Aftermath (Book 2): Chicago Calling

by Duncan McArdle

  Immediately all five beings mobilised, appearing to use some kind of stored energy that had been trapped inside for the months that had preceded this moment, propelling each of them in the direction of the loud bang at the door. John’s eyes widened and his head began furiously conducting his usual risk analysis, before picking the figure behind a nearby couch as his first and most logical target.

  Despite how much John despised using ammunition unnecessarily, he recognised the need for quick takedowns, due in no small part to the speed with which each of their targets were now moving towards them. Deciding this long before Harvey, John raised his Ruger – rather than the knife he gripped in his left hand – and stabilised it using his left wrist, before firing off the first round. In what he could only assume was a misfire or poorly made bullet, the gun jerked to one side and sent the piece of lead curving off with disappointing speed into the target’s shoulder, barely penetrating the weakened skin and doing little to slow down its advance.

  Quickly he compensated and fired again, this time hitting the figure – which was now little more than three metres from their position – dead centre in the middle of the forehead. The shot sent it swaying backwards hopelessly, now completely devoid of energy, its malnourished but still reasonably heavy mass collapsing onto the couch behind in a flurry of dust and blood.

  To the left of this first figure came two more, this time moving almost side by side from the left-hand dining area in a direct, unimpeded line towards the door where John and Harvey stood. With immense speed, John lined up the first shot, and fired, his eyes only registering the impact for mere milliseconds before lining up the second, which he promptly tucked into the area between each eye of what was now the third victim in the apartment. In perfect tandem, the two now definitively deceased individuals began the short descent to the ground, a movement confirmed by the clattering sound of their bodies against the hardwood floor below.

  Over in the kitchen, the final two biters had begun their own journey towards the attackers. Having seen their friends perish, they were now moving with what almost looked like anger in their eyes, as if set on avenging their fallen comrades. But now that the numbers had diminished – a fact John confirmed with a quick visual check of the room – there was less reason to be wasteful, and so he lowered his pistol and instead raised his knife, before signalling for Harvey to do the same.

  In compliance, Harvey followed suit, and moved with John towards the targets, each of them separating slightly so as to draw each figure out to their respective sides. Soon enough, the steel of two blades went plunging into the dark depths of each figure, sending them quickly down to the ground, an aerial trail of blood accompanying them on their final journey, splattering down around the fallen bodies. John and Harvey withdrew their knives in quick succession, before switching back to their firearms, and doing one final sweep of the area.

  The rest of the room appeared to be empty. The dining table was in good shape – save for the two bodies that lay around it – and the initial entrance area was definitely clear. The kitchen counter on quick inspection had nothing lurking behind, and the hallway to the bedrooms was soon confirmed to be clear by Harvey, who promptly returned to the location of the final two deceased. Upon arriving however, Harvey couldn’t help but notice that John had now halted, and was staring down at the bodies below.

  “Something wrong?”, Harvey asked, himself hoping to keep moving rather than take a breather.

  “He was stroking her hair”, John replied, in what could only be described as a stunned tone.

  “What are you talking about?”, Harvey asked both sarcastically and in disbelief.

  “I swear, when we came in, these two were sat down by the counter, and the smaller one, he was behind her, stroking her hair”, John explained, before pointing to the back of the taller figure’s head.

  “Jesus”, Harvey remarked, as he too now noticed the deep hole that had been burrowed into the once blonde woman’s skull by the other biter, whose fingers were so worn down from the repeated motion that they were now almost completely bare bone, itself also worn thin at the tips and mangled with blood-matted strands of hair.

  John was in shock, this wasn’t the first time he’d heard of the undead engaging in human-like activities, but it didn’t make it any easier to process. Since the start, he had followed the government’s advice of killing any undead that he found, adamant that there was no coming back for them. But seeing them acting like humans again, even if only slightly and only very rarely, was enough to raise a number of questions.

  Such thoughts were however cut short, once John realised that Harvey – who was clearly less interested in the matter – had arrogantly made his way down the hallway towards the remaining bedrooms, apparently convinced he could do the rest alone.

  “Wait!”, John whispered as loudly as he could, still keen to keep noise to a minimum as he too made his way to the depths of the darkened hallway, “Don’t go in alone!”, he said after Harvey.

  But it was too late, John arrived just barely in time to see Harvey turn the handle and fling open the door of the first bedroom, with little regard for what may be inside. Clearly he had grown tired of the slow and cautious approach the duo had so far taken to this particular raid, and had instead decided that it was no longer necessary now that the bulk of the threat had been taken out. What he hadn’t expected however, was for there to be a further threat, and as a once two hundred pound mass came hurtling towards him almost as soon as the door swung open, he realised the extent of the mistake he had made.

  Before he even knew what was happening, John bore witness to what could only be described as an almighty tackle, as a dirtied, bloodied and indisputably dead woman came flying out of the bedroom and into Harvey, who immediately flew backwards hard against the bathroom door to his rear. The glass of the door smashed and sections of wood splintered off as Harvey was thrown off of his feet, through the broken door and into the bathroom, out of John’s sight just as quickly as the woman had come into it. Suddenly John found himself unable to do anything, and so quickly ran forwards, rounding the entrance into the bathroom to see the monster pinning Harvey down, himself able to do little more than try to move his head to dodge the beast’s advances, his own arms and legs pinned down under its heavy mass.

  As quickly as he could manage, John arched his arm over the top of the incident in front and brought his blade down hard on the rear of the skull in front, embedding it deep into the being’s brain just as he had done so many times before. John waited for the tell-tale final exhale of air that indicated the last ounce of life disappearing from the undead, but after a few dangerous moments, realised it wasn’t coming. John withdrew the knife and stabbed down once more, this time with both hands, again cracking skull and again piercing tissue, but again doing nothing to stop his target’s movement.

  Suddenly the dead woman made a final lunge downwards head first, taking the still embedded knife with it and away from John’s reach. It’s mouth dribbled bile and its razor sharp teeth sprang forwards, immensely attracted to the prospect of the meal below, not least thanks to the smell of blood, courtesy of the many shards of bathroom-door-glass that had pierced various parts of Harvey’s exposed skin. The biter opened wide for its first bite of the meal in front.

  * * *

  The majority of the car-park’s residents had been milling around the rooftop when the initial shots rang out. There was already a shared feeling of concern once the first few smashes of doors being kicked in had reached public ears, but at the time they’d all been quick to simmer down. Now though, as the unmistakable sound of another gunshot flooded the air – albeit only briefly – the general atmosphere turned to that of panic, and fierce debate.

  “They’ve been shot!”, yelled one woman to the response of shushes and gestures to be quiet.

  “Are they dead?”, harped another, before she too was quickly told by more rational friends to calm down.

  “Everybody quiet!”, cam
e the voice of Sonja, who had been disturbed from slumber by the commotion, and now made her way over to the corner of the rooftop, where Andrew sat on duty.

  Sonja couldn’t help but feel concern thanks to the numerous terrified faces that were in plain view all around.

  “What’s going on?”, she asked Andrew upon arriving at his position.

  “Not sure”, Andrew started, “They’re in there but, they wouldn’t normally fire unless they had to, I’m worried that if th-“

  “Andrew”, Sonja cut in, sensing where he was headed, “I’m sure they’re fine”, she said, only half believing the words that left her mouth.

  For the longest time there were no new noises coming from the apartment block, and after a few minutes this fuelled yet more speculation about the potential demise of the camp’s brave protectors. But eventually, amidst the sound of residents whispering fiercely amongst themselves, the creaking noise of a metallic door swinging open silenced every last pair of mumbling lips. Nobody on the roof could see the source, but everyone there knew exactly where it had come from. Instantly everyone turned to look over at the edge of the rooftop, where the metal railings surrounding it were all they could see from their lower position. Every person there now stood or sat in silence, waiting for news.

  Before long, the sound of footsteps cut through the empty air, and the scruffy hair of John Parker emerged into view, the look of worry on his eyes not enough to stop a barrage of not-quite-silent celebration from numerous different people. But nobody could ignore the obvious issue; the missing person who they all knew even better than John, and thus all knew to be the more likely one to get himself into trouble.

  Sonja cringed and clenched her fists as she waited for news, until eventually, the man known as Harvey also appeared on the rooftop, standing alongside John now, basking in the mellow rays of the cloud-obscured afternoon sunshine, various slicks of blood visible down the side of each of his arms.

  “Cut himself on some glass”, John announced sarcastically to the watching masses, to which Harvey simply grunted.

  Chapter 13: Plans

  “Everybody in?”, John asked, to which Andrew and Sonja replied with a hearty confirmation.

  With that, the Ford rolled forwards and into the light, the huge truck emerging from the car-park like a tank from a tunnel, beginning their designated journey. The group were briefly waved off by a surprisingly chirpy seeming Lester as they passed by the giant of a man, before turning left onto the main street.

  Five days had passed since the events at the apartment block next door, each of them spent doing little aside from some basic prep work on the apartment block, thanks in no small part to the staggered shift patterns that everybody had been working. John would often be forced to wait between two and six days to leave camp depending on who was available, and that had only gotten worse now that Harvey was on rest. The ex-lawyer had caught an infection through one of the many gashes he’d gotten to the back of each arm, and was now up top on the roof trying to recover, good for rooftop watch duty but little else. This meant that the only time the trio could head out was when Lester wasn’t on daytime rest, and finally that time had come.

  “Aren’t we going straight there?”, Sonja asked after the truck moved beyond the first turn-off into the depths of the city.

  “We are, but I’m sticking to the coast for as long as I can, roads are less congested out here”, John replied.

  Their destination – a hardware and lumber store just three or four miles from camp – was almost a straight line north-west, and would only take twenty or so minutes even with the roads in their current state. But John had seen first-hand just how easy it was to get stuck on some of the busier inner-city roads, and so had no desire to risk it. As such, he’d chosen a route that took them out along the coast until they were right alongside their destination, at which point they could swing inland, cover a few blocks, and reach the store.

  It was a route he’d confirmed with Andrew prior to leaving, using one of the many maps that had been accumulated over time, each scattered about camp. Sonja however had been on duty right until they left, and so had been excluded from most of the planning. She seemed to accept the alternative route without issue however, though John did imagine this might be due to her somewhat sleep-deprived state, having worked straight through from the night before.

  Their destination had been chosen with the intention of finding decent wood. Their new farming spot was in an ideally close location, but the need to head down to the ground floor and then move along the road out in the open, before ascending back up several floors again, was proving to be problematic. Despite only three journeys having been completed so far – one of which was a second run-through by the guards – there had already been one near miss. A particularly well camouflaged biter had emerged suddenly from inside one of the adjacent alleys, and given the woman nearest to her the fright of her life, as well as very nearly taking it from her. It was a situation John was keen to avoid reoccurring, and so it had been decided that they would try to manufacture some kind of bridge, for which of course, they needed wood.

  “Either of you two think this is a little off-task?”, Sonja asked after a short distance.

  “Off-task?”, John questioned.

  “Well, we need food, we need water, and you need a boat, yet here we are out looking for wood”, Sonja explained.

  Andrew’s eyes shot up to the mirror to meet John’s, himself evidently having also wondered the same thing.

  “Think of it like an investment”, John began, “We get the wood now, and we’re able to get to the garden a lot easier. We get that and we might just be able to grow a decent amount of food. We do that and suddenly we don’t have to go out on as many runs anymore”.

  “A little optimistic, don’t you think?”, Sonja asked.

  “Very”, John replied bluntly, “But the idea of being able to survive out here is all that keeps those people back at camp going, and I for one think it’s worth doing just for that”.

  Sonja smiled, always happy to hear John’s more compassionate side coming out, especially when what he was doing selflessly delayed him achieving his own personal goals.

  Soon the F150 came within viewing distance of McKinley marina, as well as the numerous sailing and yachting clubs it housed. Looking the location over, John couldn’t help but feel a great deal of sadness. This one spot had once housed several hundred boats of various types, and yet now stood completely empty, only the most mangled and desperate-for-repair vessels left behind when everything went wrong. There was something incredibly depressing about seeing an empty marina, the same sort of feeling John got when he saw a playground without children, or an amusement park that had nobody in it. Looking in the rear view mirror, he saw Andrew too scanning the area, hoping to spot something they all knew wasn’t there.

  “You ever think”, Sonja began, “’Bout what you’ll do if the lake freezes?”, she asked, not realising the implications of what she was suggesting.

  John snapped a look back at Sonja, shock immediately visible on his face, evidencing the fact that it wasn’t something he’d ever considered.

  “I mean it’ll probably just be the marinas and the edges, I don’t think it’s ever fully frozen, but winter is coming after all”, Sonja backtracked.

  Suddenly John felt a renewed sense of urgency about his cause. Although he’d always intended to get to Chicago as soon as possible anyway, he’d recently become more complacent with the search, happy to help support the future of the camp whilst sharing his time with his own errands.

  “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything, it probably won’t happen”, Sonja tried to recover.

  “But if it does”, John said, ignoring the attempted killing of the subject.

  “If it does then you wait till it thaws”, Sonja replied, “It won’t take long. Besides, we’re bound to find you a boat before winter really hits”, she added, “Hell I’ll make you one if we find enough lumber”, she said
, in an attempt to distract John with humour.

  John didn’t laugh, but he did look out to the water to his right, anxiety brewing over yet another potential delay. What if it did freeze? What if the sudden lack of human interaction meant it was finally able to turn completely into impassable ice? What if-.

  “JOHN!”, came both Sonja and Andrew’s voices in terrified unison.

  Looking back in front just in time, John swerved to the left, narrowly avoiding the parked car he’d been so close to hitting, so close in fact that there was the slightest screech of metal on metal as the two bumpers just barely made contact.

  Having swerved so violently to avoid the vehicle though, John had put the truck on a crash course with the central reservation, a cruel and unforgiving concrete mistress that had stood the test of time better than most things on the road. Before long, the F150 bounced hard off of the raised floor and leapt into the air slightly, before crashing back down on the wrong side of the street shortly afterwards.

  Struggling for grip, John then narrowly avoided the curb on the far side by swerving again, this time to the right, before slamming hard on the brakes to bring the truck to a stop, sending everyone lurching forwards and then pulling them back by the seatbelts Andrew had insisted they wear. The truck descended into silence for a moment while everyone came to grips with what had happened, before Sonja eventually broke it, slamming her fist down on the dashboard she had so nearly head-butted moments earlier.

  “Jesus Christ John, I’m the one whose sleep deprived, not you”, she said angrily.

  “Sorry”, John replied, his heart beating so hard it felt like it could break free of the ribbed cage that encased it at any moment.

  * * *

  “I’m fine, thank you”, Harvey replied, to yet another one of the many people that had asked him how his injuries were so far today.

  There were two or three medically trained members of the community, and all three had told him there was little to be done without antibiotics and proper equipment, but that they all thought he’d most likely be fine. Frankly, Harvey wished people would just stop asking so he could forget about the whole thing. But as he adjusted his sitting position on the wall, and another of the many cuts he’d sustained rubbed slightly against his clothing, he couldn’t help but wince with pain.