“You think it’s keeping us out, or something else in?”, Donald whispered as John surveyed the barricade with his torch.
“Isn’t gonna’ matter much if we can’t get up there anyway”, he replied quietly, as he pointed his shotgun around the pile, attempting to find a way past it, his brain furiously working away before eventually deciding on a path.
“What are you doing?”, Donald asked as John swung one leg over the handrail, the other quickly following.
John ignored him, instead answering by beginning to slowly shimmy his way up the stairs, completely exposed to the fall below, but comfortably passing the barricade in a matter of seconds.
“Genius!”, Donald whispered excitedly as he began following suit.
“The question stands though”, John began as Donald shimmied along, “We know this wasn’t made to keep humans in or out, or they would have stopped us being able to go around it like that, but that don’t mean there aint’ nothing upstairs being kept in”, he continued, quickly moving his torch, from the handrail which Donald had now climbed back across, to the stairs in front.
With the barricade out of the way, the pair now had unobstructed access to the remaining five floors, and so set about entering the first available doorway, now giving even more patience to the entrance procedure, so as not to disturb whatever may be inside. As they did though, they were greeted by yet another empty hallway, again somewhat illuminated by the lit fire exit signs, and once again devoid of anything of any real interest. On this floor however, at least the doors were not all barred shut.
Arriving at the first of such entrances, John shone his torch through the small window, barely penetrating the thick layer of dirt and dust that had accumulated across it, as he attempted to get a preview of what the room might contain. What greeted him though was nothing more than the shaded outlines of a few desks, some cupboards, and a variety of items scattered across the floor. John couldn’t help but feel excitement for at least finding a room not completely emptied by those that had entered before them, but the poor visibility ensured he entered with just as much caution as ever, slowly easing the door handle downwards before applying the bare minimum amount of pressure needed to push it open.
As the door released its grip, the two were hit instantly with a change in air. It was the sort of change that indicated it had been some time since this door was last opened, and one that carried with it the most foul of smells, a smell John was unfortunate enough to know better than most.
“Oh Jesus! What is that?”, Donald whispered as he covered his mouth.
John looked back at his companion, “Death”, he replied, before resuming his primary duty of leading the entrance into the room.
Slowly he moved through the open doorway, his torch now able to illuminate the corners of the room much more clearly, exposing the contents of what was apparently once a library of sorts. Large bookcases lined the left hand side, with what John guessed were many thousands of books all stacked neatly across multiple shelves, and to the right, various lines of desks spread from the door to the windows, each coated by the same dust and dirt that seemed to cover the entirety of the hospital.
As John continued to survey the room though, he suddenly caught sight of something very unexpected.
“Jesus!”, he exclaimed as his finger gripped the trigger of the shotgun.
What he had found was the body of a man, slumped in the desk to their right just a few feet away, only now coming into view thanks to the Remington’s ever useful torch.
Both men froze, Donald raising his M4 ready to fire if required. But the body simply sat there, its head hanging lazily forwards, the torso not moving an inch.
Slowly John made his way over to the chair it resided in, the click of the door signalling that Donald had closed it over behind them, and soon after, the truth became much clearer, thanks to a large bullet wound underneath the man’s chin, and the thirty-eight calibre revolver still tightly gripped in his right hand.
“Stupid asshole took the easy way out”, said Donald, “Could of at least used that bullet on a biter”, he remarked, moving over to the window.
John knelt down next to the body, pulling the revolver free of the tight, dead, rigor-mortis infused grip of the man’s hand. It had 5 bullets remaining – which John promptly removed and shoved into his pocket – so Donald wasn’t wrong, he had opted to take himself out before even trying to escape. The more worrying thought however was why he had chosen to do such a thing, and suddenly images of what might be found on this floor and those above them flooded John’s mind, quickly and thankfully interrupted by Donald’s voice.
“Parker, help me with this”, he said as he tried in vain to prise open the window, its wooden edgings sheared and splintered, causing it to stick in its closed position, “Need to get some air in this place”.
John obliged, quickly making his way over to the window and placing both hands onto the opposite side as Donald. The pair pulled upwards repeatedly, prising the window bit by bit till suddenly it slid upwards with an almighty force, the glass cracking – but thankfully not shattering – in its frame, now above their heads.
“Now that is better!”, said Donald as the outside air rushed in, the slight scent of ash not enough to tarnish this moment of clarity for the pair.
What did tarnish it however was what happened next, as Donald looked down the street to where the Toyota was parked, only to catch sight of a growing amount of unnatural light, just a few metres away from the truck. Donald knew what it was long before the source of the light slowly crept around the corner and onto the very street that both the Hospital’s side entrance and their truck resided, and as the metallic front of the vehicle edged into his field of view, he reacted as quickly as possible.
“Down!”, he ordered as both men ducked out of sight, Donald’s eyes barely visibly over the windows ledge.
Slowly the vehicle approached, its occupants appearing to lean out of the windows as the vehicle drove, pausing for a moment alongside the Toyota.
“That’s the sedan from earlier!”, John whispered, himself having raised his head high enough to see out of the window once more, “I’m sure it is!”, he reaffirmed.
But despite appearances, the men were not in fact looking into the truck, and were instead looking over to the Hospital, perhaps evaluating its potential to ransack.
“If they move for this place, we’ve gotta’ get out of here”, John said as the pair looked on.
“You kidding me Parker? If it’s a fight they want, it’s a fight they g-“
Before Donald could finish his sentence, the sound of a gunshot roared through the dead, still night. Its epic volume made short work of anything else that dared to make even the slightest of noises, and was closely followed by a small shard of metal, propelled at over a thousand miles per hour, hurtling through the night sky, directly through the open window that the pair crouched below. Just above their heads, the bullet embedded itself into the ceiling, small fragments of paint and plaster raining down on them as it did.
“How the hell they see us!?”, Donald demanded, ducking down below the window once more, just as two more shots hit the other side of the wall in front.
“Hell if I know”, John replied, “But we gotta’ get out of here!”.
“And leave the truck?”, Donald replied, “No chance!”, he said, switching his weapon to semi-automatic, “We stand our ground…we fight!”.
John watched on as his companion stood up tall, lodged the butt of the gun firmly into his armpit, lowered his cheek onto the top of the rifle, closed his left eye, and began reeling off shot after shot right back at the attacking sedan. He took barely a second between each shot to adjust for whatever movement he could see, before eventually crouching back down behind the safety of the wall, after firing off some twelve rounds.
John didn’t want to fight, quite the opposite in fact, but unfortunately for him, he was still bound by his own needs to stick with Donald, and so he quickly
looked around the room to decide his next move, as the pitter-patter of bullets on brickwork sounded out all around. Along from where they currently sat hunkered down was another window, again obscured by dirt and dust, more than enough so to block out shapes from both sides. John moved quickly to the glass, stopping next to it to drop down his backpack, as well as his Remington shotgun, and take out his M14, which he promptly readied himself to use.
Looking through the scope, John made every effort to guess the rough location of the truck, but he did not fire, instead simply standing in wait, an easy target to anybody that somehow knew he was there, and not a chance in hell of hitting anybody, especially now that the men appeared to have halted their fire.
“What are you doing!?”, Donald called over.
“Fire on them”, John replied.
“It’s a waste of ammo!”, Donald argued.
“Fire on them”, John repeated sternly.
Begrudgingly obeying, Donald raised himself up once more, firing a series of shots at the sedan – this time only releasing four casings into the night – before quickly ducking back down again.
Almost immediately, the men began firing back, John now able to make out the muzzle flashes of three distinct shooters through the blackened window, the biggest of which appeared to be at the back. John knew that a bigger flash most likely meant the shooter was the least covered, and so taking aim at what was nothing more than a dimming source of light, John fired three times at the rear flashes source, the first piercing the window in front of John, and the two that followed annihilating it completely, but each sailing well past it and on towards their intended target nonetheless.
The first bullet was a near miss, scraping the rear of the sedan and deflecting narrowly away from the shooter, but the second found its mark, slicing through the gunman’s shoulder, who at this point still had no idea where the fire was coming from. As he recoiled from the impact though, his eyes spotted the third flash – this time from the newly shattered window that sat along from the previous target – just as the third bullet carved its way through the roof of the sedan, penetrating its metal shell and continuing its journey clean through the rear window of the car, before eventually meeting its intended target. This time the bullet landed in the man’s left leg, throwing the shooter onto the ground in agony, now unable to support his own weight and still reeling from the pain in his shoulder.
John ducked down back into position, having no idea as to whether or not he had killed his target, but feeling fairly confident from the screams that followed that his shots had at least achieved a decent hit, a belief further compacted by the dialog that carried along the now empty outside air.
“That son of a bitch…he…he got me”, yelled one voice.
“God damn it!”, yelled another, “Plan B, right now!”.
John looked over to his companion, confident that he had indeed hit his mark, but concerned at just what exactly ‘Plan B’ might be.
Donald clearly shared his concern, his face reminiscent of a soldier taking cover before a shelling. But as the two sat hunkered down, waiting for what seemed like an eternity for something to happen, they heard no further gunfire. In fact, they heard nothing at all for the next few seconds, though neither was willing to risk their own neck standing back up to view their attackers just yet.
“We’ve gotta’ look”, Donald said eventually.
John knew he was right, though he hated to admit it. “Alright”, he replied, “Blind fire down there, I’ll take a look”, he ordered, gesturing with his gun for Donald to simply point it out the window and fire, rather than risk emerging himself.
Donald did as asked, pointing his M4 out of the window in the general direction of the men, and squeezing off four shots, the third of which John chose as his moment to stand.
As he emerged, he was surprised to see that the car was in fact driving away, in the direction he and Donald had come from no less. The injured man was nowhere to be seen, and the remaining men had seemingly packed back into the sedan, perhaps fleeing a conflict they felt they couldn’t win. But John knew better than to believe that, and he knew only too well that this wasn’t over.
“They’re gone”, John said as he continued to survey the area through the scope of his M14.
“They left?”, Donald asked in disbelief, slowly rising back up to the window, before seeing for himself that there was in fact nobody to be seen, “Where’d they go?”, he asked.
“Hell if I know, they didn’t even touch the truck”, John added, looking over to the Toyota, all windows – bar the rear one John had shot out earlier – still intact, along with all four tires seemingly fully inflated, judging by the trucks level stance.
“But why would they just leave?”, Donald asked, still in disbelief.
“To escape”, John replied, his eyes widening in horror.
“Escape what? Those pussies outnumbered us!”, Donald replied.
“Not us”, John replied, as the heat from the flames engulfing the side of the building roared up to the window with immense speed and ferocity, the dry, wooden features of the Hospital an immense catalyst for a spreading fire, “To escape that”.
Chapter 19: Run
“Get the door!”, John yelled to his companion, whilst attempting to pack away his M14 and pull his Remington back out as he did.
Donald understood, and sprinted to the door they had so recently entered through, grabbing the handle, but recoiling and stepping back before he had a chance to open it.
“John”, he said as he took further steps away from the exit.
“What is it!?”, John barked without looking up, almost ready to swing his backpack onto his shoulders and head out.
“We aint’ leaving that way”, Donald answered.
John looked up, just in time to see a rotting hand plunge straight through the door’s window, shards of loose glass cutting deep into the uncaring flesh, as it clawed away at the air on their side of the door. Almost immediately it was joined by the hands of multiple others, and the loud banging of limbs against the doors wooden exterior. It was impossible to tell just how many there were, but judging by the sea of moving figures clearly visible behind the initial few, John knew there was no chance they were leaving the way they had entered.
“Guess now we know what that barricade was for”, John said as he swung his backpack on and stood up tall, “There another exit?”, he asked.
“Only the windows”, Donald replied, knowing that under normal circumstances the windows were not an exit, but also knowing that these were definitely not normal circumstances.
John looked around frantically, trying as hard as he could to identify a better alternative, before eventually looking back to Donald, “Guess that’s what we’ll use then”.
Donald appeared shocked – apparently having assumed John would never really give the order – and was now looking back and forth between the shattered windows, and the man saying they had to go out of them, “How do we get down!?”.
“We don’t go down from here”, John explained as he walked over to the empty frame, “Long as it’s clear, we just get down one floor, and go from there”.
“But the rooms below us are all barred shut remember?”, Donald pointed out, thinking back to the numerous attempts they’d made to gain entry to the lower areas.
Donald was right of course, and John knew it, but he wasn’t about to give up yet. Cautiously approaching the window, he peered out for just a few seconds, surveying the area for the slightest of stirs that might indicate their newfound enemies were still nearby, before ducking back in once more, and bracing himself for the gunfire that may follow.
The two stood in silence, watching the window, ready for the sound of metal hitting brickwork to fill their ears, but it never came. Had they left the city? Or at least gone far enough out not to see them embarking on their daring escape? It would have been stupid for the attackers to leave without making sure their targets were dead, but then the noise and light e
mitted from the fire would no doubt attract quite the horde, so perhaps they were simply prioritising their own escape over being thorough.
“Looks like we have our way out”, John said whilst looking at Donald, before leaning back out of the window to plan their escape, still cautiously watching for movement out of the corner of his eye.
The only route John could see was a drainpipe heading up the side of the building, right in the middle of the two windows. It wasn’t ideal, and he had absolutely no idea whether the rickety old metal would take the weight of a full grown man – though he was fairly confident it wouldn’t take two – so they had to move quickly, before the group of biters on the other side of the door managed to force their way through.
“We go up the pipe”, John announced, “Stay close but do NOT get on while I’m still on it, I don’t fancy our chances putting that much weight on it at once, alright?”.
“Got it”, Donald replied, “Let’s go!”.
John went first, brushing the remaining shards of glass off of the edging before climbing backwards out into the night sky, his feet on the ledge and hands holding onto the wooden frame of the now empty window. Almost immediately he began to feel the immense heat below, a heat that gave John yet another reason to be as quick as possible, or face an alternative but still very gruesome end.
“Get ready on the other window, we’ve gotta’ be quick!”, John yelled into the darkened room, the sound of feet scuffing along the floor a sign that Donald had understood.
John knew that if the pipe didn’t take his weight, they had no chance, and so rather than slowly inch his way onto it – in order to test each additional piece – he decided there and then, to go for it, and hope to God that it didn’t end his journey through this hell-hole right here and now. As his feet left the ledge, his entire body falling towards a pipe designed to take no more weight than its own, he couldn’t help but think about his family, hopefully tucked up safe somewhere waiting for him. More than likely however, they were at that very moment in some grim location, fighting for their lives each and every day, something he had absolutely no intention of leaving them to sort out by themselves. Nearing the pipe, his hands extending to grab hold of the nearest section, his feet flailing in a hopeful attempt to make contact with one of the screw fixtures securing the pipe to the wall, John was relieved beyond all measures to feel the solid metallic joints underneath his worn old boots, and feel the firm grip of the metal tube in the palms of his hands.
Aftermath (Book 1): Only The Head Will Take Them Down Page 14
