Benteen rested against the rock wall. This guy seemed to have had some kind of plan a while back, but after the three bodies by the lab, Benteen wasn’t too sure anymore. They’d doubled back and gone through a whole mess of corridors and seemed no closer to finding the guy with the bomb. Taylor looked at Benteen with weary eyes. “That sign back there said Tellermine’s lab is just up ahead.” He pointed in front of them towards the partly blocked tunnel. Benteen flashed his torch down the tunnel; it branched off into three directions. Some boulders had fallen onto the path, the whole area looked unsafe. He shot a doubtful stare at Taylor. Everybody, even the soldiers had been shaken by Tom’s horrific death. It was one thing Taylor pulling heroics with his life, but risking other folk, that was quite different.
“What makes you think you gonna find this Tellermine here? If he’s that smart he’s gonna be long gone.”
“I’m not looking for Tellermine; I want anything of use our good doctor left behind. If it’s anywhere, it’ll be in there.”
Austin Colt cut into the conversation. “What about this King character? Don’t we need that timer?”
“We certainly do.”
“Yeah, sure we will. He’s long gone.” Benteen scoffed, laughing loudly.
It must be clear to even Taylor that King would have long gone, Benteen concluded. What worried him was the possibility that bum could be about to set the darn warhead off, with them still down there.
Taylor shone his light onto a metal object on the floor. It was an empty pistol clip. “Found this near that lab, too,” he said, handing Benteen an empty pistol magazine. “It’s from the same type of weapon as this one. I’d say there’s a fair chance he’s about somewhere.”
“You want us to go with you Sir?”
Taylor nodded his thanks to Harper. “That could be a good idea. But King is one seriously messed up individual.”
“So what, we just hang about waiting on you then, do we?”
Benteen was sick of all this bull; he’d followed Taylor about like a lap dog for hours. They’d fought through an army of those foul things and now Taylor didn’t need them anymore.
“Benteen, this guy is nuts, he kills for fun. Anyway, you’d better get your people topside. It’s all over now anyway, one way or another.”
Benteen cast a distrustful eye over at Taylor and the soldiers. Could it be that this guy wanted him out of the way? Had that been the plan all the time? What if...?
“Stay sharp. We got some of them things coming up behind us!”
Benteen looked to see Boulle running towards him and pointing behind him. The group peered into the tunnel’s half light. Within seconds they could hear the clamour of a large group of ghouls, staggering towards them.
“Benteen, can you hold them off? I need time in that lab.”
“Sure, but the more clatter we make the more of them gonna show.”
“Hold them as long as you can, then pull out. We’ll make our own way.”
Benteen tapped Taylor on his shoulder. “Just so long as you remember where you gotta bring anything you find.”
Taylor gave Benteen a deep frustrated sigh as he eyed up the big cop. “You still don’t trust me after all this?”
“Nope. There’s something that ain’t right about you.” Benteen turned and called out to the others, “Okay boys, let’s send these freaks straight back to hell!”
The cave lit up like the fourth of July and with about as much noise. Rifle and pistol rounds ripped into the advancing horde, sending congealed blood and putrefying flesh fragments through the air. Still the relentless snapping, snarling ghouls kept coming, driven by their terrible hunger. With a noise like a thunderclap, tons of rock came smashing to the ground.
Benteen spun around only to be confronted by a new wall of rock and a thick cloud of dust. Dodge lay on the floor with his leg bent backwards. Taylor was nowhere to be seen. Benteen ran torwards the two soldiers.
“Where’d the hell Taylor go? Anyone see Taylor?”
Harper looked up at Benteen and pointed to the rocks. “Yeah, he’s under that!”
Benteen looked at the mountain of solid rock in front of him and then at the approaching creatures behind them. They were trapped.
****
Chris Emery sat on his beloved bench overlooking Grant Park. The bench had been donated by his father after Emery’s mother died. It now bore the names of both parents. Everything in the park was as it should be: the wide selection of flowers neat in their beds radiated a resplendent array of colour. The closely mown lawns and pruned trees completed the picture perfect image of the park. Even during the hot spell, not one scorch mark or dry patch could be seen. Lance Kronberg was every inch the expert gardener.
Emery could feel the warm sun on his face and hands as he looked over at the clock tower at the other end of the park. He squinted, but it was no use: he’d forgotten to wear his glasses. He wasn’t even sure where he’d left them but perhaps Beth would know. He stared thoughtfully at the two Civil War twelve pounder ‘Napoleon’ cannons either side of the iron gates. They’d been there since ever he could recall, one Confederate, the other Union; a continuing reminder of the futility of war.
Emery enjoyed this weekly ritual and now that he’d retired, he intended to do it more often. Even so, the park, indeed the whole town seemed inordinately quiet. Perhaps it was one of the many public holidays the town observed. He was relatively sure it was not Christmas, because of the absence of the great tree. He forced himself to concentrate harder.
Why was it that he could remember certain things with qualified accuracy and yet not others? In point of fact, carpet slippers. He looked down at his feet, the rest of his attire was passable, but carpet slippers would simply not do.
Deep furrows creased his face as he tried to recall what that charming army nurse had said earlier that morning. He was sure it had been something important, if only he could remember what? This memory thing was distracting indeed. He turned his head towards a sudden commotion off to his left.
Several people were milling about by the new bird feeder; it made him cross to see the damage they’d caused to the small wooden fence. Most likely drunk; not that this gave them carte blanche for wanton destruction. He could not allow this type of disgraceful behaviour; shaking his head crossly he started towards the odd little group.
“Someone is going to have to pay for this damage you know,” Emery said, pointing to the broken fence. “This park is for everyone’s enjoyment, not just yours.”
Halloween! Yes, that was it – Halloween. He looked with admiration at their costumes, so convincing and such incredible detail. The wounds and makeup almost looked real. In fact, these boys could give one of those horror movies a run for its money. However, at least they seemed to be taking notice of what he was telling them. They’d stopped their activity and were now staring intently at him.
They appeared still to be ‘in character’ and he began to find them unsettling. The group moved forward and he instinctively backed away from them. As they closed around him, suddenly Emery recalled what the nurse had said to him – yes that was it!
“Get away old man!” Red Cloud screamed out his warning. But he was too late and too far away. Red Cloud turned his head as the creatures began their frenzied feeding. There was nothing left to do but leave the park and head for home. First he needed to find something with which to defend himself; then, he needed a plan.
From what he’d seen of the creatures, they had pretty much free run of the town. Apart from the dead, the only people he’d encountered had been running away. Those people who had stayed indoors were now shooting at anything moving. It was like the Wild West – Red Cloud considered this a very unhealthy place for a Red Indian.
As he left the park he walked down Thomas Street and stopped outside APP Sports. Looking through the broken window, he’d hoped to find something of use, but now that looked unlikely. He pushed on the door and went inside, crunching broken glass under foot as he di
d so. His heart sank at the empty gun racks in front of him. Then he caught sight of a solitary bow at the end of the counter. He picked the bow up inspecting it carefully for any damage, drawing the string back and letting it go with a loud twanging sound. It was hardly an Indian hunting bow, but it would have to do. He gathered as many arrows as possible, then selected a rucksack and began stuffing it with various items for his escape. His dark brown eyes glinted with pleasure as he spotted a Tomahawk in the knife section. Typical white man, take all the guns and Bowie knives but leave the Indian stuff behind. He smiled as he left the shop; at least now he was in with a chance.
****
“You reckon that’s the last of the gunfire O’Brian?” Vince Langley paused for a moment. “Then again, maybe that ain’t such a good thing.”
O’Brian lifted his US Navy cap onto his head. “Either we run outta bullets or those things run outta people.”
Both men were in O’Brian’s radio room; it had all the refinement of a cave. The white washed walls had long since surrendered to a dirty grey. The old metal door had more rust on it than a sea wreck. But it was here O’Brian spent most of his time, engaged on a series of endless radio projects, which he somehow never quite seemed to complete. In contrast, the rest of the tiny room was crammed with the latest state of the art telecommunications gear. O’Brian checked the signal strength once more and cursed. The line was still on zero and that meant the ECM was still operational. Langley tapped the monitor window with his finger and let out a sigh. “I was sure we’d have heard something by now. I don’t like all this waiting.”
“That’s all we can do – wait.”
“I guess you gotta be used to all this excitement, I mean being in the navy and all.”
O’Brian took a small swig out of his hip flask and reclined in his easy chair.
“I spent twenty years in the US Navy, I been in three wars and a hell of a lot of other stuff, but the closest I ever come to a real fight,” he raised his flask, “was after too much of this crap. Fella, we both in the same boat here.”
A sudden pounding at the door sent both men rocketing up from their seats.
“Who in the God damn hell is that?”
O’Brian shot an angry look at Langley, and then selected a large wrench from his tool rack. Both men padded towards the door, fixing their eyes on it, as though they could see right through.
“Come on guys, it’s me, Oscar Majors. Open up!”
O’Brian sent his reply back like a broadside. “Go someplace else, we’re busy in here!”
“Guys!” Majors sounded terrified as he pounded on the door.
“Best let him in Pat, before he brings half the county down on us.”
O’Brian looked at Langley, then hesitantly reached over and lifted the heavy bolt. Majors flew into the room as though the devil were on his heels. Desperately he clutched at the two men. O’Brian slammed the door shut and glared at the panic stricken man, pushing his hands away.
“Where’s the God damn fire!”
Langley was altogether more sympathetic in his approach as he led Majors to a chair. “Take it easy Oscar, you gonna do yourself an injury. What’s up?”
The man was a mess; he looked as though he’d come last in a cross-country race. His clothes were covered in dust and his trainers had dried blood over them. But it was his face that told them the story. Even safely in the radio room, his wide eyes darted about like a buck caught in headlights. Something bad had happened: they were about to find out how bad.
“Those things are all over the town, they’re killing everybody!”
He buried his face in his hands, rocking himself gently in the chair. He looked every inch a broken man. O’Brian shook him roughly.
“What about the cops? What about the patrols? You guys had a line out there.”
He shook him harder and Majors exploded – “Gone! They’re all gone. Eddy Joe went down under a ton of those freaks. He never got up. I saw Mitch Chattman dead in the gutter. Everybody else ran or ended up the same way. Virdon and his guys were putting out a fire then the things swamped them. It was all over. I just ran.”
O’Brian and Langley were in shock; they knew these people. It couldn’t be possible they’d all gone. How many people had died and how many more would die?
“Everybody and their damn uncle’s neighbour got some kinda gun in this town. You telling me those things went right through everyone?”
Majors stared directly into O’Brian’s eyes, tears cutting lines down his grubby face.
“I shot one, five, six times. It just got right on up. We didn’t have the firepower.”
“Abe McReedy got a shop full of firepower, right Vince?”
Langley slowly nodded his stunned agreement, lost for words.
“We tried that already. It’s sealed up tighter than a drum...” Majors rubbed his hand over his eyes.
“Well then Majors go get Abe and open the damn place up then!”
“It ain’t as easy as that O’Brian. Abe’s got himself some new friends. Last time I saw him he was chewing on Ed Corbyn’s innards up on Armando Drive.”
“Shoot! That’s less than a block from here!” Langley’s eyes sprang open in alarm.
“Guess he ain’t gonna want his radio back now?” O’Brian walked back to his workstation, apparently unfazed by the grim news.
An uncomfortable silence filled the room until it was broken by Majors.
“Say, O’Brian, you sure all this junk works?”
“Junk? This is highly sophisticated electronic communications equipment. Junk!” O’Brian threw the words back at him and busied himself in his work.
“Sorry. All I meant was, the guys ought to have got back to us by now.”
Majors stood up and walked to the large town map mounted on the wall and began staring at it. All three men turned about at an unexpected banging on the door.
“This is getting God damn ridiculous! And who the crap is this now?” yelled O’Brian, flinging his baseball cap onto the workface, his weathered face an unhealthy shade of crimson. Majors gave Langley an uncertain look. In return, Langley grimaced back at him.
“Well, ain’t one of you gonna see who the hell this is?” said O’Brian, jerking his thumb in the direction of the sound.
Langley shrugged his shoulders before looking at Majors and nodding towards the door. Reluctantly, the shopkeeper edged forward and called out. There was no reply other than the steady thumping sound. Langley selected a hammer and went to stand next to the other man. Majors looked at the hammer and then gave him a surprised gaze.
“You never can tell.” Langley eyed the hammer then smiled. “Best open up Oscar, see who it is.”
Majors slipped the latch and slowly opened the door a fraction, peering gingerly through the open space. He drew back in horror and then violently slammed the door shut, frantically bolting the door.
“Freaking hell! It’s like the God damn Muppet Show in here.” O’Brian turned away from his work and glared at the latest interruption. Majors stood with his back to the door, his face pale and his eyes wide in terror.
“O’Brian, you wanted to ask Abe about the keys? Well now’s your chance, he’s out front. Only he ain’t on his own.”
The three men looked around them as dozens of the creatures strated pounding on the fragile wooden structure.
Chapter – Twenty-Seven
Colonel Steedman bustled into the CP clutching an attaché case, his face grim. Stone sat with two soldiers: all that remained of his HQ staff. The General spoke tersely without looking up from his paperwork.
“Colonel, I hope you’ve got news about King. We haven’t heard from him in...”
“Yes Sir. We have a problem with Mr King.” Steedman walked forward to stand in front of Stone.
“There are always problems with people like Mr King.” He gave the Colonel an irritated look. “What?”
“I don’t think King is who he claims to be.” Braving the General’s cold star
e he continued, “Yesterday, one of our patrols found a body.”
“Colonel Steedman, the place is littered with dead bodies. Get to the point!”
“The man had been executed. Spook style, hands tied behind his back and a single pistol round to the nape of the neck. Pretty much text book.”
Impatiently Stone waved him to continue, hoping the conversation was going somewhere.
“I ran an e-check on him, prints and mug shots. It gave me a restricted access message, but I managed to override it. Turns out the man was a GS2 agent.”
“Are you going anywhere with this?”
“I have a buddy who works GS2, King’s plates were registered to the GS2 motor pool and the car belonged to the dead man. There is no mention of anyone known as King. He has to be an imposter.”
“I knew there was something about that guy. Why am I hearing about this now?”
“It took some time to get the information and I knew you’d want hard facts General.”
Stone nodded his appreciation, but then his face took on a vexed look.
“Thing is, who the hell is this King?”
“No one. He doesn’t exist. I ran a full e-check on him: all blank. None of the agencies has him on their books, or at least none will lay claim to him.”
“How the hell could he walk into this operation without us knowing who he is?”
“General, he had clearance from the top and he just... just looked as if he belonged.”
Stone pointed to the attaché case still held by Steedman. “Is that King’s case?”
Steedman nodded and plucked out a solitary brown A4 envelope. “I went through his room and this is all I could find.”
Stone read the envelope label out loud. “GS2 Restricted Access. These are the ‘need to know’ orders he was keen for us not to see. Let’s see what all the damn fuss was about.”
He took a metal rule from the desk and sliced the bulging envelope open. Holding the envelope by its opposite corners, Stone slid the contents onto the desk.
“New York subway timetables. What the hell is this?”
Containment_A Zombie Novel Page 39
