Aftermath (Book 1): Only The Head Will Take Them Down (19 page)

Donald meanwhile took aim at another creature, this time a few metres from the doorway and off to the left, squeezing off a well-aimed shot and dropping the target instantly, before turning to another nearby biter and repeating the process. John couldn’t help but admire his companion’s aim, the sounds of two dropping bodies off to his left all he needed to know he had achieved his objective. After surveying the hallway for a few moments, he glanced to Donald for final confirmation, before moving out into the corridor.

The hallway was pleasantly clear, the three previous occupants now dealt with, and no sight of any more coming from the areas in front, so John quickly began leading across the empty space.
“Where do we go?”, asked Donald, very aware that the stairway below was blocked, both by a barricade and, most likely, numerous walking corpses.
“We move to the other side, should be another stairwell”, John replied, knowing that it would have been a fire precaution the hospital had to follow.
“But it was blocked on the ground?”, Donald replied, thinking back to the numerous barred doors they had tried in vain to enter on the ground floor.
“Best chance we’ve got”, John replied, a faint silhouette ahead evidence that the fire to their rear had reached their floors exterior, just as he turned a corner and began walking towards the Northern stairwell.

As they arrived – the smell of smoke becoming increasingly poignant – the pair assumed their usual siege position before barging open the door, each scanning the stairwell with their weapons, seeking out anything of concern. To their relief, the stairwell was free from biters, but was filling quickly with smoke from the lower floors, an additional reduction in visibility that neither man was happy to see.
“What are we doing here John?”, Donald asked as John began descending the stairs.
“We head down to the lowest possible floor, head to the East side where we came in, and climb out a window”, John explained.
“What if that floors on fire, or overrun?”, Donald replied.
“Well it’s definitely overrun, or it wouldn’t have been barred shut. As for fire, we’ll just have to wait and see”, John answered as he hurriedly jumped down several steps at a time, keen to exit the building as quickly as possible.

Rounding the final set of stairs, the two were immediately met by an unwelcome sound from below, the sound of an intense movement of energy, almost explosion-like, as the ground floor door blew open from the immense pressure that had built up behind it.
“Jesus!”, John yelled as the two ducked for cover, just in time to see flames lunge out of the now open doorway.
“Now what?”, Donald asked.
“That last floor, go!”, John replied, pointing back to the door they had just passed.

Moving swiftly towards it and kicking his way through – now more interested in not burning to death than worrying about the noise he made to attract biters – Donald quickly made his way into the first floor hallway, the ground beneath feeling hotter and hotter every second longer they spent in the building.
“On your left!”, John yelled as Donald ran for the nearest door.
Turning to his left, Donald saw the outline of a biter stumbling towards him from the shadows, the figure quickly falling flat on its face, probably from exhaustion. Biters were less of a threat now, what small amount of breathing they had been able to do in death, they certainly couldn’t do very easily now, in an environment where both Donald and John were struggling to get enough clean air themselves.
“In here”, Donald said, swinging open the nearest door, which itself lead into a small office, complete most importantly, with a window.
John followed close behind, picking up an office chair as he entered and throwing it as hard as he could manage, clean through the large square window, the flames from below just narrowly visible past its wooden frame.
“Go!”, Donald instructed to John, adamant that John test the fall first, rather than risk it himself.

Climbing onto the frame, John inspected the landing area briefly, a small area of grass just to the left of the window, a good ten feet below him.
“Hurry up!”, came Donald’s voice from behind.
John leapt, clean out the window, sailing through the air towards the grass, the fire below nipping at his heels as he dropped, and the wooden window ledge creaking heavily behind him from the pressure he had applied in order to jump. But it was worth it, as his feet found the grass perfectly, cushioning – if only slightly – his fall, and cooling John’s body instantly as it adjusted from the scorching, flame fuelled smoke inside the building to the cool night air that now surrounded him.

There was no time for pausing though, as no sooner had John stood up and turned did he see the figure of his companion also leap from the window, this time snapping the ledge completely, causing him to fall much shorter than he had intended.
“Arrghhh!”, he cried out as he landed heavily on the solid concrete below the window, a surface that provided no cushioning whatsoever, and caused Donald to immediately begin clutching his right ankle.
“You alright?”, John asked running over, putting his arm under Donald and helping him to his feet, each of the men keeping low to avoid the swirling flames above them.
“Think I wrecked my ankle, but I’m fine, let’s just get the hell out of here!”, Donald replied, as the pair limped towards the Hilux.

John helped push Donald into the passenger seat, before throwing the weapons and backpacks into the rear of the truck and preparing to commandeer the Toyota, himself climbing in just in time to see the flames fully engulf the second floor of the building to their left. So close had they been to getting caught in the blaze that it almost seemed rewarding to see it go up now, the vast number of biters inside no longer a problem for anyone, and the trap that was the Eau Claire hospital now unable to lure future survivors into its treacherous grasp.

Chapter 20: Diversion Ahead

“Where are you going?”, Donald asked, clutching his ankle.
“Any way that isn’t their way”, John replied, nodding his head towards the direction the attackers had made off in, before putting his foot to the floor and driving further into the inner city.
“See if you can loop back round to the highway we came in on, maybe further over to the East”, advised Donald, trying hard to keep them on track without giving away their destination.
“Got it”, John replied, his attention split between the words of his guide, and the signs directing him to various areas of a city he’d neither been to nor heard of before.

After numerous guessed turns, John eventually caught sight of a sign to the local dam, a part of the city he knew from earlier signposts to be further along the highway they had entered on. With that in mind, he began following the directions, hoping and praying it would lead back to the original stretch of the I94. As he drove, he couldn’t help but look out for signs of their recent attackers coming back for another attempt, or indeed for signs of any other creatures likely to further complicate their day. Thankfully however the roads were relatively clear, save for the odd few undead stragglers crawling or stumbling along the various side alleys that littered the inner city. John figured most of the biters in the area were probably long since starved, escaping the cities having been most people’s first priority, leaving the creatures with little to live off.

Driving on though, John eventually laid eyes on a biter with a difference. Like the others, it stumbled aimlessly through the streets, spinning slowly to inspect the truck as it drove closer, before mounting a feeble attack in the vague direction of the pair once it sensed their presence. What made it different however was its attire, a full US military uniform, complete with tactical vest, helmet, and remarkably, a standard issue M4A1 slung around his back. Noting this, John slowed the car to a stop, and began to disembark.
“Wait here”, John instructed as he got out, closing the door behind him, the engine left running for a quick escape.
“What are you doing?”, Donald said quietly to himself, feeling that it somehow made more sense to vocalise his question – even if only he could hear it – rather than say nothing at all.

His concern was more than valid, the weapon was clearly beyond reliable use, its barrel bent and visibly stuffed with dirt and stones most likely accumulated from its owner’s dead corpse having numerous stumbles. But John approached undeterred, his left hand firmly grasping the huge hunting knife and his right wielding the Ruger, as he neared the latest enemy. At this point, his target was exerting every last piece of energy left in its cold, lifeless body, to walk at a not-quite-human speed towards John, arms outstretched in front with its hands grabbing at the air, and its teeth clamping down violently every second, like clockwork.

As the target neared, John’s left arm recoiled to his right, bringing the blade alongside his shoulder, before swinging horizontally towards the creature, the sharpened blade piercing the side of its skull like it was nothing more than paper. The serrated edges following close behind, tearing apart whatever dead brain tissue remained inside, and further increasing the now gaping slit in the side of its head. It was a direct hit, and one he was quietly proud of, a small smile creeping across his face as he watched the biter fall limply to the ground. John took no pleasure in ending the life of a living being, but these things were not living, and if anything, giving it the final step towards true death was perhaps the most merciful thing he could have done.

Donald watched as John knelt over the body, untangling its pile of limbs to remove the M4 from its body. Donald could only sit and shake his head at his companion’s ridiculous actions to retrieve the clearly useless weapon. But as he watched, to his surprise, he saw John toss the weapon aside, having disengaged it from its carrying sling, and instead place the length of nylon that had attached it to the body into a back pocket. Going down on the body once more, John continued to remove a series of other smaller items, as well as the soldier’s tactical vest, before eventually walking back over to the truck. After taking view of the area around them – surveying it for threats one last time – John climbed back into the truck, confident that they were safe, if only for a moment.

“So you don’t deafen me again anytime soon”, John said as he climbed into the driver’s seat, his hand holding out the holstered pistol he had just removed from the body.
“Not bad!”, Donald replied smiling, taking the pistol from John, “Always had a soft spot for Beretta’s”, he added as he removed the M9 from its holster, before recoiling slightly from the still throbbing pain in his ankle.
“Got something for that too”, John said as he detached the medical pouch from the soldiers vest, “Must be something in there you can make use of”.
“Here’s hopin’”, Donald replied, happily pulling out a bandage kit, before briefly continuing his search, only to eventually come up empty handed. “No pills though”, he added, clearly disappointed.
“I got something better”, John said as he detached another pocket from the vest, throwing it to Donald before tossing the blood soaked and torn vest out of the window.
“What’s this one?”, Donald asked as he unzipped the pocket.
“Map and a compass, just what you’ve always wanted”, John answered sarcastically.
“Bout’ time”, Donald replied, in a tone much less happy than John had expected, but one that still showed he was at least relieved to have replaced some of the items he’d left in Andrew’s truck.
“Well, now that that’s out of the way, whadd’ya say you get bandaged up, and I’ll try and get us back on the damn highway?”, John said, moving the truck off once more.

*
      
*
      
*

“I94, left”
. The sign read exactly as John had hoped, a feeling of relief spreading across him as he turned off of the penultimate section of their improvised route, knowing that in a short while, they’d both be back on the road to finding John’s family. Looking across, he saw Donald sitting there, applying the finishing touches to his now heavily bandaged ankle. Both men knew that the bandages would do little for what was probably just a sprain, but at the very least it would reduce movement, and certainly help remind Donald not to put weight on it.

“Anything else you need before we leave Eau Claire?”, John asked jokingly.
Donald said nothing, looking sarcastically back at John instead, his bandage now fully applied.
“Guns, first aid, anything like that?”, John asked again.
“Those are two things we got ain’t they?”, Donald replied, clearly confused.
“Sure is. Courtesy of that dead soldier back there, meaning there was no damn reason for us to have gone through all that hell back in the hospital”, John responded, now speaking more seriously. “So tell me, how many more stops are we gonna’ have to make before we get to my family?”, he asked.
“I was planning on two, I think”, Donald said.
“You
think
?”, John asked.
“Well that friend of yours took my map, and I ain’t got acquainted with this new one yet”, Donald explained, “But last I remember, there were two more, bout the same distance as from the campsite to here for each”.
“Some five hour drive this is turning out to be”, John noted, staring at the clock on the centre of the dashboard in front.
“Five hours pre-infection I told you, I ain’t got no idea how long it’d take now, but we’re making my stops no matter what”, Donald replied sternly.
“We?”, John asked, staring down at Donald’s ankle, “I don’t think
we
are doing anything anymore”.
“Well if that’s the way you feel, I guess I can just send you in”, Donald said, a sickening smile spreading across his face.
“Whatever gets us there faster”, John replied, meaning every word of the statement.

*
      
*
      
*

Andrew awoke to the faintest of screams, coming from a distant part of the motel. Instantly he jumped from the bed, taking out the M1911 he had stashed in the bedside drawer and clicking a lighter into life, instantly illuminating a portion of the room so that he could ensure his family were okay. In doing so however, he heard nothing more, other than the sound of rain clattering against the boarded up windows, and the occasional clash of thunder outside of the motel, signs of a storm slowly moving in.