by Karpa, Boris
The motorcycle spun once again onto the sidewalk and smashed into the wall of the nearest building. Fire blazed out of the engine. The sidecar passenger was thrown out – but not before he became a human torch. Arthur watched, his fingers tight around the binoculars, as the man ambled, confused, towards the wave of ghouls, and then fell forward. Second later, the burning figured disappeared, concealed from view by the rush of undead flesh.
The explosion was ear-shattering. Clearly the man still had grenades on his body – and the fire had now had its effect. It was as if an invisible fist had punched into the ranks of the ghouls, creating a dent in their very front ranks – and now the three machineguns, which had paused their deadly work when the bike started its spin, started singing their song again – the thumping noises of the two heavy machineguns, and the clattering of the third, incredibly fast, gun.
The ghouls had by now run nearly two miles – and were approaching the barricades. It seemed that, in only a few minutes, the crowd would simply ram the containers with its whole weight – but the Florentines' trap was not limited to merely three machine guns and a barricade. Suddenly, on the roofs of houses adjoining the barricade, the flashes of rifle fire glowed like Christmas lights. Explosions boiled on the ground as dozens of grenades were tossed down from the roofs. There was little need to even aim the grenades – the men simply threw them over the edge and stepped back, to avoid being struck by shrapnel.
And yet the creatures kept coming. Incapable of understanding the nature of the trap, drawn by the bright flashes, loud sounds, and the smell of corpses that were not undead but now simply dead, they rushed onward and onward – only to be cut down, in their turn, by the relentless Florentine marksmen.
From one of the roofs a new object was thrown. It burned as it sailed neatly over a roof edge and into a crowd of ghouls – and then it simply shattered, coating several of the creatures in liquid flame. And yet the zombies continued their onslaught. As he looked on, Arthur realized that he could not consider these creatures under the name of "ghouls". They were firmly zombies to him now, hapless, bumbling things that you see in horror films. Not unstoppable monsters beyond human ken. Unstoppable monsters from beyond human ken would not continue blindly walking towards a set of machine guns like that.
One of the machine guns ceased fire, then another, and then another. The undead shambled forward, the rifle fire ripping through their ranks. It seemed not to be enough – they began to close towards the barricade, propelled by their own hunger and the pressure of their comrades behind them.
And then more machineguns opened fire. Another fast-firing one from the left, raking the horde from the upper right. A light machine gun, like the gun that Dr. Cook used – perhaps even the very same gun – started its familiar clattering noise on the upper right, cutting out a swath of destruction along the undead creatures front. The flashes of rifle fire erupted from windows on the armored buses, reminiscent of the volley-firing troops of the 19th century – except firing rounds as fast as they could pull their triggers. Once more, the crowd was thrown back a few yards – and then the barricade machine guns began singing again, taking center stage at the opera of destruction.
- "Wow." – Arthur said as he saw another wave of ghouls falter, as if it had run into a wave breaker. – "Is that a minigun?" – he added after a pause
- "What?" – Martin asked.
- "That gun that is shooting really fast, what is that, a minigun?"
- "No." – the advisor chuckled – "A minigun would be far faster than this. That's an MG-42. One thousand three hundred rounds a minute. Quite effective against massed attacks as you can see here."
Far out, at the very far end of the street, the trap had settled into a routine. The barricade machine guns fired until they ran themselves dry, then the machine guns on the sides kicked in to replace them. These guns were lighter and had a less effective angle from which to apply their fire – but there were six of them, and this allowed them to replace the barricade guns.
- "And this is how the mastodons went down, Arthur." – Martin said, quite clearly happy with the accomplishment – "We can easy do in a thousand or two with a setup like this."
- "We have ten thousand." – Arthur said.
- "I know that. Which why it's time for Part Two of our operation."
- "Oh." – Arthur breathed out.
- "I know. It's massively over-engineered. Follow me!" – Martin held up his long rifle, like a commander calling on his troops to follow him. On the tip of the barrel, Arthur saw the white-bladed bayonet gleam red in the reflection of the carnage in the trap. Dozens of zombies were now burning in front of the barricade, and the white blade reflected that flame.
They rushed down the fire escape, not bothering with quiet. Their heavy boots trampled upon the rusty-red metal stairs like hammers in a gong. On a regular day this would have aroused the suspicion of any regular person in town, much less a ghoul – but right now, that did not matter. The wave of ghouls was already speeding headlong towards the direction of the loudest sound and brightest light – and there was nothing louder than the distant clatter of the heavy machineguns.
Not everything would be that simple. Though the crowd, by and large, simply poured down Iron Street, some of the ghouls did stray away from it – and right now, five of them were standing around the Yo-Mobile. The creatures raised their heads, following the two living humans that were now rushing towards them down the fire escape with their milky-white eyes. Their faces moved like radar dishes, tracking the two approaching targets.
Arthur did not even think about it. His rifle snapped to his shoulder in a single fluid movement, and he fired two shots at the nearest creature. It jerked backwards as the first shot tore through its neck, smashing apart bone and sinew alike, and the second one shattered its jaw. Then it fell down. Next to Arthur, the advisor's long-barreled rifle spoke almost in unison with his own, and another creature collapsed.
Arthur let out a loud, hateful roar. They could not be stopped when they were yards away from the safety of the car. This simply could not be. That would not be fair. He leaped almost across an entire flight of stairs, his feet impacting painfully on the flat stairwell, inertia smacking his chest against the guardrail. No matter! Overhead, he heard the snapping sound of his advisor's rifle again, and once more brought his rifle to bear on one of the two surviving ghouls. The trigger was light, breaking almost unnoticeably when he aimed at the creature. It moved as if struck by a mallet, blood spraying from a ruined shoulder. No! His mind screamed. We're too close! He fired again and again, the ghoul twitching under the impacts, its chest becoming a ruined mess – and then, suddenly, the left half of its face was shattered by a lucky hit. It fell to its knees, and then forward, planting its face in a puddle, as if it was bowing down to the victor. Only now did Arthur become aware that Martin had already shot the fifth ghoul.
They were now only two flights of stairs away from where they wanted to be – and now some of the crowd was beginning to peel away towards them – at least a dozen ghouls were walking to the car. Behind them, most of the crowd continued to pour down Iron street, like a stream of water under pressure. To the overall mass of the ghouls, it was as if the perpendicular street did not exist – but that could change at any moment.
- "Run, Arthur! To the car!" – Martin shouted. His order was punctuated by another rifle shot. And Arthur ran. Sliding and skidding on the wet stairs, he leaped down the last stretch of the fire escape, and began to climb down. The last few yards were a ladder. Its rough, square-shaped steps bit painfully into his fingers as he put his weight on them, but he did not care. Overhead, the advisor snapped off shots at the ghouls that headed towards the ladder. About two yards from the ground, Arthur let go and simply hopped down.
Pain shot up through his ankles, but he landed the right way. It was not pleasant – but at least nothing was broken. He turned, leveling his rifle at the nearest enemy. It had been a woman once, her hair black and matted, h
er face elongated and pale, and her clothes torn and dirty to the point that it was difficult to even recognize what kind of clothes they were.
It's the one from this morning! A sudden memory shot through Arthur's mind. For a brief instant, today's nightmare was replaced by an earlier one a woman, her face pressed tight against the glass. Dead, broken fingernails scratched hopelessly against the window plate, trying hard to get at him. The clothes across her stomach were bloody, and her eyes, empty and white, were looking directly into his own. His mind was paralyzed by the bizarre notion – she's followed me around! Is there a wound on her stomach? It can't be the same one, oh god it can't be the same one, oh god...
His fingers jerked on the trigger, and a new wound appeared on the she-ghoul's chest. He clenched his teeth. Suddenly the she-ghoul became unfocused – and the scope of his rifle came into focus instead. Arthur pulled the trigger again – and the ghoul simply made another step towards him, its face turned now full on his direction, the second wound on its chest not even slowing the monster down.
The world became smaller. There was no Iron Street and there were no ghouls pouring down towards the trap by their thousand. There was no dry storage facility. Even the Yo-Mobile, only two or three yards away, become only an interesting memory. The fact that his friend was still firing his rifle, taking down ghouls as they approached his flanks, was only a sound. All that existed was him and the ghoul-woman that had seemed to somehow track him down across the entire city. And his rifle. Click, said the selector switch.
The monster leaped forward. With every second that it lived on, it accelerated, the sound and smell of a living opponent enticing it further and further. It's long, black nails swept through the air – and the rifle fired. Arthur held on its upper chest at first, simply pressing the trigger, letting the gun do its own work. The rifle fired again and again, cartridges gleaming like gold as they sailed through the darkness, the bolt clacking violently with every shot, the gun barking like a chained-down dog. Within less than two seconds it ran itself completely dry, the muzzle climbing upwards with every shot. The monster flew backwards, its entire upper body a wreck, the tiny rounds biting into its flesh and tumbling to inflict horrific, torn wounds. Each of these would have killed a healthy human being outright, but the creature was still technically 'alive' when the last four rounds snapped its neck, shattered its jaw, blew through its face at nose level and finally ripped off the top of its head – and all in a time frame that one would have trouble timing with a stopwatch.
The world sped up again. Working on auto-pilot, his hands moving as if of their own accord, Arthur removed the empty magazine and reloaded, stepping towards the direction of the car. He heard Martin scream, clearly in mid-sentence
- "...in the car, Arthur! Get in the car!"
Arthur threw himself into the Yo-Mobile – and not a moment too soon. More and more of the undead were beginning to peel off from the relentless torrent of bodies that was still pouring towards the trap, attracted by the sound of gunfire. Martin stepped on the gas – and the red crossover SUV burst forward like a rocket even before Arthur had closed the door. The bumper struck one of the undead creatures at the knees, its legs breaking like matchsticks. The car pushed back in reverse, and then began to spin through the street. The open door flailed in the rain and wind, brushing another undead creature as the car began to accelerate. Bone broke with a nauseating loud snapping noise, but the creature did not fall.
- "Oh but for the love of God, Arthur, close the door!" – Martin yelled as the red vehicle sped away from Iron Street.
Arthur did something he could not have even imagined doing in the time Before. He stretched his arm out, reaching out of the vehicle and grabbing the edge of the door before it could catch on something again, pulled it awkwardly closer, and then caught onto the handle to finally close the door – all of this in motion, stumbling for every move.
- "Sorry." – Martin said, spinning the car around the corner.
- "What?!" – the apprentice gaped, even as he struggled to fasten his seatbelt with shaking hands.
- "I should have stopped the car for you to close the door."
- "Oh!" – the buckle clicked in place.
- "You could have-" the car dodged around a clump of several ghouls, and Arthur thanked God he had remembered to wear the seatbelt. – "broken a finger or something. I didn't think of it-" – the car hit a ghoul – a zombie – face-on, like a battering ram. The creature was thrown several yards, like a rag doll tossed by a petulant child. It tried to get up, but its legs were broken – and a second later the car hit it again, it's skull splitting on the bumper.
Arthur did not even have the time to consider the thought that he came within inches of snapping his fingers off – too many things happened at once. The car was hurtling through the street, trying to dodge the ghouls that were now rushing towards it. Many of the creatures have moved towards Iron Street, where hundreds and hundreds of ghouls have begun moving to follow the bikers, but there were still plenty left. More and more of them were rushing towards the car. Some stumbled and fell on the wet asphalt but still more came on.
The loud cracks of rifle fire filled the air. Startled, Arthur looked on as ghouls all around them began to fall to the ground, brought low by the sudden barrage of gunshots. The men that they had seen hiding on the roofs near the compound were now making themselves visible – supporting the little red car's advance by simply shooting whatever ghouls still barred its ways. What they did not shoot, the Yo-Mobile simply ran down, the bumper crashing through bone and sinew with equal ease.
Everything was a blur. Disgusting black blood sprayed on the windshield, and was instantly washed off by the rain and the windscreen washers. A ghoul jumped on top of the hood from a running start, and then slid back under, unable to keep its balance on top of the smooth hood of a speeding car. A second later, its leg caught under the front wheel. There was a sickening crunch as the off-road car turned the creature's knee into pulp, and the vehicle continued on, it's engine roaring as it weaved through the last stretches of the road.
The car ran down yet another ghoul and stopped. The creature was not even fully-dead yet – it still twitched like a crushed bug with one of the front wheels planted firmly in its ribcage. Our heroes, meanwhile, slammed the roof hatch of their car open. From here, it was simple – climb out on the slick, wet, roof (the support riflemen of the roofs of nearby buildings weed out those few ghouls that dare approach your car), and toss a blanket over the barbed wire of the fence. Close the hatch behind you. And start climbing the fence.
Martin came over the fence first. His long rifle left in the car, he had no choice but to draw his pistol as soon as he had hit the ground on the other side. Arthur leaped up from the roof, his feet sliding, and only barely landed on the blanket. His feet grinding against the mesh fence, he scrambled over and landed on the other side, his feet splashing into a puddle of rainwater, a brief shot of pain lancing through his heels. And, a mere foot away from him, a ghoul's mouth opened hungrily.
Arthur smiled back at it. "Ha. Ha. Ha," – he said, placing the muzzle of his rifle into one of the holes in the mesh fence. For a moment it just lay there, aimed into the face of the zombie on the other side. And then Arthur pulled the trigger. Just once. The creature fell backwards, its arms trailing its fall as if it wanted to grab on to the air. There was so much water on the ground it hit with a splash.
- "Come on!" – Martin shouted as he began walking into the compound. – "We've got work to do!"
19:40
The military base was unlike anything Arthur had imagined from films. He imagined there would be arrays of parked tanks and APCs, radar dishes and concrete bunkers everywhere, interspersed between obstacle courses and shooting ranges. Of course, this was not the case. Instead, the dry storage facility was filled with drab, square warehouse buildings. They ran between them, not noticing a single soul.
- "What are we looking for?" – Arthur shouted out in mid-
run.
"The people who served here must have had an armory. I'm hoping to find some serious hardware there, so we can open up on these ghouls from this direction. Then we can get people in here."
“The armory?” – the apprentice replied. – “I thought this whole thing is a giant armory?”
The former teacher stopped for a moment, ankle-deep in a puddle of water. – “Do you know what each building is and what is in it? Because we don't have time. We want to find something we can shoot at the ghouls and shoot it at them now, while it can do some good.”
“Right. So?”
“So if we find headquarters, chances are it will have a map of the entire place. For fire safety if nothing else.”
“A map for fire safety?” – Arthur was now even more perplexed.
“Forget it. The point is there would be a map there. Also, any military unit will also have a separate armory and ammo warehouse – for the troops to use if there's an emergency and they need to shoot something. Most of the stuff you see here isn't for the troops at this base, it's to issue to other soldiers in case of war.”
"I see," – Arthur answered. – “I get it now.”
“Now let's get moving again.”
As they ran, they passed by several parking garages – but they held no tanks in them, nothing but trucks and the same sort of broad, flat-looking jeeps that he had seen the Florentines use early on.
- "This is a good sign!" – Martin ran closer to the vehicles – "Best sign yet!"
- "What is this a sign of?" – the apprentice replied., stopping his run. It was only now that he began to realize, once more that he was soaking wet. – "I thought we needed weapons, not trucks?"
- "Had these people left, they would have taken the trucks with them, and loaded up whatever they could find."
– "So if they haven't left, what do you think happened to them?" – Arthur asked, looking at windshield of one of the flat jeeps. There was at least some point to what Martin was saying – the windshield was covered with a thick level of dust.
