Escape From Metro City

by Mandel, Richard

  Outside in the street beyond the fire barricade, the big black raven was standing tall on top of its choice of the corpses, its head cocked and turned towards the MCPD substation door. Its beak was open but it cried no more. Its posture and bearing suggested that of a human which has just finished an excellent meal and needs to burp. It flapped its wings and let out a single, normal, raven-like Awk! Immediately all the crows around it feasting on their own corpses stopped whatever they were doing and cried their approval. Caw! Caw! Caw! Awk! Awk! cried the raven again, as if accepting it, and then it went back to feeding. So too did the crows. The nervous zombies in the background could but watch that mass of unearthly black avians peck and tear, peck, and tear, rip and swallow, and thoroughly and savagely enjoy their most gruesome of meals.

  Back in the lobby of the MCPD substation, two zombies dressed in the remains of police uniforms lurched to their feet. They staggered and shuffled into view from the darkest of its shadows. They came up to and stopped beside the stilled corpse lying before the reception counter in the front lobby. It suddenly twitched, convulsed twice, then gathered itself and began to get up. It did so in a manner suggesting that of someone who has forgotten how to do something, and is figuring out how to do it again even as they try to perform the deed. Eventually the corpse which had once been MCPD officer Joe Frisco rose to its feet and stood before its fellows. It was a corpse no longer, but a fully reanimated zombie. No words were spoken, at least not in any form recognizable to humans, but it seemed as if the three held silent communion and agreed on something. They then turned as one and began a slow but steady, half-shuffling and half-staggering walk towards the hallway down which the three humans had fled some time before.

  Chapter 7

  Explorations

  The MCPD substation was smaller and more compact in design than the main station in downtown Metro City. That one had three floors, two basement levels, and a fairly good-sized underground parking garage that connected directly with the first basement level. The smaller substation had only two floors, one basement level, and large parking lots front and back instead of a parking garage. The one in front was for visitors and the one in back for police use only. That was why it was fenced, with the main entrance protected by a heavy duty gate with a guard shack by it. There were only two entrances to the building, front and back, both with double doors. The ones in the back were still intact; however, the front ones had their glass shattered and the remains of a barricade in front of them as stark testament to the earlier fury of the Outbreak in that part of town. The main or ground floor held within its walls reception lobbies both front and back, public restrooms, a storage room for various supplies and miscellaneous items, a custodial closet, various duty offices large and small, a ready room for on-duty officers, and a restricted access combination locker room and restroom/shower area for off-duty officers. The upper floor held the station chief's office, a couple of other private offices, the evidence storage room, the radio room, the conference room (which also doubled as a formal briefing room), and a general purpose storage room. The sole basement floor held the station's armory, firing range, detention cells, and K-9 kennels. Even though the Outbreak survivors had already been told where to go and what to do by the late Joe Frisco, large station maps intended for pubic viewing were posted both at the entrances to each lobby and near the doors to every level of the station's only stairwell. In addition there were directional signs at key locations throughout the building clearly pointing the way to various designated locations, as well as signs on or next to every door. The maps were redundant, but were there for the sake of the public. They could also prove useful references, in case the survivors lost their way.

  There were also the zombies. This had been expected, of course, given that every other building they had visited so far had been infested with its share of zombies both male and female. Most of the ones here were of police officers mixed in with the occasional random civilian types, and of the former there were four basic types. There was the generic police zombie, typically dressed in the bloodied and sometimes torn and ragged remains of their uniforms. About half of these were wearing gunbelts but none of them had their guns. These had probably been dropped wherever they had turned zombie. Searching these upon killing them would always yield a fair amount of .38 ACP ammo for Lisa and Mercy's pistols, as well as Lisa's MAC-11. The second and less common was what they came to call the tactical zombie. This type was always dressed in bloodied SWAT-type fatigues but without any kind of armor vest or gear harness. It almost always had a military-style gunbelt with a strap-on leg holster that sometimes still had the pistol in it. These also yielded various amounts of loose .38 ACP ammo, but it was their preloaded ammo clips that were always welcome finds. They worked with Lisa and Mercy's Walther pistols, so these would always be taken and added to each of their personal ammo caches as needed. Third was the armored zombie. This was like the tactical zombie save that it wore both a Kevlar armor vest and a body harness with fittings for shotgun shells. No shotgun, of course, and these were as hard to kill as had been the armor vest wearing security guard zombies back at the hospital. Cy would always scavenge what shells were still good from their bodies once the trio finally put one or more of these down. The last was the zombie of the station chief himself, but this author shall refrain from describing that one until the appropriate time. Cy, Lisa, and Mercy wound up having a tougher time than expected fighting their way back through the MCPD substation's first floor to its stairwell, then up the stairs and down the second floor's main hallway to where the radio room and chief's office were located. On the other hand, the ammo they gathered from the bodies almost but not quite made up for what they had to expend in this process.

  Lisa had snorted once they had downed one of the armored zombies that still had its pistol, which had given her an opportunity to get a good look at it. "Star Model S," she had said disdainfully. "Spanish Colt .45 knockoff, but chambered for .38 ACP instead of .45 ACP. A good enough gun, but not for what they needed. Their gun supplier was probably making a profit by clearing out his back stocks when he got the contract for this, so he could stock up on new nine millimeters. That shows you how cheap the MCPD has been lately. Cheap cop cars and cheap guns. " she finished, shaking her head as she did.

  "What's the problem?" Mercy had asked, and then stopped herself. "I'm sorry, I'm forgetting you're an expert on guns."

  Lisa gave her a smile even as she straightened up, leaving the pistol with the body. "Most police departments are switching to clip-fed nine millimeters, just like the Army's about to do." She had given Cy a wink with that last sentence, and he had grinned back at her. Lisa had then resumed addressing Mercy. "If the MCPD had done that, this gun would have been a Smith and Wesson Model 39, or a Beretta, or the like. Don't get me wrong. .38 ACP is a decent enough round for what it is, as you've seen, and it's very handy for us right now that they did it in terms of restocking our own supplies, but that wasn't the best choice for a new police handgun. That was the budget-cutting choice. Their old service revolvers were probably .38 Specials, same as your pistol and those are better bullets than this gun uses. "

  "What's the difference?" Mercy asked.

  "More punch and longer range. That's why .38 Special was the standard police round for years, until they started the switch to nine millimeter." Lisa gave a short laugh. "Just so you'll know, .38 ACP is one of the favorite choices for concealed carry pistols. It's about the biggest round you can build a handgun around while keeping it as small as possible, and also keeping it fairly low on recoil when you shoot it. You'll notice the difference once you start using that new pistol you've got." She now gave a laugh. "Speaking of which, it also has a very famous celebrity endorsement on its side."

  "Who's that?"

  "James Bond. The Walther PPK was his handgun of choice."

  "Oh. So why were the security guards at the hospital using those?"

  Lisa was about to reply but Cy spoke up before she could. "
Okay, that's enough with the small arms lesson," he gently prodded, shooting Lisa a grin as he did. "Remember, Lisa, our time in here is limited. Let's move on, ladies."

  Lisa gave him a grin, and then nodded. After that the trio again resumed moving through the darkened hallways of the MCPD substation.

  It took a while to clear the second floor main hallways of all zombies. Once they had finally downed the last zombie blocking their way, the trio stopped in front of the radio room door. Cy tried the door handle, and it was unlocked. He nodded at Lisa and Mercy, who were standing well clear, then suddenly jerked it open and came around with his shotgun at the ready. The radio room was empty of zombies, or of bodies for that matter. Best of all, even though it had the same scattered papers and various small objects strewn on the floor that they had seen in other locations within the building, the radio equipment itself appeared to be undamaged.

  "Hot damn, but this is a stroke of luck!" Cy exclaimed, as he quickly went inside with both women hot on his heels. "Maybe the best one yet!"

  "Is it still good?" Lisa asked, fingering her weapon while Cy quickly checked everything over.

  "Looks like it," Cy said, as he picked up a headset with attached boom mike with his free hand, put it on his head, and flipped a big red switch on the console. The two women immediately heard a burst of static from a speaker somewhere in the room, accompanied right after that by indistinct chatter and the occasional soft frequency squeal. "We got power too." He looked back at them. "As long as nothing's wrong with the main antenna, then we're in business."

  "Then we'd better get moving," Lisa said. She looked back at Mercy. "Are you ready?"

  Mercy managed a weak smile. "As ready as I'll ever be."

  "Lisa?" Cy asked.

  Lisa turned back to look at him. To her surprise, Cy was offering her his free hand. "Good luck," was all he said.

  Lisa looked at Cy's hand for a moment, then let go of her MAC-11's suppressor and took it. She clasped it firmly as she spoke. "You too."

  The two remained clasping hands for a few seconds more, and then let go. Cy now looked at Mercy. "And don't let anything happen to you either," he said.

  "Who, me?" Mercy shot back with a grin. "I'm just along for the ride."

  Cy chuckled. "Get out of here, you two, and I'll see you downstairs."

  "Roger on that," Lisa said, shooting Cy a wink. He winked back, and together she and Mercy left the radio room.

  Many miles away and somewhat to the north, well beyond the quarantine line that now encircled the whole of Metro City and a good part of the surrounding countryside, U.S. Army Brigadier General William T. Ryan (the T was for Terence, but no one dared to bring that up in his presence) was in a meeting with his senior field and staff officers who were part of the Metro City operation. The loss of the rescue convoy had been a hard one to take, and General Ryan had both publicly taken responsibility and admitted to a ravenous press that both he and his staff had seriously underestimated the threat level that had faced them. Now that the reporters had been shooed away - or forcibly extracted back to their waiting areas, in a few isolated cases - this staff meeting could take place. It was being held inside the large furnished field tent that Ryan was using as his headquarters, and he was currently making plans with his senior officers as to what to do next. At that moment they had just finished listening to a brief being delivered by one Captain Bill Walters, who was in charge of the six OH-58 Kiowa helicopters being used for aerial observation within and above the quarantine zone. He had some interesting news for the general.

  "So what you're saying is that there are survivors, and at least one of them is one of our own people?" Ryan said from his position at the head of the table.

  "Yes, sir," Walters responded. He handed the general a set of color photographs. Ryan looked them over as Walters continued, then passed them down the table for his other officers to see. "We've positively identified two of them. The soldier who is with them is Corporal Cyrus Rappalo, sir, from the relief convoy. The tall dark-skinned woman with them is Lisa Stanridge, the semi-pro race car driver."

  "Hooo-wee!" one of the other captains at the table exclaimed. "Lisa Stanridge! Corporal Rappalo is a lucky guy!"

  Ryan smiled. "Let's stay focused, people." He again looked at Walters. "Any idea as to who that female nurse is, or doctor, or whatever?" he asked.

  Walters shook his head. "No sir. We're still trying to get information regarding the current staffing at Metro City Medical Center."

  Ryan pursed his lips. "Do you know where they're heading?"

  "The MCPD station on the other side of the hospital," Walters said immediately. "They're probably going there for extra ammunition and supplies."

  "Just what I would do," Ryan agreed, nodding his head. "Do you think they'll use the station transmitter to contact us?"

  "If it's in working order, sir. Corporal Rappalo is a good soldier, per his record."

  "I see." Ryan smiled. "Thank you, Walters."

  "Yes, sir. You're welcome, sir."

  Ryan furrowed his brow for a few moments, as if thinking hard, then spoke again. "Any chance of dropping the closest Kiowa to them to the deck, so we can pick them up and get them out of there?"

  "No sir," Walters said, with a bit of a nervous edge to his voice. When Ryan looked hard at him, the Army captain explained. "Sir, every time our Kiowa in that area gets too close to the station, a big flock of crows flies up from the roof and starts to buzz them."

  "Crows?" Ryan said incredulously. "Buzzing them?"

  "Yes, sir." The nervousness in the voice of Walters was now more pronounced. "They keep swooping at them as if they're trying to attack the helicopter. I know it sounds crazy, sir, but it's true. Our people have to keep backing off for fear of sucking one of those crazy crows into the motor, or something equally bad. You know, kinda like a bird strike with a plane?"

  "Only this time an Army helicopter in the middle of a zombie outbreak is involved," Ryan said evenly.

  "And it's not just at the MCPD substation," Walters continued. "It's anywhere within the quarantine zone. Every time our Kiowas swoop in for a closer look, huge flocks of crows are there to drive them back. It's uncanny, sir."

  Ryan again pursed his lips and furrowed his brow for a couple of seconds before speaking. "What's your opinion, Walters? Speak freely, son."

  The captain gulped, and then set himself. "Sir, and I know this sounds insane, but I think those crows are deliberately preventing us from landing. It's almost as if they want Corporal Rappalo's group to get out of there on their own, without any assistance from us. Either that, or they're trying to claim the town for themselves, sir." He paused, looked the general in the eye, and then added, "There's an awful lot of carrion down there on which they can feed, sir."

  Ryan cocked an eyebrow and gave Walters a look. "Oh, really?"

  "Yes, sir." Walters looked down. "Sorry, sir. You asked my opinion."

  Ryan nodded. "And so I did." He forced a smile. "Thank you again, Walters."

  "Y-yes, sir." With that the captain stepped back from the table and assumed a position of parade rest.

  Ryan reached up with one hand, closed his eyes, and began to massage the bridge of his nose. His aide, staff officers, and everyone else inside his headquarters tent watched but did not speak. After about a half-minute of this he stopped, lowered his hand, and looked up at them. "Well, I'm not about to let a flock of damn crows keep me from doing my job. Major Kendricks?"

  One of the men seated further down the table came to attention. "Yes sir."

  "Get on the horn with upstairs. Tell them I've got survivors confirmed on the ground inside the quarantine zone, but that the situation within the zone has devolved even more and that I need proper air support to get them out. Cobras or Hogs if they'll let me have them. If they have any questions, refer them to me directly. Also see how many more portable flamethrowers they can get to us here."

  "Yes, sir." The major stood and saluted. Ryan remained seated but
saluted back, and with that the major left.

  Ryan now gave his people a smile. "I hope Corporal Rappalo and his two lady friends can hold out until we can get to them." There was nervous laughter and a few nods around the table in response.

  At that moment a young female second lieutenant bustled her way in through the front entrance. "General Ryan, sir!" she said, rushing up to him and then coming to attention beside him to salute.

  Ryan returned the salute. "What is it, Lieutenant?"

  "We've made radio contact with the survivors, sir."

  "Speak of the devil," said one of the other Army captains at the table.

  Ryan ignored the comment. He stood up and everyone else at the table followed a half-beat later. "Who?" he asked the lieutenant.

  "The caller identifies himself as Corporal Cyrus Rappalo, sir."

  "Our missing man," Ryan announced. He looked at his staff, who looked back, and then back at the lieutenant. "I'm coming with you." He looked back at his staff again. "The rest of you to your duties. I'll let you know what I've decided once I've talked with the corporal and hear for myself his account of what's really happening in there."

  "Yes, sir!" everyone responded, briefly coming to attention before most of them scrambled away to their various duties.