“What do you want to do John?”, Andrew asked as he killed the engine.
“I want to go further in, I want to find them”, John insisted.
“Look around John, the biters are everywhere”, Andrew said, his finger pointing out a series of the undead visible further along the road, as well as numerous barely exposed limbs just visible in the dark corners of the underpass, no signs of either life or death accompanying them. “We need to know where we’re going, we can’t just drive around hoping to stumble into them, it’s not safe”.
John thought it over for a moment, his head knowing that Andrew was right, but his heart adamant that they start looking immediately. Eventually however, he knew he had to see sense.
“Alright”, he said begrudgingly as he reached into the glove compartment and withdrew Donald’s old map, still open to the page of Milwaukee, a red cross marked over the downtown area.
The area highlighted was almost exactly the ground their truck sat on; the downtown region, close but not too close to the water, right along the I94. The problem however was scale, as although the cross itself covered only a small area of the map, when scaled up, it equated to at least nine square miles of search area, in a city so congested and blocked up that a single wrong turn could have them trapped in a deadly position. John flipped to the page dedicated to Milwaukee’s downtown, the map now heavily zoomed into the area around them, but still with no markings to indicate where the camp might actually be.
Like a rescue team analysing the scene of a plane crash, the two began poring over the map. Each spot was analysed for the possible presence of anything of interest, from likely campsite locations, to the raiding points that the camp might visit, and everything else in between. As he looked however, John found himself unable to ignore the ever present possibility that after all this time, the camp might have moved on, or been overrun completely. Quickly he tried to put such thoughts out of his mind.
Within minutes both John and Andrew had noted a series of possibilities, from universities and libraries, to courthouses, hospitals and theatres. The list ended with a series of spots on the coast, which if indeed the location of the camp, would mark the perfect point for survivors to launch off for Chicago. Eventually, having each scoured a reasonable distance in every direction, and double checking each other’s own findings, both men paused for a final glance, before looking over to each other, and knowing it was time for the all-important discussion.
“We need to decide where to go”, John said, breaking the silence.
“And what order to go in”, Andrew added.
“Yeah, can’t get caught out in any one way street, always gotta’ have an exit strategy”, John explained loudly for the benefit of those in the back of the truck.
“And we need...”, Andrew paused to compose his words, “We need to set a time for…”, he paused again, unable to complete the sentence.
“We need to pick a time for when to stop looking”, John interrupted, knowing that it was only fair he release Andrew and his family from their duties at some point. “You know I won’t stop though, right?”, he asked.
“I know”, Andrew replied, smiling slightly at the stubbornness of his companion, which even he had to admit was somewhat admirable at times.
“Let’s work out the priority, few places that are most likely”, John said, “We’ll end at the water so you guys can get away if we come up empty, and then I’ll head back in and carry on”, he added.
“Alright”, Andrew agreed.
After a moment of thought, both men began to pick their primary choices, and before long, a list of destinations was made.
* * *
The final list consisted of just six locations, all spaced out enough to create a route that covered much of the overall area, but each picked for their individual abilities to be a good host to numerous survivors. The first – the Marquette University – was just a short distance from the underpass, and so before long, the gas guzzling, but thankfully still fuelled truck, arrived on site.
The University itself was a sprawling campus, its many buildings separated by pathways, but all of it contained within a single plot of vast land. The benefit of this was that the entire campus could be inspected from the comfort of the truck, and that the numerous pathways – most of which were more than wide enough even for the huge F150 – presented virtually unlimited potential escape routes. The downside however, became quickly apparent.
“Daddy!”, came Hannah’s voice from the backseat, as a small group of the undead came into view at the start of the very first channel into campus.
“I know sweety, just keep your head down, keep close to your Mother, we won’t be here long”, Andrew said reassuringly, as he defiantly drove around the group and onto the first of many pathways.
“Take a right at the end”, John said, his eyes scanning the nursing college to their left, and the science building to the right, seeking even the slightest notion of movement, but finding none.
“Second right up here”, John followed up, as the truck rounded the first turn, the main University building now coming into view, but still no sign of movement anywhere to be seen.
Occasionally a group of biters were spotted in the corners of the area, but most seemed to be out of sight, perhaps massed inside behind the barred doors that had once kept them in for their own safety, but did so now for the safety of everyone else. Regardless, save for the odd straggler which began to slowly trudge along behind the truck, the danger here appeared low.
“Four to our rear now”, Andrew said as he quickly scanned the rear view mirror.
“Don’t worry, they’ll tail off”, John said, as he pointed towards a left hand turn ahead, the next manoeuvre in a series of directional changes which saw the truck carve a path between just about every building on the campus.
Eventually, both men could tell that nothing was to be found. If a campsite had ever been there, evidence of it had been hidden well. Not a single suitable barricade remained in place, no vehicles were parked ready to mount an escape, and no living person had been spotted throughout the sweep. The University, the first on their list of six spots, appeared to be a dud.
“Onto the hospital?”, Andrew asked as the final building – a very modern looking law school – rushed past alongside them.
“Guess so”, John replied, as he crossed the University off of his list with a heavy handed, disappointment laden line.
The hospital in question was the nearby Aurora Sinai medical centre, a hospital and research centre that spanned multiple multi-storey buildings, which were thankfully separated by full roads the Ford could fit down. The nature of the hospital’s complex layout meant that going inside was almost suicidal, and so there was little chance of it being used for much, however the elevated walkways that joined each building together made for an ideal method of travel, and one that was without the risk of being exposed to the world outside. Handled in the right way, it might have made for the perfect base, with ample space to expand and no doubt plenty of medical resources to keep the people inside healthy. However, like most medical facilities, John was certain that it would have been among the first to be overrun, a theory confirmed as the first of the hospital’s wings came into sight.
The mass of concrete and brickwork in front bore every hallmark of a building long since abandoned, and probably one that was in fact still overrun. Numerous shapes shifted slowly from side to side, clearly visible through the many smashed windows and collapsed walls. Worse still was that the walkways remained intact, meaning that whatever had gotten into the first overrun building, would no doubt have spread to the remaining areas. Instantly both men felt a sense of disappointment, and knew there would be little here of use. However, keen to cover every base, they drove further in, John dictating the route as they moved, his eyes flicking from the map in front of him, to the roads ahead.
“Left here”, John instructed, as the truck turned into the first of its scheduled through roads. The s
ight of a second overhead walkway came quickly into view, again still intact, and by the looks of the shapes inside, just as occupied with the dead as every other building they had so far seen.
“There must be thousands around here”, John stated as he looked upwards to the many moving figures above.
“No wonder they tried to take the city back”, Andrew replied. “Surprised they didn’t just cut their losses and burn it down”, he added, immediately regretting the words that had escaped his mouth, knowing how much they would hurt his companion, “Sorry”, he said quickly, awkwardly closing his eyes as well as his mouth as tightly as possible, waiting in agony for John’s reaction.
To Andrew’s surprise however, it came only in the form of a limp hand, waving off the remark as he continued to look around. Much to Andrew’s relief, he was clearly more occupied with the search than anything else.
Before long it was obvious the hospital was a bust, and after a few minutes the truck had fully circled the complex, ready to move on to the next building. The growing sense of disappointment on John’s face became increasingly obvious, not only to Andrew, but to Andrew’s family too.
“We’ll find them Mr John”, Hannah said chirpily from the back seat, her ever delighted tone just powerful enough to squeeze a quick smile out of the stone faced front passenger, before he returned to his somewhat morbid usual expression.
“Onto the college?”, Andrew asked, as he spotted a sign pointing towards the nearby technical college, the next stop on their list of potential campsite locations.
“Guess so”, John said, after giving one final look to the nearest hospital building, and seeing nothing more than the dead, and the carnage and havoc they had wreaked.
Chapter 35: Creating a Following
By the time they had departed from their penultimate location – a museum that turned out to be devoid of anything, living or dead – the relatively loud and significantly large Ford had attracted quite a fan-fare, in the form of twenty or so corpses that followed blindly a few hundred metres to its rear.
“How do they keep finding us?”, Andrew asked of John, hoping for some sort of reassurance as he grew increasingly worried at the horde’s slow but persistent presence.
“Not sure they’re the same ones”, John replied.
“They’re…what?”, Andrew asked, confused.
“They look like a different group, probably picked ‘em up at the courthouse”, John explained, referring to their previous stop, a courthouse just a mile or so further back. “If we keep rounding them up like this and then losing them there’s gonna be a whole lot of hordes just roaming the city”, he added.
“So what do you suppose we do?”, Andrew asked, concerned that they might be empowering the enemy by grouping them together, but also unable to ignore the fact that soon enough, it would hopefully be none of their concern.
“Nothing we can do. Just got to hope we don’t see them again”, John said.
For a few moments Andrew remained silent, content with the idea of moving on to the final waypoint, ignoring anything but their targeted stop. However the idea of John potentially staying behind was slowly getting to him, and before long, he was forced to ask the all-important question.
“How can you even think about staying here? If we don’t find them?”, Andrew asked.
“What?”, John responded, somewhat startled slightly by the directness of the question.
“If they’re not there, at the Museum”, Andrew started, referring to the building they had designated as their final destination, “How can you see all of the biters, all the ruined buildings, all the horrors of this place, and still want to keep looking?”.
“You know the answer to that”, John replied.
“Sure, I did, but now I’m not so sure”, Andrew said.
“What?”, John asked again.
“What if they’re not here John? What if they’re in Chicago? What if they’re sitting pretty, safe, and you die out here trying to find them?”, he asked. “What if we get there and find them, and all we can do is tell them you’re here, probably dead, or at least close to it”.
“I’d rather die looking for my family, than give up and leave, only to find out I was in the same god damn city”, John replied.
“John, be realistic here”, Andrew started again, “One flat tire, one empty fuel tank, one breakdown, and you’re trapped here, hordes and all, waiting for death”, he said bluntly. “You’re no use to anybody dead”.
For the next few moments, as Andrew continued to drive on towards their final stop, John mulled over his companion’s words. His heart, head and conscience were all fighting over the options in front of him, and he was trying as hard as he could to rationalise the idea of staying. The worst part however, was that the more he thought about them, the more he remembered exactly what he’d always taught them, how he’d always insisted that they should flee to safety at the first sign of trouble. Realistically, if they’d listened to anything he’d said, they’d be in Chicago right now, safe, secure, and waiting for him.
“From Chicago, you can still look for them. But if you stay, and you don’t make it out, then this is all for nothing, this is all just… done”, Andrew said, with a tone that John knew meant it was his last attempt at persuasion.
“Alright”, John eventually replied. “I’ll come with you, but I won’t stop looking”, he explained.
“Neither will I John”, Andrew said with slight remnants of a smile spreading across his face, coupled with a sigh of great relief, “Neither will I”.
* * *
The Milwaukee art museum was half conventional building, half modern, futuristic looking architectural phenomenon. The more cultured side of it erupted spectacularly from the ground, its huge white suspension cables stretching high into the sky above, despite the bulk of the building itself being just two stories high. For years it had brought in visitors en masse, its design prowess alone enough to attract people from far and wide, regardless of the many treasures housed inside. But today, in a world where looks and elegance were worth no more than the ground they were placed on, each of its spectacular features simply sank into the darkened landscape, nothing more than yet another sorry sight.
What was of use however, was its location. The main entrance to the museum sat just metres from the waters of lake Michigan, and was joined via an open aired, overhead walkway, to a purpose built car-park on the other side of the road it resided on. What this meant on the face of things, was that a reasonably large, but not unmanageable section of the museum, was bordered on one side by open lake, and included an escape route to the other, covering just about every possible eventuality. In addition, what lay in front of the museum - Underneath the overhead walkway – was a large, open area of grass and water features, giving a field of view around the entire building. In survival terms, it was a gold mine, and it was that exact reason that brought such shock to both John and Andrew, as their truck approached the front of the building, and they began to see it in its more current light.
“My God”, Andrew said, his eyes wide and gazing over to the middle section of the museum, its entire structure completely collapsed, as if hit by a series of huge explosions.
The central area of the museum – which previously linked the more artistic and cultural Southern structure with its much larger, much more conventional Northern building – now remained as nothing more than rubble. Brought down by some mighty mass, it had been completely decimated, and now provided a direct view into the still-standing North and South sides, the exposed area allowed line of sight into the various exhibits lining each edge.
“What happened here”, Andrew half asked, not expecting an answer, but feeling obliged to at least pose the question.
“Something big”, John replied un-informatively. “Something big enough to bring a lot of attention”, John added, his finger raising up to point to a particular area of the Southern section.
The front of the building’s main entrance was al
most completely glass, huge floor to ceiling panels, separated only by the struts that kept them in place. Stretching across multiple floors and up into the roof above, they gave an almost completely transparent view into the building, save for the thick layer of dirt that had accumulated along it. What this sight exposed however, was much more troubling than the notion of dirtied and occasionally cracked glass, as the sight of hundreds of the undead, all of them packed tight against the windows, came into view.
“Jesus Christ”, Andrew exclaimed, How in the hell did so many turn in one place?”, he asked, this time hoping for a more informed response, “Do you think… do you think that was the campsite?”.
“There’s too many there for that”, John replied, “If they’d all been in there alive, all been human when they started turning, someone would have broken a window, or a door or something”, he suggested.
John was right of course. Only now, after what looked to have been months of imprisonment, did the biters stand dormant. Had they all turned in there at some point, it was almost certain that more chaos would have ensued, and that the desperate few yet to turn would no doubt have headed for the exits, smashing windows where none could be reached. Shortly afterwards, John’s theory was further compounded, as the front doors of the museum’s south side came into view.
“There”, John pointed again, “They’ve been barricaded, someone locked them in there after they’d turned”, he said, gesturing towards an assortment of bars and planks boarding up the entrance from the outside.
“But, why would someone do that?”, Andrew asked.
“Beats me. That many of ‘em though, would have taken a lot of bullets, someone probably saved a whole lot of resources by just leading them in there and trapping them”, John suggested. “They probably found a way to climb up to the upper floor, then walked right out those doors”, he said, pointing to the exit that led out onto the overhead walkway. “Then they go back downstairs and seal the doors behind them, problem solved”.
Aftermath (Book 1): Only The Head Will Take Them Down Page 27
