Aftermath (Book 1): Only The Head Will Take Them Down (32 page)

As he looked though, what instead caught his eye was the arrangement of vehicles behind them, a large white van blocking the path Andrew was almost certain they had just travelled along, now seemingly obscuring any route back the way they had come. Confused, Andrew looked instead to the road in front, suddenly realising that just as the route behind them had changed, so too had the route in front.
“Down, all of you, get down”, he said suddenly, as he scanned over the piles of vehicles in front, not an inch of gap visible between any, and no route to travel backwards along either.
“What is it Andrew?”, asked Andrew’s wife Sarah.
“I’m not sure, just get down okay?”, Andrew ordered, without looking to his wife.
“C’mon sweety, we’re going to play the hiding game again”, sounded out Sarah’s voice, which faded into silence as Andrew instead tried to divert his attention to the more pressing issue.

The truck was truly trapped, not enough room on either side to turn, and no route forwards or back. To top it all off, the small amount of road that Andrew could drive along was so curved, that building up enough speed to ram was almost impossible. Whoever had trapped them in this position clearly knew what they were doing. Andrew’s mind raced, thoughts of potential escape appearing from every available angle, but each no more use than the last, and all of them just a pipe dream straight out of some James Bond-esque escape that he knew would never really work. With that in mind, he instead grabbed his pistol out of the makeshift holster that clutched on to his thigh, and slowly thumbed off the safety.

Eventually, he caught sight of movement, a brief but powerful reflection of light, coming from behind the shattered windows of an old Mustang up ahead, parked sideways in amongst the many wrecks forty or so feet further along the road. The reflection had been so quick he’d only narrowly seen it, but as he looked on, squinting slightly as the morning sun coated the area in bright light, he saw the culprit behind the reflection, a masked figure, rifle in hand, resting on the empty windowsill of the once beautiful car in front of him. Straight away Andrew knew that the reflection had come from what appeared to be a scope, no doubt now trained on Andrew’s head, just a twitch of finger muscle separating him from life and death.

Andrew let go of his pistol, raising his hands into the air instead as a sign of surrender. He was keen to at least
try
to enter into conversation, rather than be shot here and now right in front of his family, without even attempting to bargain a better end to the situation. His eyes were trained on the figure, beads of sweat starting to trickle down his head as he prepared himself for what may be about to happen, when suddenly, the figure turned slightly, changing the angle of his rifle to aim well past the truck and off to Andrew’s right hand side, back to where Andrew had been driving moments before.
“John”, he suddenly found himself saying out loud, as his companions military training formed the only shred of comfort Andrew could think of, leading him to look once more into the rear view mirror.

What he saw however was not John, his eyes instead meeting with those of yet another man, clad in camouflaged clothes that were little use when surrounded by oddly coloured vehicles, but perhaps more useful on some of their more woodland based traps. The man was knelt down, the majority of his body obscured by the small hatchback car that sat in front of him, but enough of him visible for Andrew to know what he was looking at. Straight away he recognised the profile, from the mask adorned to hide the man’s true face, to the numerous spot of blood that interrupted the green of his clothes, and finally, to the long rifle he held in his hands, its tip currently pointed straight at the rear of the Ford. This man was a bandit, and was no doubt part of the group of bandits that had coordinated this very trap, each of which were presumably now slowly crawling out of the woodwork all around the truck.

What the men presumably didn’t know however, save perhaps for the first rifleman, who was still aiming well past the rear of the truck, was that Andrew was not alone, and as the second gunman very suddenly and very abruptly disappeared from view, his body pulled back violently and yet without a shred of noise, Andrew knew that his companion had reached the area.

Chapter 33: Blocked In

The events that occurred over the coming minutes served as a perfect example of what the armed forces had been trained for prior to the infection, and as evidence of exactly why John was so effective in this dark new world. To Andrew’s rear, a pair of feet, limp, lifeless and just barely exposed, was all that remained visible of what was once an intimidating and very much armed bandit. Nearby, brief glimpses of movement exposed John’s position to the keen eyed, as he swiftly moved along the wreckages, remaining crouched down and out of sight at all times, not exerting even the slightest of noises.

As Andrew’s eyes followed, he suddenly caught sight of another man, again hidden behind the shell of a vehicle, and again with his rifle raised and pointed directly at the Ford, though this time without the aid of a scope. Almost as soon as he spotted him however, he was gone, pulled backwards onto the ground by a bandage wrapped and blood soaked arm, sending the man crashing to the ground with little more than the faintest of thuds to evidence what had happened. This time however, there was one very distinct difference, as the action was followed by a large spark and an even larger bang, a single shot having been fired by the original sniper. The sudden roar of impact sent John ducking down even lower for cover, still covered up well enough as far as Andrew could tell, but clearly disgruntled by someone having spotted his position.

Looking forwards Andrew immediately spotted the shooter, himself now stood up tall, resting his rifle on the roof of the Mustang, attempting to gain a better view of the hidden attacker. Thinking quickly – and perhaps irresponsibly – Andrew gripped his M1911 tight, and began preparing himself mentally to help suppress the shooter. Before he could finish however, the deafening sound of a heavy calibre pistol erupted to Andrew’s left, the source just a few metres from the vehicle but hidden once more behind the shells and carcasses of cars that littered the area.

This time, the bullet surged through the interior of the truck, missing Andrew’s face by what he knew to be mere inches, and instead shattering the passenger side window on its exit. Immediately Andrew ducked down, knowing that a single shot that close meant that the shooter clearly had the advantage. Andrew wished he could be more help, but as the sound of another shot roared through the air, he knew he had someone much more useful on his side.

Again the bullet shot straight through the passenger side window, but this time, it appeared to travel from right to left, originating Andrew was sure, from John’s rifle.
From the rear seats of the cabin, muffled screams and cries began to sound out. Hannah was clearly unable to contain her terror at what was happening around them any longer, her mother frantically trying to keep her at least remotely quiet.
“It’s alright sweety, John’ll take care of this, you just sit tight”, Andrew said quietly, as another shot sounded out, ricocheting off of vehicles to the right, as the far shooter took another pot-shot into the mess of metal he was sure hid the intruder.

Throwing caution to the wind, Andrew rose up, pistol held tight in his hand, body swivelling to the left to take aim at the nearest shooter, ready to take him. But there was nobody, the only evidence of a shooter instead coming from the bleeding body just barely visible on the ground behind a series of vehicles, indicating that John had presumably made contact. Relieved, Andrew instead turned to the far attacker, who still took aim over to John’s general position.

Quickly looking around, Andrew attempted to ascertain whether or not there were more gunmen, and once sure he at least couldn’t see any, he made a decision.
“Stay in the car, don’t come out till I tell you too”, he quietly spoke into the rear of the truck, to which his wife replied with a simple, but terrified nod.
Attempting to fake a smile of comfort in response, but coming up very much short, Andrew quickly opened his door, before diving out and running over to a gap between the nearest set of vehicles. As he did, two more shots sounded out, each skimming across the floor behind him, as the shooter apparently attempted to switch targets.

Immediately Andrew began to panic, he had gotten himself away from the truck, and thus in a better position to help John, but had also managed to head straight into a closed gap in the surrounding vehicles. Unsure of whether or not more men lay in wait just metres away, and nothing but a pistol to defend himself with, he began to realise that he had perhaps bitten off more than he could chew. Pushing said thoughts out of his mind however, Andrew was adamant that even if such things were the case, he would at least try to do his part, and with that in mind, he took a deep breath, clenched his pistol tight in the palm of his hand, and leant out from his cover.

At the other end of the carnage, the rifleman had turned his attention away from the man by the truck, his preference now to look at a much closer disturbance, coming it seemed from just a few metres away. The intruder was, he was certain, closing in on his position, and so he began to formulate a plan of escape, only to be cut short by a sudden – and very uncoordinated – barrage of gunfire from back over by the huge pickup. One by one, five oddly placed shots collided with various pieces of scrap around his position, the closest shot more than a metre away, but still close enough to scare him back into hiding.

Ducking back into cover after his attempt at suppressive fire, Andrew tried to calm himself, a huge amount of adrenaline surging through his body. The pistol in his hand was shaking so badly he was sure it would go off by accident if he wasn’t careful. He knew that it was unlikely he’d made contact, or even come close, but he had hopefully given John enough time to move up. More importantly, he hoped John could now take the single, significantly more accurate shot that would end this bandit ambush, an ambush he was sure had until now claimed the lives of numerous innocent people.

Back at the Mustang, the shooter pulled off his mask, keen to increase his visibility, and knowing that at this point, escaping alive was more important than projecting an intimidating look. He clutched his rifle – a very rare military grade rifle with just three bullets left to its name – and readied himself to rise up, shoot, and flee. His legs tense, his muscles going into spasm, and his hands clutching the weapon so tightly he was afraid he’d do himself damage, he took a deep breath, and began to rise up, finger pulling back on the trigger as he did.

The first two shots headed in the general direction of the unknown assailant’s last known position, landing he hoped at least close to their location, and doing enough to scare them out of attacking again for just long enough that he might make his escape. The third he quickly aimed to hit the series of cars currently hiding Andrew, though with little more accuracy than Andrew himself had displayed just moments earlier. Magazine empty, he dropped the rifle, knowing it would only slow him down, and turned on the spot to make his escape, only to find himself met with an unexpected figure.
“Hi”, came the voice of John Parker, who now stood directly in front of him, and who mere milliseconds later, and with one swift swoop, brought the butt of his pistol crashing down into the shooter’s head, knocking him out cold so quickly he barely had time to blink.

For the next few minutes, almost complete silence reigned down over the area, not a single shot being fired, and barely the scuff of a shoe audible over the immense quiet of the midday air. Back in his hiding spot, Andrew was still frantically looking around, keen to identify any other attackers, but at the same time knowing that his shots had exposed his own position, and likely put him in considerably more danger than anybody else. Before long however, the comforting voice of his companion came into earshot.

“All clear”, John yelled out over the wrecks, himself now back at the rear of the truck, somehow having completed the second half of his loop without Andrew having even noticed.
Standing up, Andrew looked around, spotting John walking towards him, as well as the body of the final sniper, lying behind his precious Mustang. Andrew presumed straight away that he was either dead, or wishing he was.
“Let’s go talk to our friend”, John said as he walked past Andrew, who nodded in response, before briefly running over to the truck. Quickly he checked on his family, informed them of the situation, and then left once more, taking the keys and locking the pickup as he walked away.

“John, that was amazing!”, Andrew started as he caught up with his companion.
“Hey you had your uses too”, John smirked.
“But, without you, we’d have been-“
“We don’t know what they were planning on doing Andrew”, John interrupted, in a rare show of unbiased from an almost famously opinionated man, “We’ll let him tell us”, he added, gesturing towards the body behind the Mustang.
“He’s still alive?”, Andrew asked, almost confused at the thought of John having left him breathing.
“Out cold but alive, last time I saw him. S’pose he could have been eaten by now mind you, all that noise has brought a few of them over”, he said pointing towards one biter in particular, who had just arrived at the outskirts of the vehicles. It had begun throwing itself at the truck in front, attempting in some odd way to overcome the unknown obstacle by sheer brute force.

“Rise and shine”, John called out as the pair arrived at the body.
The man simply lay there, eyes closed, clearly still unconscious.
Leaning down, John gave a series of quick slaps, eventually causing the man to jump back into life.
“Easy now”, John said, holding his Ruger up to the chin of the man, keen to stem his sudden lurching movements, “Let’s keep nice and still, and start talking about what the hell you were doing here”.
“I ain’t telling you shit”, the man replied, his odd brand of Southern accent seeping with the sort of stubbornness John knew would keep him quiet until the last minute.
“I tell you what”, John said, stepping away from the man, “You tell me what you were doing, and I let you try to run, otherwise I do it right here”, he said, the gun held firmly in his hand.
“Go ahead, get it over with”, the man said defiantly.
Happily, John smiled back at him, before raising his weapon to point straight at the man’s head.