Whiskey Tango Foxtrot (Book 4): Walking In The Shadow Of Death

by Lundy, W. J.

  It was cold and he began to shiver. Brad was tempted to build a fire in the room, but he didn’t want to risk burning himself alive or agitate the primals anymore. He removed a stained lab coat from one of the workers and added it to his layers of clothing. He found a newspaper and used the crumpled paper to insulate the layers of his jacket. Brad again sat back against the wall in the dark. The primals were still out there; he could hear them. There was no way he would be able to get out the way he’d come. Brad closed his eyes, trying to formulate a plan. He drifted in and out of sleep in the corner with the shotgun in his lap.

  “Knock.” There was a noise at the heavy locked door. Brad jumped, shaking his head; he turned on the flashlight and searched the room, finding nothing. He listened intently for the noise that had startled him, finding only silence. “The primals? Where did they go?” he thought. Brad rolled himself to his feet and slowly walked towards the barricaded window. He strained again to listen. Still nothing.

  “Knock, Knock.” There was another pounding at the door.

  “Sean, is that you?” Brad called out as he backed up and leveled the light at the door. He was startled when he saw the handle move up and down. “Sean?” Brad called out, again getting no response. He moved closer to the door and heard an audible click as a key slid into the lock. Brad watched as the bolt lever on his side of the door turned into the open position.

  Brad took another step back, shaking now, still holding the light. The handle moved. Brad dropped the flashlight, kicking it away. He heard movement. He fired his rifle, the muzzle flash lighting the space. He could see Ryan entering the room, running at him, screaming. Brad continued to fire, falling backwards. Ryan landed on top of him, clawing at his face. Brad turned and twisted, trying to escape, gasping for air.

  15.

  Brad’s head snapped forward, his heart racing. Another nightmare, he thought, taking in big gulps of air to calm his nerves. He glanced around, searching the room. It was quiet, but more than that, there was light. Where was it coming from? Brad searched the walls. High in a corner, a small blade of light filtered into the pharmacy. He got to his feet and moved towards it. There was a round can-type light fixture mounted in the ceiling. At the edge of the fixture a very small ray of light was coming through. Brad took a stool from a corner of the room and stood on it so that he could reach the light. He used his knife and pried away the frame of the cover.

  More light bled into the room. Brad reached up and grabbed ahold of the fixture and twisted it hard in his hand; as he pulled, he lost his footing and fell, but he took the light down with him. He crashed to the floor hard, landing on his back and knocking the wind out of himself. The primals had taken notice of the commotion and began to moan and again assault the barricade. Brad lay on his back trying to recover from the fall. He looked up and saw that he had not only yanked out the light fixture but had also broken away a large chunk of the ceiling.

  More daylight was now pouring into the room. Brad could see up above the plaster and sheetrock ceiling to another metal roof above it. There was maybe three feet of dead space between the ceiling and the roof. Brad got back on the stool and grabbed the edge of the sheet rock and pulled down. It cracked and gave way, falling to the floor with a crash. The primals became frenzied at the sounds of activity. Brad ignored them and continued to work away at the ceiling until he had a hole that he could easily fit through.

  He pulled one of the shelves away from a far wall and braced it so that he could climb it like a ladder. The heavy metal shelving was sturdy and took his weight, but it was loud and the steel screeched in protest as he put his weight on the shelves. Brad was able to get his head and shoulders above the ceiling and into the dead space. He used his light to look in all directions. The entire clinic was covered in the low dropped ceiling; he could see runs of electrical and computer cables, and metal ventilation ducts ran along the walls.

  Less than ten feet from his position Brad saw a plank no more than eighteen inches wide that crossed the dead space: an access walkway. He knew that it should lead to an attic access, or maybe even the roof. Brad dropped back into the pharmacy and excitedly began strapping on his gear. He took the shotgun in his hand, debating whether he should keep it or toss it. He shook his head and quickly strapped it to the top of his bag, grabbed his M4 and moved back to the makeshift ladder.

  “Chief? Chief, can you hear me?” Brad said. “Chief, are you there? I think I found a way out. I’m going for it.”

  Brad pulled on the backpack as he waited for a reply. He looked back around the room and at the barricade. The noise from moving the shelves and breaking the ceiling had stirred up the primals, but Brad didn’t care anymore. He took his M4 and connected it to the front of his armor and climbed the shelving. He positioned himself as high as he could, then grabbed a bundle of electrical wire with his gloved hands and pulled himself into the dead space.

  He had to cross several feet of open ceiling covered with insulation before he would reach the plank walkway. Brad positioned himself on a ceiling joist and slowly shimmied his way towards the planks. As he moved, he felt the ceiling rattle and flex. He moved steadily, making good time and finally reached the edge of the plank. Brad stretched out and again using the wires pulled himself across to the narrow boards and onto the plank.

  He used his flashlight to search the space ahead and to try and get his bearings. He estimated he must be directly above the room outside of the pharmacy, directly above the primals. He could hear them below snarling and growing ever more frenzied, attacking the barricade. Brad slowly pulled himself onto his knees. While walking on all fours he would just barely clear the metal roof above him. Brad crawled along the plank towards what he knew was the center of the clinic.

  As he moved, he realized the primals below were following him. He felt an impact shudder through him; they must have jumped up against the ceiling, trying to get at him. Brad felt the plank buck under his knees. He crawled fast towards the heart of the building. The primals below stayed with him, jumping and slapping against the ceiling below. Brad found another section of plank that broke off at a right angle. He followed it, hoping it would stop or confuse the primals.

  He heard them below screaming and pounding on a closed door. Brad continued to crawl looking for a way out as he heard breaking glass and a door being slammed open. Soon the primals were again below him. Light! He could see more light where the end of the plank met an attic vent. A large square panel was set into the block wall. Brad moved quickly towards it and pulled on the louvered vents. It was of a heavy metal design; the vents were made to pivot to allow air to flow out of the attic but prevent outside air from getting in.

  Brad flexed the louvers and pried them fully open. He could see outside now. The sun was up, and he saw an empty alley below him. Brad attempt to pull the panel out towards him, but it wouldn’t give. He carefully rolled to his back and kicked with both feet, knocking the vent free. He heard it fall and rattle as it hit the ground outside. He felt the plank below him buck again as the primals launched themselves into the ceiling. He saw a crack in the sheetrock to his right and clouds of dust form as the primals worked their way through.

  Farther back he saw a hand punch through the sheetrock and rip down an entire section of the ceiling. Brad was beginning to panic as he watched primal arms reach through the ceiling searching for handholds. He launched himself at the vent hole but couldn’t get himself through. Pulling back, he took off the pack and tried again. He could get his shoulders through. Brad stretched through the opening and first considered dropping to the ground, but looking up he could see that the roof edge was within reach.

  Brad pulled back inside the hole and grabbed his pack. A primal cleared the ceiling and pulled itself onto the plank less than twenty feet from Brad’s position. Brad dropped to his side and leveled his rifle, firing several shots, eventually striking the creature through the side of its chest and crippling it. Another primal got to the plank and attempted to jump
the crippled primal; it overshot the plank and hit the sheetrock, crashing through and falling below.

  Brad grabbed his pack and swung it out of the vent hole and to the roof above. He took another look back and saw the primals scrambling, trying to get into the space. Brad again eased his shoulders through the vent hole, then turned his body so that he was in a sitting position with his chest facing the building. He stretched his arms and grabbed the edge of the roof. Pulling with his arms while his feet searched for traction, he slowly worked himself out of the vent opening and onto the roof. Quickly he rolled onto the roof and lay on his back just above the opening. He lay motionless, remaining as quiet as possible.

  He could hear them below fighting and struggling to get into the dead space, then heard them at the vent hole. One stuck its head outside and moaned before leaping out. Brad heard the thing impact the ground with a thud, followed by several others. They didn’t seem to know that he was on the roof. One after another, Brad heard them gain entry to the dead space and rush to lunge out of the opening. He didn’t know how long it went on. He was afraid to move, even enough to look at his watch.

  As their numbers outside grew, their attention shifted. Brad heard them running, screaming in all directions, searching for him. Making very slow and deliberate motions, Brad turned to his side and tried to put his ear to the roof. He could hear nothing; the space sounded empty. Confident they were no longer below him, Brad rolled back to his belly and slowly crawled towards the center of the building. He spotted a cluster of air-conditioning units stacked side by side. Brad made his way towards them and pulled himself up onto the raised platform they rested upon.

  Finally feeling safe, he collapsed face down in exhaustion. He rolled to his back and looked up at the blue sky. His only reprieve was that it appeared the weather had finally broken; the bright sun warmed his face. Brad scooted back into a sitting position, removed his glove and scooped a handful of the fresh snow into his mouth. He knew that eating snow would lower his body temperature, but at the moment he didn’t care. Brad pulled his knees into his chest and focused to control his breathing, forcing himself to relax.

  “Pssshhhhhh … Brad—psshhh … Brad,” he heard through his headset.

  “Sean? Sean, is that you? I can barely hear you, it’s all garbled.”

  “Pshhhhhh ... get out.”

  “Where are you? I’m on the roof.”

  “Pshhhhhhhhh.”

  “Chief, the radio isn’t working, I can’t hear you,” Brad said, trying to stand to improve the signal. “Chief?” He pulled the receiver from his pocket and pushed the black button below the small display. The low battery indicator was flashing. Brad looked at the back. “Of course I don’t have batteries for this shit.”

  Brad flipped the switch, turning off the radio. “I’ll try later,” he said to himself before stuffing the radio set into his backpack. Brad strapped the pack back on and slowly got to his feet. He walked cautiously to the edge of the building, towards the main street side. He looked out over the edge, careful to keep his body low and concealed. He could see the coffee shop. The storefront window was shattered and the door broken in.

  The windows in the small apartment above the coffee shop were now broken, their curtains blowing in the wind. He could find no trace of Sean. He must have made it back to the overlook. Brad pulled out the small spotting scope that he’d used a day earlier to scout the town. He looked down the main street and towards the far off hill top he had lain on with Sean. There was no sign of anything, no signal, no movement other than the primals on the streets below. Brad carefully moved back to his hide in the air-conditioning units and took a seat on the raised platform.

  “It really was a stupid plan.” He shook his head and pulled his bag open. It was stuffed with the medical supplies. He dug his hand around the bag until he found what he was searching for. He pulled the peanut butter from the bag. “At least I still have you, peanut butter,” he said to himself smiling, almost giddy with despair. “So what now? What do you think we should do?” Brad looked at the child’s face on the jar. “What? You think I should quit? Well screw you, peanut butter, and all this time I thought we were friends,” he said, scooping a heaping fingerful of peanut butter into his mouth. Brad reached into his pack and pulled out a bottle of water, twisted off the cap and took a long drink before leaning back against the AC units. “I guess I have to make it out of this shithole town on my own.” He sighed heavily, then put his head back and closed his eyes. “I never liked the people here anyhow, always yelling at me and trying to kill me. I sure as hell won’t get out in the daylight. I’m going to have to wait until dark. Going to be harder though without Sean’s rifle.”

  Brad got to his feet and pulled himself onto one of the AC units and searched the area. Behind him at the end of the alley looked to be a residential area, maybe a block deep; beyond that was the forest. The other side was the main street with blocks of buildings behind it.

  “Won’t make it down Main Street. I’m gonna have to cut through those backyards.” He climbed back down from the AC unit and pulled his blankets from his pack. “Well peanut butter, I think we should try and get some rest before we move out,” Brad said as he stuffed the jar back into his pack.

  16.

  Brad lay on the edge of the roof as he watched the sun go down. His assault pack and shotgun were strapped to his back and his M4 was clipped to his chest. He was on the opposite side of the building, away from the main street and looking down into the alley. Earlier Brad had walked the entire roof looking for a safe way down. He had come up empty.

  The roof was at least fifteen feet off the ground. Because it was a one-story building, he found no fire escapes. The closest thing to it was a set of flimsy downspouts on a corner near the alley. The alley ran from the main street to the rear of the building where there was another large parking lot. Brad could tell that tents had been erected there at one time, even though all that was left of the campsite was torn fabric, collapsed structures, and pedestrian barriers.

  The rear parking lot of the clinic must have been tagged as a casualty collection site. A place to take the wounded for triage. Brad spotted a number of ambulances staggered around the rear lot, now buried in the snow drifts. A pair of G-Wagons, armored G-Class Mercedes, the Canadian variant of a Humvee, sat at the parking lot entrance, weapons still mounted on the roof. Brad was tempted to make a break for one and drive it away. He knew from experience that the thing probably wouldn’t start, a dead battery after spending all of this time outside in the elements and in the sub-freezing temperatures.

  Brad tried to reach Sean on the radio several times during the day with no success. He could find no sign of the primals that had pursued him from the building earlier. Hopefully they gave up and returned to the market, he hoped. Brad watched the last slivers of daylight disappear. Even with the sun gone, he still had decent vision in the clear dusk sky. He again looked left and right, using a search pattern, moving from the closest in to the farthest away. Still no signs of the enemy. “Well, it’s now or never,” he said to himself.

  He crawled as close to the edge as possible and grabbed the edge of the roof while slowly lowering his legs off the side. Then reaching hand over hand, he grabbed onto the drain pipe and quickly shimmied towards the ground. Once he felt it was a safe distance, he pushed off from the pipe and hit the pavement with a plop. Quickly he moved for cover, hiding between a set of dumpsters. After listening carefully for a moment, Brad slid along the wall until he reached the corner of the alley facing the rear of the building. It was growing darker and he was able to conceal himself in the shadows of the buildings. He pulled his night vision down and turned on the optics. He could easily see the casualty collection area. That would be his first goal. He refused to plan a trip back to the cabin. He told himself not to think so far ahead; he would move in small calculated steps tonight. Every step would only be as far as the situation determined.

  He didn’t want to get ahead of
himself and sacrifice his security for movement. As long as he was safely concealed, he would be satisfied with his progress. He had to assume they were around every corner. Without Sean in over watch he would move accordingly. Around the corner and dead ahead was a large panel truck with a Red Cross symbol on the side. Brad mentally planned all of his actions then quietly stepped off, moving as quietly as possible until he reached the panel truck.

  Again he stopped, checking security on all sides, looking for movement and listening for sounds. He plotted his next move. Something close, an object he could hide in or behind, something he could make it to quickly, and a median place he could fall back to if he spotted danger. Taking his time again he stepped off, moving silently, hiding in the shadows. He stopped often, refusing to feel rushed. He moved alongside a collapsed tent, then crawled into the fabric and laid still, making sure nothing had detected his movement.

  Brad was planning the next leg when he saw a group of them. They were moving in a staggered cluster, headed in his direction. Too many to fight. He felt for the fabric of the tent and cautiously rolled underneath it, trying to control his breathing, trying to remain silent. He could hear them now; they were close. He pressed his head close to the ground so he could see them as they walked by. Their feet plodded heavily with the pavement. Some wore remnants of shoes, others were bare footed, but they didn’t seem to be bothered by it. They all walked with the same gait, moving past him and back towards the clinic.

  Brad looked into the tent. The roof had come down from the heavy snow but there was still a few feet of clearance. The smell of death was all around him. He pushed back the feelings and moved on. He found there was room for him to crawl through to the other side. Brad made his way underneath some sort of table. The further he got under it, the more room he found to maneuver. Now fully inside the concealment of the tent, he began to drive forward, trying to make it to the far side. He could still hear the primals milling around behind him, and he wanted to create separation.