-room, John’s eyes were drawn to one thing straightaway. In the middle of the far-left wall, where the man had been sitting just moments earlier, was a large cracked area – roughly head height for a person sitting on the ground – where blood and strands of hair sat tangled in amongst the mess. John cautiously moved his way over to the spot, and using a firm fist to replicate the bone on the back of a skull, swung a slow punch into the wall right alongside the cracks, creating a noise he had heard just a few minutes before.

  “Thud”.

  Back in the aisle, Sonja suddenly found herself looking back to the same wooden plank that had impeded her ability to enter the premises quietly minutes earlier, and realised that it was one of many, each of them strewn out around the entrance. It seemed that the people in this building had barricaded themselves inside, apparently thinking they would be safe, presumably not knowing that the infection was already in there with them. Her theory was cut short however, by the sound of her leader reappearing behind.

  “Anything?”, Sonja asked as John vacated the tiny room.

  “Nope”, John replied. “Everything’s eaten, drank, gone”, he explained, before looking at the figure still on his knees in the centre of the aisles, “Just like this one I reckon”.

  “Huh?”, Andrew asked, his shotgun still drawn on the man.

  Without another word, John walked over to the hunched individual in front, got down onto one knee alongside him, and placed his hand to the side of the man’s neck.

  “Yeah”, John said, “He’s gone”.

  A moment of silence fell over the group, broken only by the sound of John standing back up straight, and proceeding to the rear of the store, where each of his companions stood, looking utterly bemused.

  “Could someone please explain to me what the hell is going on!?”, Sonja demanded.

  John paused to look once more into the man’s tiny living quarters.

  “He’s been in there since the start best I can tell”, he began, “Looks like he ran out of supplies a few days back, and this whole time he’s been in there listening to these things shuffling round”, John continued, pointing to the various fallen figures by the front door.

  During a brief pause, John’s eyes paid special attention to the fallen blonde Andrew had dispatched before entering the building, herself a similar age to the newly deceased man. “Only so long a man can take sitting in there like that”, he started again, “My bet is he cracked, and by the looks of the wall in there, and the back of his head, he cracked hard”.

  “But, he was just moving and now, now he’s just dead?”, Andrew asked, himself struggling to accept both the story and the sudden loss of life.

  “I don’t pretend to know the ins and outs of the human body Andrew”, John replied, “But as of a few seconds ago, he is physically gone, and for a man to do that to himself…”, he added, pointing to the figure’s head, a dent clearly visible on the back of his skull, “I’d wager he’s been gone mentally for some time”.

  “Jesus Christ”, Andrew said, trying to comprehend the situation, “I’m really starting to wish we’d stayed outside”.

  “And leave all these jerry cans?”, John asked enthusiastically, attempting to change the subject as he moved over to the table on which the containers were placed, “Six…seven…eight, eight jerry cans we can fill up sitting right here and you wish we hadn’t come in?”, he continued.

  Andrew remained silent, evidently not convinced.

  “Come on”, John started again, “We gotta’ get these to-“, he continued, before stopping abruptly upon trying to pick up the first of the canisters.

  “What is it?”, Sonja asked, her tone indicating that she remained concerned.

  Without replying, John unscrewed the lid of the container and placed his nose over it. A smile suddenly spreading across his face, he quickly moved between the cans, moving each of them slightly from side to side, as if testing them individually, until eventually he turned back to his companions with a look of sheer joy on his face.

  “Okay”, he started, “So maybe they’re not empty”.

  Chapter 6: Communication

  A simple hand movement can serve a near infinite number of different purposes, ranging from something as mundane as a slow wave, to a violent action like the clenching of a fist, or a confrontational gesture. In the case of that moment however, on the rooftop floor of the Milwaukee art museum’s multi-storey car park, the three firm pats of a hand’s palm against the side of the concrete wall meant one simple thing; something was approaching.

 
; Hearing the three soft thuds, Lester emerged from the ground floor darkness out into the open air, before giving a quick look upwards for confirmation. Lester was a tank of a man, intimidating not only to any person, but to most living things in general too. He’d been given the post of what was effectively a well-armed doorman, but truth be told, if he hadn’t been given it, he was sure he would have asked for it anyway. Despite his stoic appearance and matching attitude though, as he stared towards the post of the rooftop sniper – a position currently filled by the man known as Harvey – even Lester’s heart began to beat at a rapid rate. Suddenly he found himself preparing to find out whether whatever had been spotted heading this way was friend, or foe.

  The group had established a strict system over the months the camp had been operating. In the case of foe, Lester was to take shelter inside, out of view, and hope the threat would pass. In the event of friend, he was to step briefly out to ensure nothing stirred in the vicinity, and then stand to one side, safeguarding the entrance until the new arrival was safely inside. Of course, there were some exceptions, such as when a single member of the undead approached at close range, so close it wasn’t even spotted by the guard above, but such situations were generally few and far between.

  This time around however, Lester was happy to see that the signal above was a simple thumbs up, most likely indicating that the trio who had gone out searching in the early hours of the morning were now returning, just minutes before the sun was due to set. Quickly Lester reciprocated the gesture to Harvey, letting him know he had received the message.

  “Bout time”, he then said quietly to himself, with a smile on his face that showed off just how relieved he was to know they were returning, shortly before the low rumble of the Ford’s engine came into earshot, and its chunky fronted shell sprang into view further up the street.

  Back above, Harvey turned to the direction of the approaching truck and now held two thumbs up, giving them the all clear and notifying them that the guard on duty was aware they were inbound. It wasn’t a sophisticated system by any means, but it was quiet, subtle, and so far, it had worked. In addition, it also had the benefit of removing the need for battery powered radio communication, or sending runners between each point, and helped make sure things worked in a simple enough way for anybody to understand.

  Eventually the Ford arrived at the entrance and made its way up the ramp and onto the ground floor, Lester acknowledging them with a nod as they passed him by. From what he could tell, the car was undamaged – which was always a good sign – and all three members appeared to have returned. Better yet, he couldn’t help but notice the large number of metal containers present in the rear of the truck, which he was almost certain looked like those used to store fuel.

  Excitedly, Lester followed behind the truck until it parked, a slight grin on his face the entire time.

  “Are they what I think they are?”, he said as the trio began to disembark.

  “Well”, John started, “They ain’t a boat”, he said sarcastically, “But they are fuel tanks, and full ones at that”.

  “Seriously?”, Sonja asked of John, “We come back with this and you’re still talking about the damn boat?”.

  “You know that’s all I want Sonja”, John responded irately, “I mean for God sake-“.

  “Hey whoa now, you’re telling me you came back with all this and you ain’t even happy!?”, Lester asked, a rare display of excitement still gushing from his voice as he admired the numerous items in the rear of the F150.

  “Sorry, you’re right”, John replied, forcing himself to give off the slightest of smiles, “Course I’m happy”.

  “That’s more like it”, Lester said, “Now I gotta’ get back to my post, but I’ma catch up with y’all later!”, he called out, as he began the brief trip back to the entrance.

  “We’ll head out again tomorrow, there’s gotta’ be a boat somewhere”, Andrew said to John, as the group began to unload the truck.

  John said nothing in response, clearly too disappointed to bother with the conversation yet again.

  Andrew wanted nothing more than to help John, to do anything he could to reunite him with his daughter, to afford him the same luxury that he himself experienced every time he returned here and held his family in his arms. But there was little he could do, and so instead, Andrew simply swung his backpack over his shoulders, picked up the first two fuel tanks, and headed for the stairs.

  Back at the truck, Sonja could almost see the emotional turmoil John was going through. One day he was happy at finding his wife, the next he was angry at being stopped from getting to his daughter, then he was excited about looking for a boat, then depressed by repeatedly failing to find one. She couldn’t imagine how hard it must be to go through such stress, especially whilst constantly looking for a lost loved one.

  “John”, she said eventually, lowering back down the various items she was midway through unloading.

  John said nothing in response, continuing instead to lift fuel tanks out of the truck, his back turned to Sonja.

  “I’ll talk to the others about going closer to Chicago next time, just so you can see it”, she said.

  John spun round on the spot, hesitant to display his immediate reaction for fear of it being some kind of cruel joke.

  “Just to see it, okay? I’m not going close, and I’ve got conditions”, she instructed firmly.

  “Anything”, John replied without a second thought.

  “One, we’re going to scavenge. We’re not deviating because you see something, and we’re not stopping for anything other than a decent looking building to raid”, Sonja started.

  “Got it”, John replied.

  “And two, we’re not taking Andrew”, she added.

  “What?”, John asked as he returned to experiencing the recently familiar feeling of confusion, “Why?”.

  “He’s got too much to lose, taking him out on these runs is fine, but the roads to Chicago are dangerous, and I don’t wanna be the one to tell his wife and kid that he isn’t coming back”, she said sternly, “Got it?”.

  John couldn’t help but hesitate for a moment, thinking over what was a relatively large ask. Not only would he be going without the one scavenger at camp he trusted more than anybody, but he’d be doing so as part of a small group headed to a location that was supposedly more dangerous than anywhere he’d been before. Despite this however, no matter what the odds, it was the best chance he had of finding out something more about his daughter, and that was more than enough for John.

  “Done”, he eventually replied.

  Sonja looked away as she returned to the job at hand, feeling slightly proud of her actions, knowing they’d enable a man to get that little bit closer to the daughter he so longingly wanted to see.

  “So tomorrow?”, John asked, clearly unable to let the subject rest until he’d established every detail.

  “Tomorrow?”, Sonja repeated the word inquisitively, “You’re on watch the next two nights”, she said.

  John had all but forgotten his duties for a moment, all of them planned ahead using the rotor he himself had helped draw up.

  “Friday”, Sonja said after a moment of thought, “We’ll go Friday”.

  * * *

  That night, perched on top of the car-park’s north-east corner, John experienced one of the quietest watches he had even known, not only since the start of the apocalypse, but in his entire life. Every shuffle of feet and tap of his finger seemed to echo into the night for miles and miles, no other sounds to fight with. No crickets were heard, and the water of Lake Michigan was so still that not even the sound of lapping liquid could be heard in the cool night air.

  “Mind if I join you”, interrupted the velvety voice of one Michelle Parker, John’s wife of some thirteen years.

  Michelle was beautiful, her bright blonde hair glimmering naturally in the moonlight, and her smile alone enough to change John’s sombre mood in an instant, no matter what the situation. A
n actress in her former life, she stood at five feet seven inches tall, and was exactly the sort of kind, caring and loving wife any man longed for. Even now, separated from her daughter and having been stuck in this god-forsaken world for some time, she somehow found the ability not only to put herself in a good mood, but to bring others into one too.

  “I’ll never say no to that”, John said happily, a grin spreading across his face.

  Michelle softly planted a kiss on John’s cheek, before taking a seat next to him on the wall.

  “Shouldn’t you be sleeping?”, John asked, looking between his wife and the road outside so as to keep on top of his duties.

  “I couldn’t sleep, not tonight”, Michelle replied.

  “Why not?”, John questioned, knowing straight away that something was awry.

  There was a pause where John and Michelle’s eyes met, as John awaited the explanation.

  “Because I know something’s wrong”, Michelle began, “And I’m guessing it’s because of something that happened today”.

  John looked out into the night sky, sighing slightly. His wife, as per usual, had seen right through. Slowly he reached down into the left hand pocket of his cargo pants and withdrew a crumpled up polaroid photo, handing it to Michelle without even looking at it.

  “Who’s this?”, Michelle asked, staring down at the photo of what she assumed to be man and wife.

  “I don’t know his name”, John started, “But hers was Sheila, she worked in a grocery store”, he said, recalling information from the nametag she had worn.

  “They look like a happy couple”, Michelle remarked, inspecting the blonde hair of the mid-forties woman and her similarly aged husband.

  “Yeah, I think they were”, John started. “But he died today”.

  Michelle’s hand sprang straight to her mouth, her inhaling of breath the only other evidence she’d heard the words.

  “And her?”, she went on to ask.

  John’s face dropped, his eyes now focusing on the floor.

  “And her?”, Michelle repeated.

  “She turned a while back, I think, and got put down today”, John started, “By Andrew”, he added, as his mind recreated the image of Andrew’s first kill back at the gas station’s store.