by Ricky Fleet
Chapter 12
They moved in a steady line, Kurt ahead with one lantern, and John following behind with the other. The torches would have been better for lighting the way, however, the flame served an extra purpose. If the oxygen had dropped to a dangerous level, the flame would falter and die, allowing them to retreat and find another route. Much like the canaries that would be taken into the coal mines back in the day; if the bird had fallen an alarm had been raised to evacuate the shaft.
“Everyone ok? How you holding up Mike?” Kurt asked, looking back. He wanted to repair some of the damage their arguments had caused, but he only received a grunt in reply. It looked like both he and Debbie would have to part ways with the others at some point soon.
“How about you Peter?” Gloria continued. He was being assisted by John who held him up with an arm around his waist and Peter’s arm over John’s shoulder.
“I’ll survive,” he answered, wincing with each step.
They had been travelling for about five minutes when they came across a weakened section of tunnel. The timber had broken free and some of the ground had cascaded down, partially blocking their route. Kurt looked back and held a finger to his lips; even noise could bring the remaining weight down on them. He stepped through, ensuring no contact was made with the fragile walls. Turning to light the way, the others followed safely. When it was John’s turn, Debbie was nearly crazed with conflicting emotions; she could bury the bastard right now, in front of his family. But there was no guarantee the whole passage wouldn’t follow suit. She opted for caution, reining in her murderous impulse and moving clear.
Ten more minutes of careful travel and they came across the first open area that provided eight more tunnel branches to take, excluding the one they had arrived from. The space was much larger, over twenty feet wide and twelve long. The supports were thicker and more frequent, spaced much closer than anything they had seen before.
“This must be where they would store stuff and sleep, look.” Sam’s finger pointed out perished blankets. He toed the fabric and it disintegrated instantly, turning to dust.
More items were stacked haphazardly, bottles and boxes. Mike picked up a bottle and smashed the neck, sniffing at the contents. He recoiled and threw it into the corner with disgust.
“Whatever it was, it smells like rotten eggs and vinegar now,” he said. The smell was spreading and the others moved away, seeking fresher air.
“Dad, what’s that?” Sam pointed at a pile of black chippings and powder in the corner. They had spilled from a barrel that had weakened over time. “Coal, maybe?”
“I doubt it. They wouldn’t transport coal in barrels,” Kurt mused. Gloria grabbed at Kurt’s wrist as he held the lantern out to get a better look at the material.
“I think we should keep away from that. If I am not mistaken, it is gunpowder,” she warned.
“Oh shit!” Kurt backed away, respectful of the potential for a detonation from the volatile material.
“Dumbass,” muttered Debbie.
“Sorry,” Kurt shrugged, letting the slight go. He had been a dumbass.
“Which way now?” Sarah asked and John looked at the compass.
“That is the most north easterly tunnel, we should try that one first,” he answered. “I’ll take the lead now, ok?”
“Go for it,” replied Kurt.
They all followed the older man as he ducked through the entrance. It became surreal and monotonous. The underground shaft stretched into the distance, seemingly infinite. Timber, then rooted soil, timber, and then rooted soil, the pattern never changed. Mike was struggling again and only Sarah seemed to be able to keep him from freaking out. He resented that fact, fuelling the hatred in his heart. A pungent odour became apparent, the smell of sewage wafted down towards them on the air current. Rounding a bend, they saw that the floor was inches deep in fetid, stinking water. The yellow tinge and astringent scent told them it was stale urine. The wall to the left oozed unspeakable liquids. Small mushrooms and fungi grew on the disgusting, but bizarrely nourishing, mix of water and human waste.
“That’s awful,” complained Debbie, holding her arm to her nose, trying to dilute the smell.
“There must be a sewer close to the tunnel,” guessed John.
“I’m not walking through that!” Debbie said adamantly.
“We don’t have a choice,” sighed John, carefully stepping through the noxious water.
“You are totally useless, aren’t you?” Mike taunted her, pulling a face of derision.
“Fine, fuck it,” she declared and splashed through like a child in a puddle, drenching her shoes and inner legs. “Happy?”
Mike grinned at the power he had over the woman.
“Come on, let’s get to our destination. If this is the right way and we have been walking at about three miles an hour, we should be there in about fifteen minutes,” John told them all.
“Gross, it’s soaking through my socks,” Debbie moaned, gagging at the smell she was giving off.
“Tough, you shouldn’t have stomped through like a cry-baby,” Mike laughed. She looked on the verge of tears again, eyes reddening the same shade as her bruised face.
“We can get you a change of clothes as soon as we get above ground,” Gloria offered. She could feel the tension rising and Mike teasing the unstable girl could only end badly. The small act of kindness acted as a safety valve and Debbie was appeased, turning to follow John.
They moved silently for five minutes but they came across a problem, the tunnel had collapsed where thick roots had grown around the supports and crushed them. They couldn’t try digging through, the earth looked too unstable. As they watched another small clod fell away and joined the growing hill on the passage floor.
“What a great plan this turned out to be,” Mike mocked them.
“No problem, we go back and find another way,” said Kurt. He was starting to lose his patience with the constant sniping.
“My arse is killing me, no thanks to that cunt. I’m not going anywhere until I’ve rested,” he informed the others. Braiden grinned and fingered the screwdriver by his side.
“Fine, stay here. But we are going.” Kurt handed a small torch to him but Mike just batted it away and it broke on the floor.
“Come on.” John pushed Kurt past Mike and the rest started to trace their way back, following them. Mike and Debbie cursed and then caught up, scheming in their inner minds.
**********
Kurt recognised the fractured beam that was close to the subterranean bed chamber. He faltered in his step, holding his hand in the air. Moans echoed from the walls, masking the true numbers that were approaching in the tunnels. Their conversations must have brought them; the darkness had probably slowed their advance or they would have already fallen over the dead.
“Which way are they coming from? The pub collapsed!” John asked, looking at the random openings that awaited them.
“The sound isn’t coming from that way. There must be a breach somewhere else in the tunnel system. We can’t fight them down here. We will be buried alive,” reasoned Sarah, listening intently.
Kurt was thinking quickly, his mind free of the fear for now. They only had one choice; the sewers. “Go back, I will wait here and stop them with the gunpowder. Break through where the smell is, it will be a drainage tunnel at this depth. It will be horrible, but it will take us to the surface. I will be right behind you,”
“Be careful,” warned John, hugging his son. Sarah and the boys did the same, afraid but no longer trying to prevent Kurt doing what needed to be done.
Their footfalls came back to him from the tunnel for a few minutes, to be gradually replaced by the increasing volume of walking horrors. Kurt flicked his Maglite on, shining it down the various openings. They poured from one of the entrances across from Kurt. Seeing their prey for the first time their arms raised in anticipation of feeding. Kurt spat on the floor and tossed the lantern underarm at the spilled explosive, before turning and runn
ing. Even as the burning torch was spinning, passing the putrid zombies, Kurt was sprinting. The glass broke, spilling the kerosene, which burst into flame a fraction of a second before the gunpowder exploded. The zombies were blown to pieces and then buried under countless tonnes of settled dirt. Kurt was running for all he was worth, feeling the chain reaction of implosion that he had triggered. The rumbling went on and on, deafening him and drowning out his laboured gasps as he ran, accompanied by crazed torchlight from his pinioning arms. The way ahead grew brighter with the glow of the second lantern.
“Run Kurt, Run,” called Sarah from the freshly formed hole in the wall. Piles of brickwork and mud lay covering the urine pool and his wife reached out from their new vantage point in the sewer. She could see the falling tunnel as it crept ever closer to her husband’s heels, it would be a miracle if he made it. Against all odds, a support that was slightly less rotten than the rest, held for a second before splintering into a hundred slivers of wood. Sarah held out her arms and Kurt jumped through into the quagmire of human excrement just in time, a cloud of dust burst from the hole and engulfed them. The roar of the passage collapse faded as it continued onward, finally reaching the blockage and stopping.
Chapter 13
The sewer was roughly ten feet in diameter, with raised walkways on either side for inspection and maintenance. The sluiceway was in the process of drying out. Where once a fast flowing torrent of water and effluent would race down, the lumps had started to congeal and solidify. All manner of disgusting objects greeted them; used condoms, tissue, nappies, differing sizes of shit. They had broken through a section where the walkway had sunk into the smuggler tunnel, only twelve inches needed scraping away before they encountered the soft brickwork. The acidity in the urine had weakened the blockade, otherwise they would all now be dead and buried, rising again, but forever trapped.
“Christ, that was close,” gasped Kurt, resting on his knees and drawing deep breaths.
“Now we are really in the shit,” joked Sarah, making him stand to hold him tight. She was certain the tunnel would claim him as it closed like an eager mouth in pursuit.
“What’s the plan now then, genius?” Mike challenged, stretching his aching leg out to try and minimise the pain in his buttock.
“Now it’s easy, genius,” Kurt answered with contempt. “We can use the access hatches to plot a course through the drains, looking quickly for our position.”
Mike harrumphed, angry that he had been made to look small. The rest of the group gathered their belongings and made ready to move off. Honey was fascinated with the awful odours. She sniffed here and there, paying special attention to a nappy and the smeared contents.
“Honey, away!” Sam commanded and the dog gave it one last sniff, and then turned away with a guilty face. He did it to keep her safe, who knew what bacteria and diseases were rife in the vile paste of the drain.
“I’ll look through that one, wait here,” Kurt jumped the waterway and walked down toward the ladder. He climbed and paused at the top, listening for movement. Shuffling noises were close, the unmistakeable movement of the dead. Kurt knew the weight of the iron cover would drop back into place if there was any danger. The zombies had shown no sign that they would be able to think independently and raise the lid. He pressed the top of his head to the iron and gently pushed upward, revealing a sliver of dawn light. The scene was carnage. Broken, burned cars, piles of fleshy detritus, and bloodied smears over every surface from the running battles that had taken place here. Kurt recognised their position; they were close to the main fire station in Chichester, the hospital was situated a further half mile away to the north.
“Dear God,” Kurt whispered. The sheer number was enough to take his breath away. Thousands lined the streets as he took in a full three sixty-degree view. The site was close to central Chichester, so it stood to reason that it would be swarming. The involuntary shudder he gave off caused the iron to rattle in the frame and the nearest corpses saw his face peering out. They gurgled and moaned, coming for Kurt, so he dropped the lid back. The cold, dead fingers began clawing at the iron, unable to lift it as he had surmised.
“Kurt, what is the matter?” asked Gloria when she saw the unhealthy pallor of his face.
“There are so many,” Kurt said, without explaining further. They all knew what to expect from a major city, but the sight was beyond all powers of reason. The horde at the army barracks had been separated by water, and the distance lent it a strange disassociation. The knowledge of what shambled around, ten feet above their head brought reality home with powerful force.
“What’s the plan, Kurt?” John asked, shouldering his backpack.
“We go north. We are near the hospital. It will only take us about fifteen minutes through the sewers,” he answered and they followed John as he led the way, taking the direction that led the most northerly.
Reaching an area with railings, a huge, circular sump was absorbing the surface runoff from the rainfall. Water roared within the confines, pouring into the vast basin. Bobbing on the surface, like white marshmallows in a hot chocolate, were dozens of zombies. Their skulls had been rubbed clean of flesh by the circular motion of the water, bouncing them from the sides and smoothing their bones like pebbles. The macabre scene was disturbed by two more victims who came barrelling down the sewer channel. They reached out at the last second upon seeing food, but went over the waterfall and landed in the mass of dead, unfulfilled.
“We need to go round, that opening there should take us close.” John pointed, watching the compass needle. Fortunately, it was a ‘foul’ sewer and dry with no one left alive to flush the toilets.
After eighty feet they came across another ladder and Kurt repeated the process. They were under the road that curved left to the main public carpark of the hospital. The distance from the centre of the city had thinned the herd; only hundreds walked the streets amongst the destruction. Homes had been breached, doors and windows broken to reach the succulent meat within. Kurt dropped the lid and informed the others how close they were to journeys’ end.
“We need to get as close as possible to the main building, that way we can see the soldiers and raise the white flag before we get shot,” Kurt explained.
“You can stick your head above the parapet first,” grinned Mike without humour.
“I wouldn’t dream of asking you to risk yourself. You’re a survivor,” Kurt replied, adding an inflection on survivor that really meant coward.
“Yes he is,” smarmed Debbie, missing the insult. Mike hadn’t and stepped forward, ready to attack Kurt and no amount of guns would stop him. Kurt ducked the punch and pushed, preferring not to use his axe. Mike was caught off balance and stumbled over the raised concrete siding of the sewer culvert. He fell backwards and landed on the top of the partially hardened faecal matter. The squelch rebounded from the concave walls of the passage and Kurt knew he would have been better using the hatchet to finish him. The look of pure hatred chilled Kurt’s blood. There would be a reckoning for the insults and this humiliation.
“Take my hand,” offered John, reaching out. Mike was sat in the depression his weight had created. The only other way he could extricate himself was by pushing off of the drain floor which would mean his arms sinking into the quagmire. With a scowl, he clasped the outstretched arm and pulled free with an audible pop. Braiden laughed, which increased the animosity and Kurt winced internally. The decision would be his whether to defuse the coming confrontation with a pre-emptive strike, or wait and see. Despite the bullies’ abrasive personality, he was reluctant to commit cold blooded murder. If being an arsehole was punishable by death, Debbie would be six feet under already.
“Get out of those clothes, you could get infected.” Debbie pulled a new pair of trousers and jumper from Kurt’s backpack. He didn’t resist, looking at his father, who could see what was coming too.
After peeling the layers off, careful to keep his fingers away from the brown slime, Mike said, �
��Let’s get moving.” His tone of voice spoke of violence repressed. But, like a pressure cooker, it would explode at some point. The question was when.
Chapter 14
The drain was reached and the excitement had built within the group. Even Mike and Debbie were smiling at the thought of having some well-trained protection. Kurt did his best impression of a human submarine periscope and wished he hadn’t. The scene of chaos sunk in, removing all hope of salvation.
“What do you see?” asked Sarah with excitement. Kurt looked down and the smiles instantly died on their faces, like a switch had been flicked.
Kurt scanned around. The hospital entrance had been chosen as the site of the army outpost. Treble stacked motorway dividers had been placed against the brickwork, reaching nine feet into the air, funnelling anyone - or thing - toward the waiting soldiers. Sand bag placements had been built and spaced out to provide cover for the machine gunners. Each gun lay silently, pointing toward the sky. Their operators were pacing in the carpark, dressed in combat fatigues which had been shredded by ravenous mouths. Thousands of spent bullet casings littered the ground and glittered in the rising sun. Scorch marks and overturned cars indicated grenade detonations, with piles of unidentifiable flesh intermingled. Hundreds of zombies lay dead across the vast carpark, victims of the final stand of the army before they were overrun. Several army vehicles had been parked to the side to provide covering fire, as well as a means of escape. The Foxhounds were armoured land cruisers, suitable for fast travel and strong enough to resist explosions. Some of the troops had fled into the safety of the vehicles. They were beating at the reinforced glass, now turned. The drivers had tried to force through the crowd, corpses on the pavement that had been partly crushed attested to the fact. Tyre tracks marked flattened heads and torsos, sticking the victims to the ground. In their desperation, the driver of one had grounded the Foxhound on a pile of bodies. They must have sat there, wheels spinning uselessly as they had been surrounded, until the fuel or engine died. The zombies had been unable to gain entry, but the troops had been trapped. Finally succumbing to dehydration or blowing their own brains out, painting the windows red.
