by Bobby Adair
I inhaled a slow breath.
Tink, tink, tink.
Was it an answer or a coincidence?
I tapped twice more.
Two tinks answered my taps.
I tapped once.
I was answered with one.
Holy crap.
All doubt was gone. Someone was in there.
Chapter 13
Murphy and I stood about ten feet from the door to the lowest level. It was after three in the morning. I was dead tired, but the adrenaline was keeping me on my feet.
Murphy said, “What I don’t get is, if there’s somebody in there who isn’t infected, why didn’t they just come out?”
“I can’t answer that.” I looked over at the closed door. “But if they’re in there with all of those infected, my guess is that they’re not normal. They’ve got to be a slow burn, like us, or they’d have been killed.”
“So the Null Spot wants to save one of his own.”
I said, “I think it’s the right thing to do.”
“Well there’s that, and then there’s the smart thing,” said Murphy. “If they’re locked in and can’t get out, then we’re safe for the night, anyway.”
I was miffed. “You want to leave them in there?”
“Chill, Zed. I’m just saying that we need to evaluate our choices and our chances before we jump into another pile of shit.”
“Fine,” I said. “What are our choices and chances?”
“Our first choice is to spend the night here, bail out in the morning and forget this place,” he said. “That way we live through another night and don’t take any risks.”
“Yeah but…”
“Let me finish,” he told me.
“Fine.” I huffed.
He said, “Obviously if we do that, then whoever is trapped in there will die. They can’t get out by themselves. If they could have, they would have.”
“Agreed.”
“Our alternative is to bust open the door,” said Murphy, “kill all of the infected inside, and save any slow burns that we find.”
“I’m resisting the urge to say something sarcastic right now,” I told him.
“I know I’m stating the obvious,” he said. “We only have two choices. But all the risk to us comes with the second choice. We only have one way to get that door open and that’s with one of our limited supply of hand grenades. And we already talked about the risk of blowing a grenade in this confined space. Then we’ll have who knows how many infected coming out after us. Can we kill them? Probably. They can’t surround us. They can’t because they all have to squeeze through that door. They probably can’t overwhelm us. But you never know. Something unexpected could happen. A gun could jam. One of us might trip and fall. Hell, anything could happen, and if it does, one or both of us wind up dead. Do you see what I’m saying?”
Of course I saw it. I said, “I know there’s an unquantifiable risk. If there’s anything I’ve learned so far, it’s that we live in a new world. I know that last week, if I tripped and fell, the worst-case result was a bruise, or a tear in my clothes. Now if I trip at the wrong time, I die. Last week, if my flashlight batteries died, I went to the store for more. Today, I die. Last week, if I was thirsty, I just got a drink of water anywhere I wanted. Today, if I don’t have enough water with me, I have to find some and risk getting killed doing it, or I die.
“You see,” I told him, “I do get it. Every mistake carries the death penalty. But Murphy, I can’t leave somebody in that bunker to die. I just can’t do it. We may be in an every-man-for-himself world now, but it will only be that if that’s what we survivors make it. I’m not doing that. I won’t. Help me or don’t help me. You decide. But I’m opening that door.”
Murphy took some time with his response but eventually he acquiesced. “Okay, Null Spot.”
Looking back at the door again, as though urgency to get it open was growing, I said, “You’re just saying that so that I’ll shut up.”
Murphy smiled, “Yes, I am. At this moment, I can’t think of a fate worse than listening to you babble through another ten minutes of your Null Spot bullshit.” He laughed. “I’ll help you do this. But just so you know, when everything turns to shit, I’m gonna save my ass. I’m not gonna get killed just to save somebody who’s gonna end up dead anyway.”
“Thanks.” I was sincere.
“This is your deal,” he told me. “What do you want to do?”
I walked over to the door and whispered loud enough to be heard on the other side. “Tap once for yes and twice for no. Do you understand?”
Tink.
Predictably, some of the infected on the other side of the door started to respond.
I asked, “Can you open the door from your side?”
Tink. Tink.
Crap.
“Are there a lot of infected in there, with you?”
Tink.
“Are there any more normal people besides you?”
Tink. Tink.
The infected were starting to get excited. At least a few of them were pushing and pulling on the door. More and more infected moans seeped through the door.
“Do you have any other way out of there other than this door?”
Tink. Tink.
“Go to the far end of the bunker. Cover your ears and hide behind something, if you can. It’ll take a little while, but we’re going to blow the door. Don’t come out until the shooting stops or until you hear me call for you. Good luck.”
Tink.
Murphy said, “Just so you know, you’re moving all that shit away from the door. I’ll stand guard.”
“But you stood guard when I stacked it all in front of the door,” I complained.
“Like I said, it’s your deal.” He shrugged. “If you want it moved, you have to do it.”
I moved all of the boxes and junk away from the door. I then stacked it all into a wall about halfway up the length of the second level. I left room on one side to walk around the wall. That was my escape route.
To reduce the concussion effects of the grenade in the confined space, we needed to open the other doors.
Opening the first door and going into level one showed us a room was just as we’d left it except for a haze of smoke that hung in the air.
The door to the outside was still hot and was hard to get open. It was covered with a layer of ash and embers. But for the absence of Satan, the world outside looked like Hell.
The thick gray smoke that had blanketed East Austin was mostly gone. Black skeletons of gnarled old oak branches reached into the sky. Hulks of gray automobile carcasses littered the landscape. Nearly everything combustible was burned or smoldering.
Hot mounds of glowing embers were everywhere.
Most of the houses in the neighborhood were simply gone, replaced with geometrical piles of ash and occasional brick facades that hadn’t crumbled in the violence of the fire.
There were spots however, that the fire had bypassed. Far in the distance I saw a few houses with green bushes and dead lawns, untouched by flame.
To the north, the fire glowed orange in the sky. To the west of the interstate, city lights glowed and illuminated the smoke from underneath.
High above us, enormous billows of black smoke flowed west, blotting out wide swaths of starlight and trailing an oily stink.
“What is that?” I asked, pointing up at the heavy black smoke.
“I’ll bet the refineries in Houston are burning,” Murphy answered.
“You think?”
“Yeah,” said Murphy. “I worked at one between Houston and Galveston for a couple of years. We lost power once during a storm, and it was a big fucking deal. The place went on alert. The engineers had us running around and doing all kinds of shit, like they were afraid the place would blow up, or something.”
“Really?”
He said, “I don’t know. I was just a flunky. But I’m betting that if the power went out, something catastrophic happened. I’m betti
ng that’s smoke from the refineries.”
“Jesus.” I looked back up at the black smoke. “How much oil is stored down there?”
“Enough to burn for months, I’ll bet.”
I scanned the area for movement, but saw none. I heard no human sound of any kind. Any infected that hadn’t run away from the fire had likely died in it. For the time being, it was safe to be out in the open.
Chapter 14
I was as prepared as I was going to get.
I stood in front of the steel door that blocked the way down to the third level. I looked to my left to confirm for the fifth time that my escape path was clear. I yelled to the person inside, “If you’re not at the back of the room yet, now is the time. I’m going to blow the door. Remember, hide behind something if you can. Cover your ears. Don’t come out right away.”
I took a few deep breaths.
I beat on the door with the butt of my pistol. The more infected that I could urge to crowd around the other side, the fewer I’d have to deal with after the grenade exploded.
Their excited screaming and pushing on the door let me know that we were all on the same page.
It was time. A thousand thoughts of what could go wrong flooded my brain. I pushed them aside. My course of action was set.
I pulled the pin on the grenade, but kept the spoon depressed. I carefully positioned it by a gap in the door created by previous work with a crowbar.
The Ogre and the Harpy.
In one smooth motion, I let the spoon slip from my fingers and spring outward as I bet my life once again on my fast feet and my ability to make quick decisions.
I shoved the grenade’s spoon into the gap on the door and wasted no time in evaluating how securely it was wedged there.
With my heart already beating a blistering rhythm, I sprinted around the wall of boxes I’d built and made for the stairs between level two and level one.
Making no effort to slow down, I bounded up to the fifth stair and let the wall stop my body as I made the ninety-degree turn to get through the door.
Two steps past the door on level one, I wondered why the grenade had not yet detonated. I wondered if I’d inadvertently depressed the spoon when I jammed it into place. I wondered whether it was a dud. I wondered how I’d work up the nerve to go back and check on what should be a live grenade. I wondered—
The grenade’s blast roared through the chamber.
The shockwave, confined in the long, narrow levels, blew up at me like a shotgun blast and knocked me onto my face.
I saw stars. I heard ringing in my ears.
I was confused.
The dirty, cold floor grated on my face. I tasted blood in my mouth. I needed to move. I needed to run but couldn’t remember why.
I pushed myself up onto my hands and knees.
I saw a rivulet of blood drain out of my nose.
Screaming?
Screams of pain, anger, and hunger raged up from behind me.
I shook my head.
“Get the fuck up,” a voice boomed above me.
The blood draining from my nose was so mesmerizing.
A hand grabbed the back of my MOLLE vest and pulled me roughly forward.
I made an effort to keep my hands and knees below me.
“God dammit,” the voice yelled again.
The hand let go of me and I nearly collapsed to the floor under the responsibility for my own weight.
The screaming behind me kicked up a notch.
Bam. Bam. Bam.
The gunfire was loud in the confined space.
My gun?
I needed to get my gun up.
Holy shit.
My thoughts cleared, but I was dizzy.
Bam. Bam. Bam.
Bam. Bam. Bam.
I looked behind me.
Infected were pushing their way through the door from level two to level one.
Murphy yelled, “Run, God dammit.”
I staggered to my feet and made my way to the stairs.
Behind me, Murphy shot at the infected pursuing us.
I crawled up the stairs, afraid that my balance would fail me if I attempted them on my feet.
Murphy was beside me on the stairs.
The howling of the infected behind me didn’t diminish.
I got to the top of the stairs and rolled out into ashes on the concrete floor of what had been a garage.
“Go. Go. Dammit, Zed. You can’t stay there. You gotta move.”
I had to move.
I had to move.
I got my feet below me.
Why was this all so hard?
I got my M4 into my hands and turned to point it at the open stairway.
Murphy grabbed me by my collar and pulled me backward.
“You’re too close, God dammit.”
Holding his M4 in his other hand, thunder and fire blazed out the barrel and he fired wildly at the infected climbing out of the bunker.
Heads and bodies caught bullets and showered blood.
Ten or fifteen feet back from the doorway, Murphy let go of my collar and put both hands on his weapon.
I did the same. I depressed the trigger. My aim was non-existent, but the targets weren’t far away and I had lots of bullets.
The repercussion of each shot pounded my head like a hammer, but with each passing second, my thoughts grew sharper. Things started to make sense.
After several long minutes, the flow of infected coming out of the bunker ceased. I breathed heavily and stared at the body-filled bunker door.
Murphy scanned the surrounding desolation for any sign of life. “Holy shit, that was intense.”
I dropped to my knees then fell back on my butt. I sat with my mouth hanging open.
Murphy looked down and asked, “Are you all right?”
“No.”
Chapter 15
I sat in the darkness on a steel tire rim a short distance from the bunker’s door. My rifle lay across my thighs and I massaged my temples. My thoughts cleared and the confusion went away, but the headache chose to linger. The ash floating in the air coaxed me to cough every few minutes, and each time the pressure in my head tried to burst my skull.
Murphy stood patiently by, casting glances at the door, looking at me with worried eyes, but mostly scanning the distance for movement.
“How long have we been up here, do you think?” Murphy asked.
I laughed weakly and shook my head. “The battery on my phone is dead.”
Murphy asked, “Do you feel nauseous or anything?”
“No.”
“Dizzy?”
“No.” I gingerly shook my head and regretted the choice. “I just have a motherfucker of a headache.”
“You don’t have any blood dripping out of your ears or nose or anything, do you?” he asked.
“No, Mom.” Well, not anymore.
“Don’t be a dick,” he told me. “I’m worried about you, man.”
My fingers made a few more revolutions on my temples. “You’re being kind, and I am being a dick. I’m sorry. I don’t think there’s any damage that some aspirin and a bottle of tequila wouldn’t fix.”
“Breakfast of champions.” Murphy grinned. “Are you up for going back down, do you think?”
“I guess.” I don’t know why I said that. I’m pretty sure the answer was no.
“There’s no hurry,” he told me. “We can hang up here as long as you want.”
I asked, “How many clips do you have left?”
“None.”
What? I turned and looked over Murphy’s MOLLE vest. “Murphy, I can see clips right there in your vest. Are they all empty?”
“I don’t have any clips in my vest.”
I bore the pain in my head and stood up, walked over, and put an accusing finger on a pouch on his vest. “Right there, Murphy. What’s that?”
“That’s a magazine, Zed.”
“Same fucking thing.”
“No, they aren’t,” he told me
. “If you didn’t get your weapons education by watching T.J. Hooker reruns, you would know that a clip holds bullets. A magazine feeds bullets. I have magazines. So do you.”
“Fine.” When is this headache going to go away? “How many maga-fucking-zines do you have?”
“I have a dozen MFZs.” He put on a smug face.
“MFZs?” I asked.
“Maga-fucking-zines.” He grinned.
“Murphy, you can be very frustrating. I emptied two clips. How many did you empty?”
“MFZs.”
I surrendered. “I emptied two magazines. How about you?”
“I fired all the MFBs in five MFZs.”
“What are MFBs?” I was getting frustrated.
“Motherfucking bullets, of course.” He grinned again.
I sat back down on the tire rim and put my head in my hands.
“I’m just trying to cheer you up, man. We’re wading in some pretty morbid shit, here.”
I flashed Murphy a weak smile. “I know.”
“Are you up for doing this?”
I shook my head gently, but said, “I think I’m as good as I’m likely to get for a while. I guess it’s not any worse than a bad hangover.”
“Man, I’ve been there.” Murphy laughed. “You were pretty dazed when I dragged your superhero ass off the floor down there.”
“I’m past that part of it,” I said. “Thanks. If you hadn’t come down to get me, I’d be dead right now.”
“Somebody has to ride shotgun in the Murph-mobile.”
“Somebody stole the Murph-mobile,” I reminded him.
“We’ll get another one.” Murphy looked around a bit more. “I don’t know how coherent you were, so you might not remember, but there were a lot more infected down there than I thought there’d be.”
“I wasn’t really paying attention to the count. Mostly, I think I was just trying to remember how many feet I had. How many of them do you think there were?”
“Two.” Murphy laughed.
“You know what I mean.”
“I’m not sure,” he said. “It seemed like forty, or fifty, maybe more.”
I said, “They must have really been packed in.”
“I guess.”
“And this is the place that guy built under his house without anybody knowing?” I asked.
