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

by Duncan McArdle

  Cautiously but firmly John pushed both the knife and its holder away from his throat, and slowly stood up from the ground, ignoring numerous re-advancements from Donald. There was no need to be careful anymore, John was certain that if Donald still had any intention of killing him, he would have long since done it by now. Eventually, as he stood up straight, once again locking eyes with his attacker, he began to ask the tirade of questions flowing through his mind.

  “You’ve seen my wife?”, he started.

  “Not unless her name’s Gillian, looks a damn sight like her though”, Donald replied, traces of his sickening grin still evident on his face.

  “Gillian was her stage name”, John said abruptly, referring to his wife’s usage of her middle name for her acting career, it being much less common than her real one. “You’ve seen my wife?”, he asked again.

  “Yeah, about a week ago at another camp”, Donald answered.

  “Did she…”, he started, struggling to stand as verbal confirmation of his wife being alive met his shaking ears, “With h…her, did she have…”, he stuttered again and again, trying impossibly to construct a sentence that made any kind of sense.

  “Had a little girl with her, same as in that photo of yours”, Donald cut in, knowing what the question was going to be well before it was asked.

  John buckled, his knees hitting the ground hard. But he didn’t care, he was overwhelmed with emotion, joy and happiness at the forefront of it all. His family were alive, and this man had seen them to prove it.

  “Take me to them”, he insisted, “Please”.

  Chapter 13: Parting Company

  Andrew’s backpack landed hard into the rear of the truck. The force of the throw was an odd mix of both anger and precaution, anger at having been lied to so many times by the one person outside of the motel he thought he could trust, and yet precaution as he attempted not to break any of the items he had quickly stowed away. Despite his best efforts however, the bags landing was immediately followed by the spilling of its contents, the toggles of the backpack apparently not tied quite as tight as he had hoped.

  “Andrew, you can’t go back by yourself”, John insisted, arriving at the truck his companion had hurriedly escaped too.

  Andrew said nothing in response, refusing even to look at John as he clambered into the bed of the F150 where his belongings now lay, strewn out messily into each corner.

  “You’ll get shot back at that bridge, or attacked in your sleep by one of those damn things, hell maybe even shot by someone thinking you’ve already turned into one!”, John insisted.

  Still Andrew refused to acknowledge anything John had said, instead starting to place several items back into his assault pack.

  “Don’t you want to go back to your family in one piece?”, John eventually asked, having watched his soon to depart friend pack for long enough.

  Andrew froze, his head pausing for a moment before slowly turning to face John. Upon rising to his feet, John couldn’t help but suddenly begin to fear Andrew, if only slightly. The increased height that the truck provided, coupled with the boiling rage clearly visible on his face, both combined to give him an intimidating look he had not once displayed before.

  “Don’t you DARE talk to me about MY family”, he said sternly, in the kind of tone that was perhaps even more intimidating than if he had yelled it from the rooftops for all to hear. “You lost that privilege when you lied to me about yours”, he continued.

  “I had no idea mine were still alive, I didn’t want to give anything away and risk their safety”, John pleaded.

  “Bullshit”, Andrew replied bluntly. “You knew everything about mine, and I thought I knew there was nothing to know about yours”, he added, before returning to pack the few remaining items into his bag.

  “I know, and I’m sorry for that, but I didn’t want to put them at risk, I wanted to do right by them first”, John attempted to explain.

  “I get that”, Andrew replied, much to John’s surprise.

  “You do?”, he asked.

  “Of course I do”, Andrew said again, as he climbed down from the truck, “But I can’t trust someone whose lied to me as much as you have, and I don’t want to be driving round risking my life out here with someone I can’t trust”, he finished.

  John was stumped, he was right, and even John couldn’t argue with his logic anymore. John didn’t have a leg to stand on, something he couldn’t help but show with his speechless face.

  “Settled then, I’m heading back to the motel, back to my family”, Andrew stated as he reached into the cabin and took out the Remington shotgun he had scavenged from the gas station the day before, its flashlight still attached. “You can keep this, wouldn’t do me much good anyway”, he said, handing it to John.

  John was utterly stumped, he knew his own odds diminished dramatically without a companion, and he didn’t trust Donald even close to as much as Andrew, but there was nothing else he could say, no more lies he could spin, no more truths to bend. In fact, it took all his mental strength to utter five final words to his once faithful companion, “I’m sorry Andrew”, he said as he stared at his friend, “Good luck”.

  * * *

  “Today marks both a great and terrible day. Today I found out that my family are alive, or at least, they were a week ago. More importantly, with the help of the man who saw them, I’m gonna’ go try and find ‘em. Our deal is real simple, he gets to keep all the none-essential stuff we find – decent clothes, weapons and ammo, excess food etc. – and in return, he takes me to where he saw them, and then he leaves. Maybe he’ll drive me a couple miles out, rob me and ditch me, maybe he’ll shoot me the second we’re far enough from this place that the sound of the shot won’t be heard back here, I don’t know. But no matter what he does, it’s the best chance I’ve got, hell, the only one in fact.

  I couldn’t convince Andrew to come along, he couldn’t deal with all the lies, and frankly, I don’t blame him. He’s headed back to the motel, and he’s got everything he needs, including the truck. It’s okay though, Donald – my new ‘friend’ – has a ride, so till I get there I’m fine. I’ve got my Ruger, and a real nice Remington now too, so at least I’ve come out of this little ‘divorce’ with some good stuff. I do feel bad though, and I’ll feel a lot worse if Andrew doesn’t make it back. Maybe I’ll go check up on him one day, hell maybe I’ll take my family to meet his, if he’ll let me.

  Anyway, I reckon Donald should be about ready to head out, so that’s my queue to leave. Till next time.

  John.”

  * * *

  “You ready yet?”, John asked as he walked over to Donald, who by this point was in the last stages of bagging up his tent.

  “Sure am”, he replied, “Might need to put a few more things in your truck though, running low on space inside the cabin here, and the back of yours is a lot more spacious”.

  “The trucks gone, Andrew took it and headed back”, John said, feeling slightly embarrassed as he did.

  Donald chuckled, securing the final seal of his now fully collapsed and bagged tent as he did. “Lover’s tiff huh?”, he asked, chuckling.

  “Something like that”, John replied sternly, trying to communicate that he was not in fact joking.

  Donald stood up straight, turning to look at John as he did, his face sinking. “You’re serious?”, he asked.

  John simply nodded in response.

  “He left?”, Donald asked.

  “Yup”, John replied.

  “With the truck?”, Donald continued.

  “Yup”, John said again.

  “The truck that had my stuff in?”, Donald said.

  “Your…what?”, John asked.

  “My stuff!”, Donald exclaimed, “I had a couple sweaters in there, some water, and a bag with my nav-stuff in! My compass, my drawing stuff… my map-“, Donald began to reel off his list.

  “Relax would you”, John cut in, “I’ve got a map, I’ve got a compass, and as far as dra
wings are concerned, I wasn’t planning on doing many today, so don’t worry about it, we’ll get there”, John said, both reassuringly and sarcastically.

  “We better find a god damn compass, and a map too, or I’ll be taking yours!”, Donald barked.

  John stared back at the man fiercely, before eventually breaking the silence with a begrudged nod. At this point he had to do just about whatever was asked of him. He was no more useful to Donald than a shield, a means of extra defence if they were swarmed by the undead, and likewise, Donald knew that John would only be loyal until he got to his family. Bearing that in mind, Donald wanted to make the most of his new body guard while he had him.

  Donald walked over to his Toyota, throwing his bagged tent into the rear along with his other remaining items as he did. The truck was quite badly rusted in parts, and certainly lacked the modern technology of the Ford John had become accustomed too, but it would have to do, it was all they had. Climbing into the passenger seat, John couldn’t help but wonder if it would even make it the whole journey, but as Donald turned the ignition, and nothing but healthy engine noise responded, at least some of his concerns were put to rest. A running engine was priority number one, home comforts like air conditioning were nothing more than a rare, unnecessary luxury.

  As the truck moved off and towards the camps exit, John looked to his left just in time to see David and Amy standing outside of their RV, watching as the Toyota slowly trundled out of view. John felt like they could have made friends in Apple River, but as the edges of the campsite came into view, and he realised just how vulnerable a place it really was, he knew that even if he found his family, he’d want somewhere more secure to take them. Nevertheless, his eyes took in the last few sights of what he feared could be the last ‘civilised’ life he ever saw, for now at least.

  “How far away is this place?”, John asked.

  “Far enough”, Donald replied.

  It was an answer John fully expected. After all, the less he knew about where they were going, the more valuable Donald became. With that in mind, John simply accepted it, and looked back out of the window in time to see the truck pass slowly through the entrance of the Apple River campsite. John couldn’t help but wonder how far Andrew had made it by now, whether he was well on his way back to his family, stranded somewhere with a flat tire – which he’d be unable to replace thanks to their earlier blowout – or maybe on that god forsaken bridge, about to be shot. It wasn’t John’s problem anymore, but that didn’t mean he could stop himself from thinking about it.

  Chapter 14: Revisiting Old Friends

  John opened his eyes to find himself much less comfortable than the last time he had awoken in a truck. He wasn’t sure how he had fallen asleep to begin with – having slept reasonably well the night before – but perhaps the intensity of the morning just gone had gotten to him. In any case, the bright light of the sun shattered the dark, much more pleasant world he had seen in his dreams, the rough riding Toyota bouncing him up and down as it exaggerated every tiny bump and crevice its chunky tires found in the road. Frankly, with driving conditions like these, the question he found himself asking more than anything at this point was how he had stayed asleep, rather than how he’d gotten there to begin with.

  As his eyes adjusted to the newfound brightness, and he became able to analyse his surroundings, John began to get his bearings. They were driving along a highway, similar to the one he and Andrew had travelled down. But this time it was much clearer on their side, little to no traffic which meant no road blocks or slowdowns. It was a comforting thought, though John couldn’t help but wonder where they were headed. Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a black mass up ahead on the other side of the highway, a collection of something dark strewn across the road, and after a few seconds he was able to identify exactly what it was, tire shards. Could it be the same tire he and Andrew had blown out just the day before? Or was it just one of the thousands of blow outs that used to happen every day? John couldn’t be sure, until he realised that the small metal container they had just passed – also left on the alternate side of the road – was in fact the mangled carcass of metal that once held a Ford F150’s spare wheel to its underside, the same carcass they themselves had mangled whilst forcing it off of their truck at that very same spot. This most certainly was the same highway they had travelled along to get to Apple River, and that raised the rather unfortunate question of just how far along they were following it.

  “Afternoon sunshine”, interrupted Donald’s grizzly voice, clearly poking fun at John’s midday slumber.

  “Sorry, being held hostage really takes it out of you”, he retorted.

  “Hostage? You’re free to go any time you want!”, Donald replied, surprised.

  “I meant earlier”, John explained, though Donald looked none the wiser. “The knife? You nearly cutting my throat open? Ringing any bells?”, John asked.

  “Oh right, that little… misunderstanding. Try not to take everything so personally Parker, lot of bad stuff happens in this new world of ours, spend your time getting hung up on every little brawl and you’ll never achieve anything!”, Donald rambled.

  John simply stared at him, refusing to take on board any of the advice, and instead choosing to remind himself that this unusual individual still represented John’s best chance of finding his family, and as such, probably deserved a response.

  “What exactly do you intend to achieve in this world then?”, John asked, after a pause.

  “Not sure really, get some good supplies, maybe head down to Chicago. They got these great big walls there, keeping everything out they don’t want in, safest place to be”, Donald answered.

  “What makes you think they’re still there? What makes you think they’re any better off than the hundreds of other camps that all got overrun?”, John asked.

  “Simple”, Donald answered, as he turned on the radio, “They told me themselves”.

  “This is an emergency broadcast, the infection has spread rapidly, get what resources you can and then barricade yourself and your families in your homes. Do not under any circumstances venture outside or you WILL be bitten and you WILL turn. The infected do not sympathise, there is no reasoning with them. You will be bitten, you will turn, and you will die”. The words blurted out from the radio like a speech from a bad end-of-the-world movie. “If you are near to Chicago, if you have weapons and access to a boat, approach the Chicago harbour holding your weapons aloft and we will receive you. Please bring what you can. Do NOT try to approach via land, thousands have tried and none have made it. Only attempt to take out an infected if yo…”, the broadcast droned on, the message no longer telling John anything new.

  “How do you know it’s still ther-“, John began, but was cut short by Donald raising his hand to silence him, pointing once again to the radio as he did.

  “…to the head should take them down, provided it pierces brain tissue. This message will be repeated constantly. The current date is”, the pre-recorded voice broke away, and was replaced by another, “Monday the fourth of August, twenty fourteen”.

  John stared at the radio in shock as he checked his watch to verify that it was in fact today that the message was last recorded.

  “They’re alive?”, John asked as the message began to loop back round again.

  “Sure are. Occasionally they add some new stuff to the message, tips, news and whatnot, but most of the time they just update that last bit so you know they’re still around”, Donald explained as he shut off the radio.

  “Why haven’t you tried to go?”, John asked.

  “You heard ‘em, need some decent guns, a boat, and means of getting there too. Not something I fancy doing till there’s nothing else out here”, Donald answered.

  It was at this point that John realised Donald wasn’t looking for an exit strategy. Whether he cared to admit it or not, he was enjoying this new world, the freedom to do what he wanted, the lack of authority, the free reign to take a
nd keep anything he found. John doubted he had even bothered to look for a boat, though he didn’t doubt he’d been looking for decent weapons.

  “Nearly at the bridge now”, rasped Donald’s voice, as John sat daydreaming of the security he might find behind whatever walls had been erected in Chicago’s once bustling business district. It took him a moment to register what Donald had said, but eventually he came to the horrific realisation that it would of course be the very same bridge he had sped over just the day before, that same bridge that Andrew may even have crossed back over earlier that day, either successfully or not.

  “When we get there, there’s a group of guards, they’ll point their guns and yell some stuff but don’t worry, they know me, there won’t be a problem unless you make one, got it?”, Donald asked.

  John simply nodded in response, feeling more and more like the Andrew of the pair, the one with no input on what happened, and a severe lack of confidence that made him unable to put one forward. But now wasn’t the time to change that, now was the time to let Donald do his thing, and hope to God that the guards didn’t recognise John’s face.

  As the road inclined to reach the bridge’s level, John saw the first guard signal to the others at the sight of a vehicle, and the group began to position themselves, just as Donald had said, guns pointed. Of course John had seen this before, but only in his rear view mirror, and on that occasion, followed quickly by numerous gunshots. He could only hope that things would go a little smoother this time, and that he wouldn’t see a Ford pickup – or the body of his former companion for that matter – floating down the river. As they reached the first guard, whose hand raised up instructing them to stop, John put such thoughts out of his mind, and prepared himself for his second go at crossing the Stillwater bridge.

  “Step out of the truck”, snapped the first guard.

  “It’s Donald!”, yelled John’s new companion, leaning out the window slowly to show his face.