Aftermath (Book 1): Only The Head Will Take Them Down

by Duncan McArdle

  “And listen”, John started again, recognising the sound of a gun being reached for, “We use melee weapons, nothing loud, you hear? And don’t go yelling and bringing more to us. We want to get in there, get a vehicle going, and leave, nice and quiet, no trouble, understand?”, he asked.

  Andrew nodded. John couldn’t see the nod, he’d already turned to continue on the long walk ahead, but he knew. He was already very much in charge, meaning Andrew would do just about whatever was asked of him. It was something John was eager to take advantage of, but also something he was keen not to exploit.

  After covering around half the distance to the overpass, Andrew broke the silence once again.

  “John”, he started, before pausing briefly to consider his question, and then eventually continuing, albeit very timidly, “Did you have any family before all of this?”.

  There was a much shorter pause while John prepared the default answer he’d used so many times before.

  “No, nobody before, nobody now. Makes things easier”, he lied.

  If there was one thing John knew about family, it was that in this new world, it represented a weak spot, a chink in the armour of any survivor. A man with family was a man who could be threatened with something other than just his own death, a man who might give someone else up if it meant saving his own flesh and blood. John didn’t want anyone knowing he had family before, because one thing everyone knew about a man looking for something that valuable, was that he would do anything, and give up everything – including a companion like Andrew – if it meant getting closer to what he sought.

  “So, every supply you get, you just get for you? How come you’re out so often then?”, Andrew asked.

  John was beginning to grow a little weary of lying to a man he felt may soon become a regular travelling companion, and maybe even a friend, but he couldn’t risk exposing the true purpose of his numerous journeys. Unfortunately, the answer of “Yes, it’s all for me” would lead any man to assume John had quite a stockpile amassed, another untruth John was keen to avoid.

  “I like to share it out, people I find out on the road, people back at camp”, he lied again, a sense of guilt washing over him this time.

  “Yeah I saw that, with the bullets and all, but still, that’s a lot of stuff you must have given away”, Andrew said, “And I’ve never seen you handing anything out to anybody el-“.

  Andrew was cut short by the raising of one of John’s hand, a military like gesture that sent him into an immediate silence.

  “We’re coming up on the underpass, keep it quiet, slow and careful, eyes peeled”, he whispered.

  Andrew nodded, content to let the conversation die, despite the remaining distance of well over half a mile making the need for silence seem strangely premature.

  * * *

  The underpass was exactly as John had hoped, chocked full with a wide variety of vehicles, just like the rest of the interstate. The difference however was that save for the odd bump and scratch courtesy of the numerous nearby crashes, they were all in relatively good condition, shielded from the weather by the concrete flyover above. Pickup trucks adorned with the US flag, buses transporting the elderly en masse, even the odd sports car, there was plenty of choice in this shielded section of the traffic jam. In fact, the only notable problem with any of these vehicles was the ceiling above, covering each of them in varying levels of shade and darkness.

  As the pair approached, still walking in single file, John raised a hand in another military like move, this time instructing Andrew to hold position. Andrew obeyed, the two each kneeling down immediately afterwards. Straight away their eyes began scanning the area in front for the best looking vehicles, supplies that might be found, and more importantly, any slight amount of movement that might indicate the presence of one of those ‘things’, hidden away in some dark corner.

  Content that everything appeared safe, John lowered his hand, rose to his feet, drew his knife, and began to walk slowly into the darkness. He was followed closely by Andrew, kitchen knife held tightly in both hands – in a manner somewhat akin to how a child might have held a pair of scissors – the blade shaking slightly in the grip of his already sweat coated palms. Andrew’s lack of confidence meant he had little interest in being a leader, especially at this point, and so was happy to simply follow, hopeful that his non-leading role would minimise the chance of him having to actually use the blade.

  Eyes still scanning the numerous vehicles, John had already picked out several potential choices. The options ranged from big wheeled pickups that might be useful for the inevitable off-road sections of their journey, to more economical hatchbacks he hoped would reduce the risk of running low on fuel, and finally to family sedans that might have given a good middle ground between space and fuel economy. Andrew on the other hand, began to inspect the Porsche only half covered in the shade of the overpass, no doubt living out whatever childhood fantasy he might have had to drive at two hundred miles an hour, a now much more realistic possibility along some of the more deserted stretches of highway.

  John snapped round when he heard Andrew’s soft whistle on the wind, only to see him, arms held out wide like he was presenting a game-show prize, stood next to the silver sports car.

  “C’mon, it’s got to be this one, right?” He whispered loudly.

  “No chance”, John dismissed, “That thing’ll run out of gas in ten minutes of driving, and be stuck the second we take it off of the main roads”, he continued, before instead returning to his own search.

  Disappointed and disheartened, Andrew instead followed further into the darkness, his heart still aching for a high speed run down the countries best highways in the convertible rocket, but his head begrudgingly agreeing with John’s logic.

  After a short while of searching, John eventually settled on either a huge wheeled grey Ford F150 pickup truck, or the white Prius parked behind it. Each were sat in the inside lane, meaning either could be driven straight onto the central reservation and along a substantial amount of the highway, avoiding the surrounding gridlock. Even better, both appeared ready to go, keys in ignitions and the doors still ajar – people were thankfully less interested in personal possessions when the world was ending all around them – and so either was a potential choice. Climbing into the pickup first, he was happily greeted by the sight of an empty red jerry can and the tubing to pump into it, both items hastily thrown into the passenger foot well, an important commodity in a world where gas station attendants – and the gas they had pumped – were nowhere to be seen.

  John knew that both the Prius and Ford pickup would have some fuel, as otherwise they wouldn’t have made it this far, but sadly he couldn’t see for definite without starting them, something he wanted to avoid for as long as possible, intent on keeping noise to a minimum. Instead he set about siphoning the fuel tanks of other vehicles, first cracking the fuel caps open with his knife, and then sucking the fuel out using the tubing, allowing what remained in each vehicle to then drain off into the red canister. It took just two vehicles to fill the tank, and doing so provided John with the comforting notion that even if each of their prospective getaway vehicles was near empty on gas, he at least had a tank full to top them up with.

  As John worked, Andrew patrolled the area on his instructions, peering into the surrounding vehicles, looking for the kind of movement that might speed up the need for an exit, but finding nothing. Eventually he had circled all the way back round to his Porsche, his eyes lighting up yet again as he arrived by its side. Peering over the fabric roof of the vehicle, checking to make sure John was sufficiently busy and distracted, he reached for the door handle, crossing his fingers that it might be unlocked.

  “Click”.

  It was the faintest of noises, with the biggest of effects. The car door opened, and Andrew, now positively glowing with excitement, climbed into the driver seat. He placed his hands on the wheel, and just barely resisted the urge to make childlike revving noises and pretend to
steer from side to side, as if to simulate some high speed chase. He couldn’t help but feel that John’s decision was the wrong one, that they should be picking speed over anything else in order to expedite their return to camp, but he knew John probably had good reason. Regardless, Andrew reached down for the ignition, praying that the keys might be ready and waiting. Much to his disappointment however, he found nothing, and with that his heart immediately sank.

  John, who was now stood between the Prius and the Pickup, ready to play “Eeny-meeny-miny-moe” to make his choice, looked over to where he’d last seen Andrew, keen to get his input before making a decision. Almost immediately he noticed movement in the Porsche, and quickly realised what Andrew was up too, letting out a low sigh of disappointment as he did. Staring at the suddenly childish seeming character, he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d made a bad call bringing him along.

  Almost immediately, such thoughts were suddenly compounded, by the sight of yet more movement. This time however, the movement came from rear of the Porsche’s cabin, and most certainly not from Andrew. A dead, lifeless hand, slowly rose up into the air behind Andrew’s shoulder, as John opened his mouth in horror.

  “Oh SHIT!”.

  Chapter 6: The Road to Apple River

  Andrew had noticed the smell the moment he opened the door, but had chalked it up to the odour almost every car left at least partially in the sun for so long gave off, and thought little of it. However as he looked into the rear view mirror, and saw the sharp claws of a dead hand that was very much inside the vehicle, the realisation that he was not alone suddenly sank in. Quickly his eyes darted to the location of John, in an almost visual cry for help, noting straight away the look of pure horror on his companion’s face. That alone was enough for him to abruptly realise he wasn’t just imagining it.

  Stifling every urge to scream at the top of his voice, he quickly stumbled out of the driver’s seat and onto the road outside. He was incredibly thankful that he hadn’t fully closed the door, something he’d done in an attempt to keep his entrance into the car quiet from John. Having escaped the death trap, he turned to face what was very nearly his end, just in time to see the hand scratch violently at where his head had been just moments ago.

  Still terrified by what could have been, adrenaline coursing through his veins and almost visible on his face, Andrew grabbed the corner of the door and slammed it shut with an almighty force. It was a decision he immediately regretted. That noise, a single sound of slamming metal, would have died an instant death before the end, easily obscured by the sounds of rushing engines and beeping horns that filled a busy highway such as the 494. Now however, it echoed violently throughout every empty cavity of the silent underpass, bouncing from point to point, and growing louder as it did, all to the utter dismay of John’s now yet more horrified face.

  The pair had combed the underpass and surrounding area for anything living or dead, they had been certain that it was clear, but now, as the heavy bang reverberated around the area faster than they would ever have imagined, it became apparent that they had not been quite thorough enough. Every bush suddenly began to move, cars began to shift with the moving weight of something inside suddenly awakening, and the unmistakable slow scuffling of dead feet began to sound out from the highway above. Out of every corner, in every inch of darkness, movement could be seen, and the smell of the dead began to flood the area with a newfound pace.

  Andrew didn’t need a moment to think about it, it was time to run to John. Whether surrounded by the undead or sitting calmly, ready to go, John would know what to do. Immediately Andrew put foot before foot, pounding heavily against the solid floor, sprinting as quickly as his legs would allow him over to his still shocked companion, who stood – jerry can and filling tube still in hand, his shirt now stained with the murky colour of gasoline – between the Prius and pickup.

  Sliding around the nearest car, Andrew ran straight for the pickup, throwing his backpack into the rear bed and then clambering into the passenger seat, all but screaming his apologies as he did. John followed suit, throwing his own backpack into the rear of the truck before climbing into the driver’s seat, happy that the decision on what vehicle to take had at least been made for him. His hands wrapped around the keys, already in the ignition, and he himself began a brief but very real prayer for the car to start first time, or quite simply, to start at all. Little in his life had taken as long to occur than the twisting of that key, and as both him and Andrew’s ears listened out hopefully for the familiar sound of an engine starting. Suddenly they were filled with delight by the rugged, grizzly noise of a 3.7 litre monster roaring into life, albeit at the expense of attracting the attention of anything nearby not already making its way over to them.

  The two were elated, neither had been in a moving vehicle for a long while, thus presenting them with a feeling akin to riding a bicycle for the first time, an act that suddenly put your travelling abilities leagues ahead of what they had so recently been. Their happiness though, quickly faded, at the realisation that whilst the car did indeed start, it was in no position to move. Both the hatchback in front and the Prius behind were almost touching bumpers with the truck, as well as the vehicles at their other ends. If the two were to get out of here, one of those cars needed to move, and as John slammed the truck forwards, and tried fruitlessly to budge the seemingly small pile of metal in front, they both realised what needed to be done.

  John turned to Andrew, ready to ask something he wished he’d never have to ask, but it was too late. Andrew had left the truck, and was already clambering into the hatchback in front, twisting its much quieter self into life. It had a small engine, little storage, and only average fuel consumption, and was therefore of little use to the pair. But right now it played an incredibly important role, standing between both men and their ability to escape from the encroaching attackers. Alas, it was in a similar spot, almost bumper to bumper with the car in front, seemingly immovable. Defiantly, the pair both pushed hard, the truck shoving the hatchback and the hatchback pushing the car in front, gaining mere millimetres with every movement, but those millimetres adding up to a bigger distance none-the-less.

  As the loud, engine roar entwined shoving and banging of bumpers went on, the nearest undead began to gain pace, one in particular already coming up behind the truck. Within seconds it was alongside John’s window, gnawing at the glass like a fish trying to escape from a tank. John however was content to ignore it, knowing it was unlikely to break through the glass in any kind of hurry. But it had other ideas, abandoning its quest for the seemingly unattainable man in the truck, in favour of its other prey, Andrew. Watching it make its way over, John knew that he had to act, drawing his Ruger with one hand and opening his door with the other. Still he continued to ram forwards and backwards at the same time, the sound of car alarms being set off serenading his every shove.

  Suddenly the gap finally became big enough, the hatchback having shifted enough for the Prius to force it forwards by a few feet, and giving the truck just enough room to manoeuvre out. Without thinking, Andrew immediately left the Prius, standing out into the open air, ready to get into the truck and be gone, but he hadn’t seen the biter, the ambling corpse of rotten flesh and sharp, piercing bones, that was on a warpath that had him marked as a mid-morning snack. His face dropped as the thing lunged at him, pinning him to the floor and biting at the open air between them, mere millimetres from Andrew’s nose. Within a single second, a hot, white flash filled the space around him, as a .22 calibre round, fired from John’s Ruger, immediately found its target in the form of the rotting, stinking head of the biter pinning Andrew down. All of a sudden the body became limp, dropping its full weight on top of Andrew’s medium sized frame, what little breath he had escaping out as the dead weight landed hard on his stomach.

  Quickly Andrew shoved the weight of the biter off, and got to his feet, keen to get into the truck before the second attacker – who was now ambling towards the pair fr
om just a few metres further away – had a chance to arrive. Andrew climbed into the passenger seat just in time to see the corpse begin gnawing once again at John’s window, John putting his foot hard to the floor as an immediate response.

  The huge weight of the truck brought with it immense levels of traction, dragging the 3 tonne mass of metal forwards as it did, careering straight off of the main highway and onto the grassy central reservation. The attacking corpse fell straight under the rear wheel, short work for the deadly weight of the F150.

  The two were elated, free from another near fatal encounter, and this time with much more than just tinned food or water. This time they had gained something they hoped would get them to their destination and back that very same day, and as the pair admired the spoils of their efforts, John couldn’t hide his sense of joy at the sight of the dashboard. The fuel tank that was already three quarters full, and the warning light-free screen indicated that they – or rather Andrew – may just have made the right choice.

  * * *

  The feeling of driving felt almost foreign at this point, and was almost an entirely new experience now that the rules of the road could be well and truly discarded. The bigger problem however, was the numerous car crashes and congested stretches that littered the highway like a rash that seemed to spread as far as the eye could see. The idea of driving at any kind of speed was completely lost, with the need to weave in and out of vehicles or leave the road altogether occurring almost every few metres.

  As the F150 crept slowly along the embankment around yet another overly-gridlocked section of the previously quiet interstate, the pair began to approach their first on-ramp, a point that would have caused traffic issues even at the best of times thanks to the sudden influx of traffic, joining on to the already well-populated highway. Now though, it caused a truly incomprehensible mess, where vehicles had been so frantic to flee wherever they’d come from, that gaps between cars were impassable, and the wrecks of regular collisions littered the central reservation. Suddenly both men began to realise that their only hope of passing this sudden and unexpected wall of cars lay in either turning back and finding another way, or pushing their way through, with significant volume.