Day by Day Armageddon (23 page)

  There were droves of un-dead on the interstate. John and I thought it highly unlikely that going to the interstate would be fruitful in anyway. The cool morning air of April rushed into the hatch as we turned the locking crank. The flowers were blooming, and it looked like a beautiful day. John and I were loaded down with equipment. He entered the cipher lock code that unlocked the gate, linking us once again to a world where we were not welcome.

  Sticking to the grassy and wooded areas, we made our way. As we neared the main entrance for the first time, we were able to see our door greeters in person, without the help of digital enhancement. John and I took turns with the binoculars as we watched from the distant bushes. Two words could probably sum them up, hungry & angry. I doubt anyone could fathom where their undying grudge toward the living originated. I didn't care to know either way.

  I was repulsed as they clawed and pounded on the heavy steel blast doors, leaving a brown liquid behind with each impact. Some of them were clearly agitated and were shoving others out of the way so they too could get a chance at turning their arms into stumps.

  Another startling fact worthy of mention was that one of them was using a rock as a bludgeon on the steel door. The rock was the size of a baseball, and the creature steadily and unrelentingly pounded away. I knew why we had never heard it before. The exterior blast door was just one of three doors that separated the outside world from our group inside hotel 23. These creatures clearly retain some sort of primal sense about them.

  John and I continued our northerly track toward Eagle Lake. Prior to leaving Hotel 23, we attempted to print out the satellite photo to bring with us as a visual reference. For some reason the security feature inside the control console would not allow printing operations that accessed the satellite intelligence (SATINT) folders. We were forced to draw notes and sketches on our existing atlas depicting landmarks of interest.

  After contemplating the bludgeoning corpse for a few minutes, we continued our journey northward toward Eagle Lake. The terrain was rough, and unforgiving, as we dredged our way through, intermittently cutting our legs on nature's barbed wire. After an hour of hiking, careful to remain just out of sight of the two-lane road, we came upon a group of crosses erected in the centre of a field. There were four crosses of varying height. There were three un-dead corpses bound to the crosses, as the fourth was dead. It appeared that the local avian life had picked a majority of this corpse's brain, right out of its head.

  Eerily, the other three corpses locked onto us simultaneously as we approached. 'Their snarling heads swivelled laboriously as they struggled to hold them up and follow our movements. One of them was not restrained as well as the other two, and its legs flailed wildly in an attempt to free itself from the prison of crossed timber. John and I knew that if we shot them, it would without a doubt bring more to our position.

  We decided to leave the area, and continue north. As we left this cursed field, I wondered what treacherous group of miscreants bothered to take the time and make the crosses, post them, and then crucify four dead on the cross. My mind then stumbled upon a very disturbing thought: What if they weren't dead when they were crucified?

  I didn't reveal this to John, as there was no point at us both being terrified of nothing. As we approached the boundaries of the field, we climbed the barbwire fence, and headed out into the open plains of Texas.

  I don't know if it was the prospect of flying again that forced me out here among them, or if it was just the need to see what was happening. I knew what was going on well enough. We were fucked, and there was nothing that could be said or done about it. Even a large spider is no match for an army of ants.

  We headed toward the hanger for the simple reason that we needed some specific supplies, i.e. hacksaw for the weapons locker, and because, having an aircraft at hotel 23 would be a very good escape vehicle. Another reason was that if we managed to clear out the un-dead in front of the blast doors, it would also be a good means by which to scout.

  I thought back to the satellite photos of the airfield. Of course, they were taken from a straight down angle due to the fact that the camera was in space. I was decent at recognizing aircraft silhouettes, however, just being able to see the top view wing profile, I was not sure if I was looking at two Cessna 172s, or 152s. It didn't matter. The thought of being able to fly again was getting to me. John and I continued our journey to Eagle Lake Airfield. It was 1900 hrs when we first smelled the aroma. It wasn't the rotting putrid smell. It was the familiar smell of lake water being brought from the northern afternoon breeze. As we topped the next hill, a great watery expanse appeared before us.

  According to the atlas, Eagle Lake was not a very big body of water. It seemed to welcome us, although after my experience on the clocks, god only knew what was lurking in its dark depths. We were near the airfield, hut John and I knew we needed to find a place to sleep before it got dark. There was a road on the other side of the lake. I took out my binoculars, and saw that a large steel greyhound bus was pulled over on the side of the road along with several other smaller cars.

  I studied the bus for several minutes, making damn sure there was no movement, in or around it. I handed the binoculars to John, and he did the same. We carefully edged our way around the shorter side of the lake that lead to the road. The sun was getting dangerously low as we neared the two-lane highway. There were numerous cars strewn about, but no un-dead movement. I knew they were out there, I just couldn't see them. John and I held our weapons ready as we edged toward the Greyhound. No chances. I knelt down on my knee, weapon pointed outward and whispered to John to stand on my shoulder and look inside the bus to make sure.

  After repeating this in six foot intervals all the way to the back of the bus, we were satisfied it was empty. We were edgy. I wasn't particularly looking forward to seeing another one of these rotting fuckers, but I knew it was going to happen sometime on this trip. I walked over to the door of the bus, and easily pulled it open. The locking bar wasn't set at the driver's seat, and the keys were still in it. I highly doubt that the battery still worked, but I didn't care, this was just our hotel for the night.

  I stepped onto the bus, still careful. John followed. We shut the heavy steel/glass door, and pushed the locking bar in, malting it impossible to open the door from the outside. The hair stood up on the back of my neck as my eyes caught a glimpse of something in the aisle on the back row. A human arm was lying across the walkway. It appeared in the advanced stages of decomposition.

  John stayed back, making sure to keep an eye on the perimeter of the bus as I checked it out. Weapon trained, I approached the rear of the bus. At two-thirds the length of the bus, I saw that the arm was just that, only an arm. I put on my nomex gloves, and quietly opened a window and tossed the fleshy bony piece of shit out. It appeared that someone had wiped their ass all over the back seat, but it was only dried brown blood. I gave John the thumbs up and we proceeded to quietly set up camp in here (after I checked under every single seat twice).

  I had two sets of AA batteries for the NVGs, but I was rationing them, and only using NVGs when absolutely necessary, so that night was spent in darkness sans the moonlight. John and I whispered to each other, talking most of the night about how we were going to handle the next day. The airfield was not marked on the road atlas. We were going to have to extrapolate the location of the airfield by the air navigation chart that I still had. The atlas and the air chart were in two totally different scales, so we knew it could take some time to find it exactly.

  That night I went to sleep to the sound of rain on the steel roof. It wasn't until 0300 hrs when I was startled awake by lightening flash and thunder. I wiped my eyes, and regained consciousness as I peered out the semi-tinted windows of the bus. The lightening was becoming frequent, and I was glad that we were inside. Then another flash, and I could see the outline of a human roughly 20 meters away. This was one of those necessary times, so I quickly donned the NVGs. It wasn't a human; it was the lone corpse of a drifter that still wore a pack on his back. I could see his cheekbones jutting through his leathery skin as the thing shambled. The backpack seemed to be of the type that not only fastened over the shoulders, but also with a chest strap, to keep it steady while he walked. The creature’s teeth were showing in an eternal grin as the water dripped from his lifeless body.

  It couldn't see us. John was still asleep. I didn't bother to disturb him. It wasn't long before the drifter moved on, into the darkness of the Texas night.

  The next morning (17th), we quietly packed our things and started to head out. On the way out the door, told John to cover me as I tried to turn over the bus engine out of sheer curiosity. True it would make noise, but I just wanted to know if the battery still worked after all these months. I turned the key, and held the starter switch. The bus made not one sound. It was dead. John and I left the scene in search of the airfield.

  After a couple of hours of searching, we found the runways. It wasn't that far off the main road. It looked exactly like the satellite photographs portrayed it, so I was nearly certain we had the right field. In the distance, I could make out the shape of two aircraft parked near the tower. Cautiously, we approached the airfield perimeter fence, making sure to stop and listen at regular intervals.

  This fence was not topped with razor wire. John and I easily climbed it and set foot inside. We could see for hundreds of yards.

  There was no movement anywhere. We felt confident about our safety for the time being.

  This area seemed to be nearly devoid of all un-dead activity. I knew that 1-10 was a few miles north of our position, and the satellite photos indicated a large un-dead population there. Perhaps they drew each other to 1-10 in a similar way that water drops seem to attract one another. It might have been the noise they were all making. It could have been my imagination, but every now and then, I thought I could hear the wind carry their familiar sound from far into the distance.

  My main concern were the two aircraft, and if they were flyable. We edged closer and closer to the tower, eyes trained on the two birds, both parked close together. One of them was definitely a 172. The other was a 152, the slightly less powerful Cessna. I was no expert on how to repair them, but they seemed to look in decent shape from where we stood. Once again, I pulled out the binoculars to examine the perimeter from our vantage point. The hangers were closed, and I heard no commotion from that direction. The tower's tinted windows were very intimidating, as I could not tell whether or not one of those things was frothing at the mouth at us from up there. It had to be done though, as we knew we were going to spend the night of the 17th inside the tower for protection.

  Once again, John and I stepped up to the tower doors. John covered me as I carefully turned the steel handle opening the door. It was dark inside. I switched on the flashlight on my weapon and began clearing the stairwell. No sign of blood, no sign of struggle. The tower was abandoned.

  As we neared the top of the tower, the feeling of dread soon left us. It was empty. Being inside the control tower brought back memories of our escape. That seemed like years ago. There was no power inside the tower, although I could see that an exterior light was on at the hanger. Must have been a tripped breaker. I never bothered to find out.

  Our next order of business was to check the hangers, as more than likely the tools, and materials we were after were inside. It was approaching 1400 hrs, and it was exceptionally hot that day. With complacency set in heavy, John and I lackadaisically approached the first hanger. I signalled John to cover me and I slung the door open. It was then our lazy attitude almost killed us.

  A rotted corpse in a white apron and undershirt came barrelling out of the doorway with hedge trimming shears clamped in its left hand. It had no idea it was using them as a weapon as it charged John, seemingly oblivious to my presence. The thing stumbled quickly and fell onto John, gnashing its rotting teeth. The cutting shears punctured John's cheek, and he cried out. I could hear the sound of some other movement inside the hanger. I kicked the creature off of John, and spun around to the open doorway that was devoid of light. I thought John was fine, but apparently the fall had knocked him out. The thing that I had kicked off of John now had a new target in mind… me.