Chapter 37: Cut it off at the source
Before long the Ford – now being driven by Andrew – turned back onto the lakeside road and began hurtling along the much clearer path back home. If the volume of supplies brought back by the trailer earlier in the day wasn’t enough, the incredible work the huge eighteen-wheeler had done to clear out the roads was a blessing in itself, though Andrew would have appreciated a few less shards of glass and pieces of bodywork scattered across certain parts of the road.
A little while after the truck had begun the final leg of its journey back, Andrew finally opened his mouth, and in doing so broke the silence that had engulfed the car since their departure from the ultimately unsuccessful raid.
“Starting to think I’ve saved you more than you’ve saved me”, he said without looking over.
John turned from staring out the window to instead glare at Andrew, without saying a word.
Andrew suddenly found himself growing nervous with every passing second of silence, and before long was looking out of the corner of his eye at John, who he soon realised was staring right back at him. “Or not”, he said nervously.
Slowly John started to turn away once more, but stopped short upon his eyes glancing over at a series of small buildings up ahead to their left, right in the middle of the marina.
“Seen something?”, Andrew asked, having now noticed that John’s gaze appeared to be locked on something in particular.
“Those sheds up there”, John said nodding forwards.
“Yeah?”, Andrew asked, himself now looking over to the wooden structures that backed on to the water.
“That’s where that group from the bridge were hiding out”, John explained, “Harvey wanted to go there before we hit the supermarket”.
Andrew inspected the buildings, noting their mostly decrepit state, and the empty docks that surrounded them.
“If I’d let him go there first, everything might be different”, John said.
“C’mon John, you and I both know you can’t think like that”, Andrew pointed out, knowing just how often such thoughts could run through a person’s head when they felt responsible for someone else’s misfortune.
“I know”, John replied, now looking away from the sheds and to his right, where taller buildings were becoming a more frequent sight as they got further into Milwaukee.
Soon however such buildings disappeared off to the side, and John suddenly realised the truck was turning from the main road.
“What are you doing?”, John asked, watching the gates of the marina pass by on each side.
“Well you said they were hiding out in this place, so let’s go check it out?”, Andrew proposed.
“It’s empty”, John explained, “They wouldn’t leave anything valuable there and they didn’t have anything valuable to leave there in the first place”, he explained, “It’ll be a waste of time, we need to head back”.
“You don’t know that, we might find something”, Andrew said, ignoring the comments.
“Andrew, turn around and let’s get back”, John insisted.
“No”, Andrew said in an unusually defiant tone.
Staring over at Andrew, who was himself not looking back, John struggled to understand the sudden stubbornness of his companion, until all at once it clicked. Andrew didn’t want to raid this place – he never liked doing anything with an element of risk – but he wanted to go back to base even less. He didn’t want to return to a place where he might have to deal with losing another person from his life.
“Okay Andrew”, John said finally, “But after this, we’re heading home”.
Andrew didn’t respond, but John could see the sense of relief coming over him.
Up ahead was a car-park littered with abandoned vehicles – most likely due to the sudden influx of people taking to the water – and then a series of empty docks. Before that though, on the right hand side of the road, was a long series of wooden sheds that varied wildly in both size and condition.
“Any idea which one it is?”, Andrew asked as they began passing by the first few.
“Based on how those guys acted…”, John started, eyeing up those that were further along, “I’d say the biggest one is our best bet”.
“So the end one?”, Andrew asked, having now noticed that the last one was by far the largest of the set, looking like more of a factory than a shed.
“Looks like it”, John agreed.
The final building was a large, rectangular number, with only a hard metal door on the front and no windows to view inside. Above the door was the logo and name of a repairs company that had once occupied it and then the most worrying sight of all, just above the sign, nailed to the wall as if being displayed as some kind of trophy; the head of a biter, its blood having long since dripped clean out.
“Yeah”, John said upon spotting the grotesque sight, “I think this is it”.
Andrew pulled up outside the building and the two men disembarked, looking around the structure to make sure there were no signs of anybody else nearby. No cars were in the vicinity, and nor was there any light coming from underneath the door, or any noise to suggest that anybody else was present. As far as both men were concerned, they were alone, which meant only one thing.
Coming round to John’s side of the Ford, Andrew handed over his Remington shotgun, its flashlight still attached, in an unspoken way of pointing out that the light inside – or lack thereof – might just be their biggest obstacle. John took the shotgun, and afterwards placed his M14 into the back of the truck, himself having realised its medium to long range nature would be of little use in the close quarters of the building’s interior.
Next John slung the shotgun over his back, and made his way to the door, crowbar in hand. Arriving to his side, Andrew gave him a quick nod to indicate he was ready, and then John reached for the door handle, twisting it slowly. Much to both men’s surprise, the handle clicked open, and the door sprang slightly ajar, a thin strand of light now seeping into the insides.
“Unlocked?”, Andrew asked in shock, himself having almost forgotten what it was like to enter a building without a crowbar or well-placed foot nowadays.
John nodded, before quietly lowering the metal bar onto the ground, having opted to leave his backpack in the truck so as to aid his mobility. Next, he flicked the shotgun’s torch into life but kept it pointed at the floor, and then firmed his grip on the door handle in front, before throwing it open and moving quickly inside, raising the shotgun and flooding the area with its fierce illumination.
The first part of the building was some kind of reception area, a fraction of the property’s total size and containing little more than a desk and two doors. What was most interesting however, was what was on the ground below, as the torch shone down on a series of sleeping bags and ragged mattresses, as well as a few half consumed cans of food and bottles of water, and a small quantity of ammunition. It seemed at this point as if the group had been living in this small part of the building, though why they’d chosen to do so John didn’t yet know.
“Clear”, he whispered, at which point Andrew relaxed the aggressive grip he was exerting on his M1911 slightly.
Quickly John set about investigating what they were working with, and in doing so began gathering up anything useful he could find and piling it up to at the entrance, propping the door open and ready for loading into the truck. John was adamant to ensure their exit was kept open and ready for use, lest they become trapped inside.
Soon he had made his way through the majority of the room in front, including checking behind the desk and through each of the part-glass fronted doors that led further into the building. He couldn’t see much of whatever lay behind each – which was always a troubling issue for John – but it seemed as if both led to corridors, one smaller than the other, and neither housing anything moving.
Through the now partially removed darkness – courtesy of the open entrance – Andrew saw John approach the door leading to th
e smaller corridor on the left, and so headed over to assist. Andrew watched as John slowly twisted the handle, once more finding it unlocked, and then shoved it ajar, immediately piercing the blackness behind with the barrel of his shotgun, and the glow its flashlight emitted.
The corridor in front was no more than a few paces long, and contained two further doors, one marked “KITCHEN”, and one “CRAPPER”. John couldn’t help but smirk slightly as he began to realise that not only had this entire building represented a single business in its entirety, but also one that it seemed had very little regard for professionalism. Feeling a little more at ease now, John flung the bathroom door open – exposing a toilet, sink and little space for anything else – and then moved down to the kitchen, with Andrew following close behind. Just as the two men regrouped, John once again moved in, shotgun raised and at the ready.
The kitchen was small – though not as small as the bathroom – and appeared to have been picked clean. Cupboards were left empty or broken off completely, and the drawers had all been emptied, with various pieces of silverware now strewn out across the ground, deemed useless by whoever had searched the room before them. Briefly John inspected the area, keen not to miss the slightest win, but soon realised it was a bust, and so instead turned and signalled for Andrew to head back out.
Moving back into the main entrance area, John shone his torch upwards so as to inspect the high ceilings, and found what appeared to be a series of knives jammed in place. The men and women that remained in the world had found a variety of ways to fill the time between going out on runs or waiting to be rescued, and so John wasn’t particularly surprised to see that the previous occupants of this particular room – who he knew to be more than a little unstable – had taken to knife throwing, though he did show some concern for the fact they’d done so right above their own heads.
Moving past Andrew, John made his way over to the final door of the room. Briefly he checked through the dirtied glass to once again make sure nothing stirred behind, and then opened the door to reveal a hallway that was around five or six metres long, leading to another door. Unfortunately for John, this seemed to be where the simplicity of the situation ended, as he noted the silhouette of a body, seemingly standing behind the barricade ahead. A second later, the figure shifted slightly, its fists rising up above its head and then slowly moving forwards, until a thud sounded out, sending Andrew jumping backwards.
“Holy…”, Andrew blurted out, shocked by the sudden presence of another lifeform inside the otherwise empty building.
“Guess this is why they camped out back there”, John suggested, nodding back to the numerous sleeping areas crammed into the small space in the first part of the building. “Let’s see what we’re working with”, John then added, as he moved along the corridor to the door in front, pulled it open towards both men, and then stood back, just as the door to their rear slowly closed over after Andrew too had entered.
The biter simply fell forwards, no longer supported by the obstruction in front, and with so little muscle remaining in its body that it found it far too difficult to stay standing. Had he not fallen down in front of them – where John was quickly setting about making sure he stayed down – John was fairly certain that judging by the state he was in, he wouldn’t have been much of a threat anyway.
“That was it?”, Andrew asked, watching John re-emerge from the ground, knife in hand. “That’s what had them all camped out back there, they were scared of one biter?”.
Andrew had barely finished speaking when a barrage of moans and groans became audible, growing louder by the second and all of them coming from the same place as the first body.
“No”, John said, having heard the noises, “But I think we’re about to find out what they were really scared of”.
Immediately Andrew turned and moved towards the door that had closed behind both men. Quickly he reached for the handle, twisting hard but finding that rather than the door giving way, the handle did instead. Now holding their side of the handle in his hand – no longer connected to the door – Andrew heard the tell-tale sound of the other half falling onto the ground on the other side. Maybe this had been a trap set up by the previous occupants, or maybe it was just a poorly maintained building, but whatever the reason, they were now trapped.
“What’s going on back there!?”, John asked semi-nervously, the noises in front growing louder and louder, and the corridor too tight for him to see past his companion, never mind move around him.
“The handle broke!”, Andrew exclaimed.
“What!?”, John asked in disbelief.
“It broke off, I can’t open the door!”, Andrew tried to explain.
“Well kick it in then!”, John yelled, no longer seeing the point of quiet as he watched the first of the biters approach in front.
From what John could tell, there was somewhere between five and ten of them, with three now visible up ahead. It was a fight he felt they could win, but if there were more after the initial wave, he wasn’t sure it was a fight he wanted. Andrew meanwhile was currently proving that it was perhaps a fight they were being forced to take part in, judging by the banging noise John heard behind, followed by a lack of extra light, meaning of course that the door wasn’t budging.
Without another word, John brought the Remington shotgun up to eye level, lined up his first shot, and unleashed a shell filled with fury in the direction of the closest advancing biter’s head. The twelve-gauge round erupted with incredible force, recoiling the weapon and pushing hard against John’s shoulder. But most importantly, a series of fragments found their mark, ripping apart the figure’s head into multiple shards and splattering blood and gore all over his friends behind, one of whom caught the rest of the shell in what ended up being another deadly landing.
John pumped the shotgun, waited for the two bodies to drop – giving him line of sight to the third – and then fired again, once more decimating his target, and this time catching another body that had just emerged from round the corner, though this time on a less fatal part of the body.
“It’s not budging!”, Andrew yelled, “I don’t have the room to get a good run-up!”.
With that, John moved forwards, reducing the distance between himself and the enemy, but at least giving Andrew more space to work with.
Almost straight away, the second half of the attacking party appeared, four of the undead now wandering over in the men’s direction. John pumped hard and fired, spraying two of them but not taking either down, and then pumped again. Upon firing the next time, both biters – who were now close enough to really feel the effects of the round – caught a significant chunk of the shell, and were each sent tumbling over in opposite directions, now missing large chunks of their own skulls.
John would much rather have used his pistol at a time like this, knowing that the smaller, more precise ammunition would be easier to line up and much less wasteful than the more suppression-orientated shotgun. But John also knew that without the Remington’s torch, there’d be little he could see, and he didn’t fancy his chances if he opted to try and switch weapons at a time like this. Soon though the final two undead beings in sight were within firing distance, and so John lined up his penultimate shot.
At that moment, just as the sound of him firing filled the area, so too did the sound of a door giving way, this time to John’s rear. Andrew had run at speed and barged his way through, sending himself flying into the room behind. John meanwhile watched his first target drop and quickly lined up the second, but then found himself distracted by the unmistakable groan of a biter to his rear, and the knowledge that Andrew had just headed in that direction.
John narrowly managed to turn on the spot, having to raise his shotgun into the air in order to rotate, and then lowering it back down once facing the other direction. Now in front of John, Andrew lay on the ground in the corner of the room, struggling to get to his feet. To his right however, was a particularly vibrant looking being, enough energy remaini
ng inside for it to be more or less jumping for Andrew, and posing enough of an immediate threat for John to need to hip-fire his next shot.
Despite the improvised aiming that John had always tried to teach others to avoid, the shell found its mark, near enough exploding through the side of the biter’s face and causing it to slam violently against the nearest wall. Blood splattered across every surface – including Andrew – and John paused to make sure he’d made the connection, before turning back around once more.
Pumping the shotgun as he rotated, John was barely able to complete his manoeuvre before he found himself almost face to face with his next target. The barrel of the shotgun came to rest just an inch or so underneath the chin of his would-be-attacker, and thus sent a sickening smile spreading across John’s face just milliseconds before he pulled hard on the trigger, and released all hell from the tip of the weapon, clean through various parts of his enemy’s face in a near deafening explosion.
“You alright!?”, John called back into the main reception area, louder than he needed due to his temporarily impaired hearing.
“Y-y-yeah!”, Andrew stuttered, wiping the blood off of his face with a shaking hand, “You?”, he asked.
“I’m good”, John replied, opting to leave the blood on his own face until he was certain the situation was well and truly over, “Let’s get this done”, he ordered, before moving forwards out of the hallway’s end.
Arriving into the largest area of the building, John shone the torch to both sides, and to the small tool-stand in front, into which the shrapnel from his shots that hadn’t found their target had embedded themselves. Some light was coming in from the far end, where a partially open shutter rested on top of the water line, just high enough to allow natural light in and illuminate some of the room. Seeing this, and a lack of much else nearby, John moved along to the left of the tool-stand and began inspecting what lay behind it.
Andrew meanwhile brought up the rear, arriving behind John after a few seconds of cautiously moving forwards, and still desperately trying to rid his face of the infected blood he’d been coated in during his brief stint on the ground. Nervously looking around the room, Andrew took note of the leftover tools, the bottles of various liquids at the side of the room, the light seeping in from the building’s rear, and finally the large, sheet-covered object in front.
Aftermath (Book 2): Chicago Calling Page 30
